Dorian Gray is far away, nestled deep into silk fabric, somewhere in the mountain folds of a far away place. Caressing a beautiful dark skinned woman with one hand, it's twin lazily holding a smoking pipe of a near by hookah, he begins to laugh.
His laughter is uncontrollable; his delicate shoulders shake and his gut tightens with pain as he grows louder and louder. He rocks back and forth, curling away as the woman sees his madness and runs scared from the room - because this laughter is joyless; it's dark and cruel. It bounces off the stone and rings in his own ears, chilling his ageless bones to the very core. His body may never age, but his soul-less essence, the cruel thing that fuels it, does. And it's starting to show in his eyes, his actions, and now even his laughter is tainted. This is an arrogant laughter, pleased and dripping with sins.
He ends up crackling, choking into the cold floor as he coughs for breath. As he rolls back loosing himself in the constantly swaying ceiling, he grins. He shouldn't be feeling this happy, even with the drugs racking his frame, but it's the woman who reminded him just how far away he is. How the thought of "home," of that grungy little hell hole of rotting place, of London with it's numerous whore houses and addicts; Of the running rapid rivers of alcohol, flowing through each household of the poor and rich alike, of the beaten, broken and lost children.
- And how it some how gave birth to something as beautiful as himself.
But he left.
He left because from within it's womb of blatant sins and cruelty, he's too much. A step too far, twisting and ignoring the laws of man and God for all the world to see. In that filthy little city, he's the true freak, the real devil and lowest sinner. The framed disgusting beast in the attic is proof enough for that, along with the trail of bodies he left behind like cookie crumbs.
Suddenly all of Dorian's laughter is gone, replaced with a heavy sense of anger. What right, do any of them have, to look at him like that? To be disgusted and frightened? They don't even know the half of his story, of the thing that rumbled and shakes in painted form. Dorian Gray is the handsome face presented that they should embrace and be thankful for. Thankful that he keeps his worse half locked away from their weak little eyes and minds.
Dorian takes a slow, smooth pull of the hookah and relaxes. There's no point in getting angry now, for their mistakes. They just simply aren't ready to understand. But given enough time, perhaps they will, which is good, because Dorian has all the time in the world, for them to come to terms to his endless beauty and accept him. So he'll bask and linger in the warm lap of luxury, smoking and sleeping, and waiting till he can crawl back to that dirty, old city. The garden of blood, sex and fear, to the dark soils were the beautifully cruel are produced every single day. Back home.