(He dreams of a boy with blue eyes and charcoal hair that shines in the light.)
"You will get him, won't you? Claude?" He asks, voice high and immature despite his teenaged years. He could hate it if he didn't already hate himself so much, driven past the meaning of self-loathing.
He's filthy, and spreads dirt on everything he touches.
(He dreams of a ring in a tea box filled with darkness)
He thinks that his body is pretty, pretty enough to tempt a demon
(Maybe) and he unbuttons his shirt half to irritate his butler, half to show him what he could have. A dreg of resentment wells a little inside of him, only seeing concealed irritation in those yellow eyes.
He's never been good at manipulation, after all. He's sloppy, messy and dirty.
(He's never been able to accept it.)
He uses himself, he's so stifled by his own nature that he can't even express how he feels-So they rise, his emotions- Like warped flowers.
He thinks, if they were flowers, they might be poppies.
Pretty and red and then addictive, resting on top of dirty lips.
He's always been more into emotional torture, because he's experienced it so much himself.
He hurts his servants, his memories, himself.
(It's because he cares.)
Anyone else-They experience more than torture, they experience neglect, laughter, mockery-Everything and anything his dirty self can throw at them, laughing at them for everything they have done to him.
He shakes with it, rolls with it.
Laughter hurts, too...After a while.
(But this boy, with blue eyes the shade of a ring he carries, he can't understand what to think, exactly)
After finally seeing him, the boy with the name of the sky, meeting him-He thinks, maybe that this porcelain-doll walking might taste like tea. Black tea, dark and filled with arsenic.
He actually tries to taste him.
He thinks afterwards, that maybe this assumption is correct.
He dreams again of a tea box filled with filtered darkness and herbs, nestling a too-big ring inside.
Is it gold and red or blue and silver? He doesn't know anymore.
And then death comes in the shape of poison and gold eyes, and no longer he will love- His sight has been taken from him, the filtered glass sight that shone so hazily and saw him as he was, accepting-Gone and destroyed.
(He wanted this so badly, to be accepted-but he never had been after Luka)
He was denied that in his final moments.
He was suddenly filled with someone else, something else cold and vast.
Suddenly he doesn't dream of tea and rings, but instead he dreams of drowning.
Between falling off bridges and drowning in wells, he is filled with cold water, mind and lungs slowly being encompassed in it.
The blue eyes make much more sense, all of a sudden.
(This boy with the blue eyes and charcoal hair will kill him, slowly.)
But being accepted has consequences, and he eventually destroyed his little blue boy.
("What's left?")
("Nothing.")
He gladly destroyed him in the name of acceptance.
He was always dirty.