Only Child
You are the First, my finest creation.
The First implied others to come. Pride had not thought much of it at the time, bundled up in Father's arms, so many wonderful sensations sparking along his new skin. All things were new back then.
Scratch, scratch. A series of faint, measured scratches drifting from Father's throne drew Pride from his musing.
"Hm?" His faultless voice disturbed the hallowed silence further, his keen eyes blinking, sagged. Perhaps he had been dozing.
Pride righted himself, smoothed out his sleeves and the rest of his robe beneath him, more solemn and spare in his movements, while his truer eyes shifted around in their pools. He thought of the humans who had caught those (purely intended) glimpses of him, their shrieks, their pathetic wails and their blood, and shivered ever so lightly. Ah, those scarce delights he knew well, and knew alone.
Not that it mattered.
Sitting staid, rigid, Pride glanced towards the shape of his creator. More scratches reached him, Father leaning slightly (nothing like a slouch), performing more graceful strokes with the – his shadow squinted – silver? Ah, Father was drawing.
His slit pupils grew round.
Pride had oft blinked behind the glass at Father's construction diagrams of his container, or the alchemic arrays of his grand machinations. He slithered a little closer, yearning to catch a glimpse.
Father caught his glancing, eyes raised over the paper. A smile shimmered in the molten gold of their depths,
"Come to me, child." and he held out his arms to receive him.
That raw, reverent shine in his shadow's eyes shot up into his container, the tension within it draining out into the floor and he rushed forward. The shadows flicked on their 'wrists' to keep his robe from tangling in his hurried steps until he all but leapt into Father's arms, nuzzling and giggling. He became childish again.
Above, Pride weaved amongst the humans, nought but a pure, artless babe in his tailored clothes, and below, in the sacred radiance of the Underground he would forever remain Father's child.
Father just held him close, nothing disturbing the tranquil peace of their home. Father and himself, as it had always been. He needed nothing else.
"What are you drawing, Father?" Pride chirped what could have been minutes or hours afterwards, the silver sketches slowly taking solid form upon the paper. They caught the light that emanated from Father's body, revealing a human shape. It did not hold the gaudy and extravagant clothes in which the humans cloaked themselves, rather a strange, clinging dress of some sort.
"Another fragment of my soul, your sister."
"…Lust?" Pride eased the name from a distant hollow of his memory, not that he could have ever forgotten. How absurd.
Father nodded, some of his golden strands brushing against Pride's cheek as he brought the diagram closer, handing it to him. Pride drew his knees up to his chest, resting the wooden block against them.
Though her status as second had been whispered decades prior, Father seldom spoke of what would become his younger sibling. But now, within the silverpoint markings dwelt a much more palpable notion of another, of her.
Oh, the concept of the Seven, he above them and all things excepting Father as firstborn flared pleasingly in the void of his cold, empty insides. A quiet pang of something else echoed there, also; something shameful, weak and Pride grew quiet. He blinked his soft child's eyes, mind churning with some superfluous emotion.
The emotion was just as quickly squashed into some dark corner of him, along with their endless, languishing cries. She would need to stifle their cries, too.
It settled, mostly. The First, or rather only studied the illustration further, though the faint lines almost faded completely at some points. Even so, she must have been perfect as Father desired, even without the exquisite shade that flowed through Father and himself. Will she be shadows, too? The memory filled the gap in his wistful thoughts.
A single tendril seeped over the silver like ink, splitting and spreading, the divine ichor leaving no stain. The outline of her shivered in his undulations, seeming ever so alive already, and Pride resisted the temptation to open his so many eyes in the puddle of her hair. Would she have black hair, like him? In the sketch he couldn't be sure, but he filled the space regardless, yearning for that warmth of their similarities.
I don't…
Or anything.
I don't want to be alone.
Anything that wasn't the wretched company of humans…
The pitiable whispers spilled through his shade rather than his mouth, but he flushed at the shame of it all the same.
"Ah. Worry not, child," Father's nurturing tones washed down upon him, his spare arm squeezing his container gently while the other retrieved the paper from his tiny grasp. "She shall soon be ready."
Something kindled deep in Father's eyes. Was it his Sin that seemed so much livelier than Pride felt, trying to find its way out? Several tendrils melted into tinier hands, reaching out for it as if it was something tangible.
They found Father's robe instead, and his container's hand followed suit, snuggling against him, determined to stay at his side until Father required him.
"Thank you, Father."
Like his faint memories of so long ago, Pride again nestled close to Father and drifted to sleep pondering the intricacies of his future sibling.
So many decades later, Pride gazed down, container hidden away,impassive as he slipped along the alleys, and in her shadow, too.
Her lances dripped with the remains of her assignment, the vibrant gleam of bloodlust in her smirk reaching him.
"Well done, Lust." He drawled to her, growing a long, tooth-filled grin, watching the flash of admiration explode behind her eyes. "Father will be most pleased with your progress."
It's all either of them need. Their cruel, rapturous delights were shared and she's perfect, she's perfect.