Six years. Six years old and abandoned by his parents to an unforgiving Family. Six years old and beat nearly every day, just to be left bleeding in various rooms, left to drag his small tortured body into the desolate snowy isolation that could only be found within the treacherous woods on Mount Lung.
His young life had only known three friendly faces, only of them Time Lord, and one outside of his jailhouse of a home.
People wonder why he is so shy, or as they called it "anti-social". They saw the bruises, the cuts and slowly healing welts on his skin, no matter how many layers of clothing he wore to hide it, it never seemed to work.
And yet no one seemed to care. Sure, some gave him pitied looks, but no one bothered to ask him if he needed help, or even to simply chat.
All because of his House, because of who he is.
Anyone from Lungbarrow were instantaneously hated from the moment they were loomed to their last death, and even then, no one grieved, no one cared. It had been that way for millions upon billions of years. The sad thing is that no one can remember why those from Lungbarrow are to be ostracized.
But I knew. I cared. The moment I saw the young, battered klutzy blonde I knew I could never hate him.
I just hope he doesn't know of my insanity.
