Warning: Hinted rape.
It hurt, it hurt so much.
They worked in silence and he said nothing.
"You must not speak." They had said, and he obeyed.
There were tears in his eyes but he couldn't dare to let them fall.
You must be strong.
A master.
He screamed in the inside as he broke, little by little.
He wondered how they could see in such a dark room.
He saw nothing but hands and blue.
And pain made out of shadows.
The needles pierced his skin again and he bit his lip, drawing blood.
You are a man, now.
A man never shows weakness.
Their lives were based on peace and yet it felt like a war took place on his skin.
"Stop it! Let me breathe!" He wanted to scream but nothing came out of his dry lips.
He drifted in and out of consciousness again and again.
Dreaming with hands that broke his body.
They touched his skin in ways that made him want to die.
Pain is weakness…
And when they were done, they left him in the room, the needles inserted into his skin.
Every movement hurt and he didn't even dare to breathe.
How ironic, to become a master of air he had to not receive the very element that was his essence.
And he lay there, hung to the ceiling with thick iron chains, like an animal.
Blue ink, the loss of innocence.
When they came again he was gone from his body.
Gyatso let out an approving hum.
He lay in bed for days on end, nightmares and pain.
One day, when he lay on a different bed, warm arms around his body, a question was asked.
"How were your tattoos made?"
His laugh was hollow and bitter.
"It was just blue ink and a dark room.
It was like a dream…"
