he hated it. and all that it stood for. almost as much as the bastard that created him. that bastard that loved his two mortal sons more than his first born.
he hated it. the symbol that stood for death, life, and rebirth. he hated being reborn every time he died. he hated all the humans that could die.
he hated it. the symbol that represented a cycle, a never ending loop. he knew that it also meant that past mistakes would be repeated. he hated anyone who searched for the philosopher's stone.
he hated it. the symbol that marked him a monster.
he hated it. he would not wish it even upon his enemies or those he toys with.
he hated it. and the fact that he couldn't do anything about it. whenever he changed form, it was still there. whenever he took a knife to it, it would always come back. he'd even cut off his entire left leg just to remove it. it came back when the leg grew back.
he hated it. he struggled not to put something through the ones on lust's chest, or gluttony's tongue, or sloth's shoulder, or wrath's eye, or greed's hand whenever he saw them.
he hated it. and that bastard knew it. the bastard would paralyze him and then leave him in a room with the symbol painted on the walls, floor, and ceiling when he was getting a little too rebellious.
he hated it. it was the last thing he saw when he died and the first thing he saw when that bastard turned him into the monster he is now.
he hated it. it gave him his name. the name of one of the sins. that bastard said that it was the name of the sin that he committed when the bastard made him.
he hated it. how its name sounds like it knows everything, how it looks like it knows everything after four hundred years of not really living with it.
he hated it. the fucking Oroborous. he was Envious of those who didn't have it.
he hated it. he hated it. he hated it.