Preface: Waking Again

The first thing he remembered was feeling cold. He thinks that initially, he'd found the feeling strange, abnormal, as if somehow the lack of heat in his bones went against the nature of his being. It had taken him a few weeks to recognize his logic behind that idea. But in the first few minutes, he'd adjusted remarkably; his body instinctively felt normal—better than normal—not that he actually remembered what normal felt like.

When his eyes opened for the first time—or was it "again"? —everything seemed blurrier than it was supposed to be, like something was in the way, something…dark. He had some vague awareness of his body as well, but it seemed stuck. He concluded after a moment that whatever it was impairing his vision was likely some sort of physical barrier around his entire body, kind of like…a shell.

He wondered how weak it was, if he could perhaps muster the strength to break through it, even while immobile. So he focused on what felt like his arms, pushing them against the walls in some attempt to get it to crack. It worked, slightly, but for one reason or another he couldn't seem to break through entirely. He could hear the outer layer cracking, but the layer before that refused to budge. He raked his hands against the sides in frustration, and felt the material tear against his fingertips like fabric. He paused briefly as he tried to remember what fabric was, but then resigned to the fact that he couldn't put anything concrete to the name.

He continued scraping at the sides of the shell. As the walls began to crack and give way, he rammed his head against the top. It only budged a little, so he repeated the action until he broke through and fell rather gracelessly onto the ground. And after he got the top of the shell off of his head, the world was suddenly bright. Too bright. He scrambled to cover his eyes as he heard the sound of birds shrieking loudly around him, hardly noticing his own voice among the chorus. The light hurt, leaving him disoriented and confused. When his vision cleared, he found himself staring up at a pair of pale white talons, which he studied at some small length before bringing them to his sides and using them to lift his torso off the ground.

He could see his feet now: two pitch black paws with little white nubs that were supposed to be like cat claws. He hesitated again—the memory of what a cat was seemed to be evading him. It wasn't really important, and he was honestly much more concerned with why his body felt fuzzy all over, and why he smelled like death—and what death was, for that matter. A shriek sounded next to him, and it was now that he realized he was surrounded by Grimm. Monsters. That was his first mental association, at least. His instinct instead regarded the black griffon-shaped beasts as his kin.

His kin. He was a Grimm. Acknowledging that seemed wrong for some reason. Was he supposed to be a Grimm? He didn't know anymore. Either way, the griffons around him seemed as if they had been waiting, as if they were still waiting—waiting for him. He staggered to his feet after a moment, seeming to remember how to walk on muscle memory alone. It was stranger this time. He felt like last time, his ankles had been closer to the ground. He hesitated again at that. There had been a last time, he was certain of it. He couldn't place why everything felt so different now. Perhaps his surroundings had some sort of clue, but as he glanced around, he realized that he'd woken up in a place he didn't recognize.

For some reason, the word "wilderness" came to mind in regard to this location, a small opening surrounded by tall, still grey pillars. Trees, he remembered. He hadn't seen so many at once before now. The light poured in through their leaves quite beautifully, and for some reason, their color seemed familiar. A burning, blazing orange…like fire…the fire that had consumed him: fire the color of the hair on his head. He frowned, one large talon reaching up to pull a strand of his hair into his line of vision. That was wrong though. His hair was white. Had it always been white? He couldn't remember but…he didn't think so.

Why couldn't he remember? There must have been a good reason. His gaze traveled across the woods surrounding him for a moment, looking for something…anything to jog his memory. That was when he saw it: the reflective glimmer of a pond in the middle distance. He wasn't sure how he'd tied a word to the thing, but made for the glimmer with as much haste as he could muster, followed closely by the pack of Grimm. He leaned over the edge of the water upon arrival, crouching down in an effort to study himself closer.

He recognized immediately that, where facial structure was concerned, he did not bear the same resemblance to his Griffon kin, even though their talons and paws were a close match to his own. Instead, his face resembled…a human. He remembered them. 'Disgusting, hypocritical creatures' was his first association, yet 'prey' was his gut instinct. His one eye studied his reflection even further, from the vein-like marks trailing down from his one eye, or the bony, mask-like hollow that came into view when he lifted the white curtain of bangs over the right side of his face. His features were nearly devoid of pigment—black fur covered his body, while his face matched the pale shade of his hair entirely. There was only one color in the whole of his face, one that he struggled to put a name to, a color that, for some inexplicable reason, angered him.

It was as if this color had stolen something of his—his memories, his hair color, his name—he hesitated. Stolen. A memory dislodged itself from the pack of forgotten events and embedded itself into his frontal lobe.

"I'm going to do what I do best! Lie, cheat, steal, and survive!"

He remembered now. He was a thief, or rather, he had been. How had he become a Grimm? A gasp drew his eye upward to two small humans on the opposite side of the water. Children, he thought. Scared ones. The Grimm surrounding him growled with bloodlust, but they held their positions, as if waiting for something. His gaze trailed across his kin, noting how they cast glances in his direction. They seemed to be waiting for him. Interesting. His eye traveled back to the young ones slowly, calculating their every move and feature like the predator he'd now accepted himself to be. Suddenly, it occurred to him. The smaller one—her shirt was the same color as his eye, the same color as the veins dripping down his face.

Red.

He felt something in him burning. An unbridled, boiling passion that overwhelmed his senses and clouded his judgement. It reeked of rage, resentment…even some tiny hint of grief. He remembered: Red. He'd given the name to a girl, someone who he'd felt…something for. His rage gave him the impression that he had likely hated her.

"You've got spirit, Red!"

He snapped back to the present, focusing on the children still frozen on the other side of the pond. He had no reason, whatsoever, to even think of sparing them. He tilted his head and opened his mouth, letting his voice bubble up to the surface in a boiling, acidic hiss.

"Kill them."

oooOOOooo

Alright I need to stop making AUs now.

…

…I say that but knowing myself I'm probably not gonna stop. So yeah…literal monster Roman…I'm gonna have way too much fun.

Until next time.