The blond prince sits across from the other, a smile tearing at his lips. The world around them is silent and frozen, a pool of white and misty water at their feet. His finger twitches and he briefly looks away from the image before him. The figure ghosts a smile back at him, and reaches his hand out to the prince. It touches Belphegor's shoulder, and he sighs quietly in return. His airy breath travels up and twirls around like illuminated smoke, dancing quietly through the black surroundings. The grip on his shoulder is cold, ice lacing down his skin and crystallizing the blood running through his veins. He does nothing, and the other leans close to him. The smile on the figure's face creeps to Bel's ear, hissing.
"Io sono ancora qui, fratellino," it whispers. The voice is sharp in contrast to the deafening silence around them, and Bel's grin widens.
"Poi mi aspetterà," he replies, his voice just as sharp. "Otto anni non è poi così male, Rasiel."
Vanishing completely, the monochrome world around them then dissolves, and Bel watches his mirror image fade away. The ice resting on his shoulder is still there and it stings him, biting and cutting. It pains him, but he disregards it, smiling as if it was nothing. The Varia's prince brushes his hair back, looking into the reflective glass in front of him and tilting his head to the side. His pale golden hair falls out of his eyes, sweeping around his face and revealing a blue eye, darkened slightly from lack of sunlight. He hums in the back of his throat at the sight, disproving, and he shakes his head. His fringe covers his eye again and he leans back into the chair, pleased.
He hates looking like Rasiel.