A/N: I've been toying with this idea for a while; inspired by the very last few lines of the book. Barbarossa is definitely not my favorite character or anything, buuuuuut I had to give this a try, because I'm quite fond of this idea. The title comes from the My Chemical Romance song "Mama." REVIEW, please, and let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Cornelia Funke owns just about everything.
Mama, We All Go to Hell |1| History
It had been little more than a decade since Ernesto Barbarossa's transformation into a plump little six-year-old at the fault of the Merciful Sister's merry-go-round. And he'd despised Scipio Massimo for the trickery of it every second of his life.
He was, however, grateful for the second chance at youth. He took care of his body better, this time eating healthy foods and keeping an athletic lifestyle at the boarding school Esther Hartlieb had shipped him off to all those years ago. He grew very vain and conceited of his appearance—though, with good reason to. Ernesto had grown into a tall, lean and wiry young man all the girls swooned over. He dyed his red hair pitch black, and he was careful to keep it that way and in a constant state of disarray. He was quite a good looking lad.
It was a shame, however, that his insides did not match his outsides. Ernesto was terribly cruel to all those around him; he bullied his teachers, his few friends, treated girls like dirt on the occasions that he got together with one, and was a frequent visitor to the dean.
"Why do you act this way, Ernesto?" the dean would always ask.
Ernesto's answers would vary—always being snarky and rude—but then he would always ponder the dean's question late in the night. And he didn't have an honest answer. He thought, perhaps, he was just a naturally unkind person, and he was incapable of being anything but.
He had tried on multiple occasions to be "nice," but it never lasted. He was much too uncomfortable pretending to be something he wasn't; he always reverted back to his old self, treating anyone around him like they were nothing more than the dirt under his feet.
He was hated and despised, with little friends and little reason for having them.
"Why do you act this way, Ernesto?"
"Because I hate it here!" Ernesto had snapped back one day. "I hate it here, and I want to leave!"
The dean had looked surprised, and then he had said simply, "Then leave. What, exactly, is stopping you?"
It was that very second that the idea was implanted into Ernesto's mind.
Three nights later, he was gone without a trace.
The school, of course, alerted the Hartliebs of Ernesto's disappearance, but it was safe to say, the teachers and the dean were relieved.
The Thief Lord was gone.