Ludwig never liked chaos. He hated when things went out of order. He preferred rules, routines, regularity. He was fine with the occasional shock, but this was simply ridiculous.
The lad that stood before him could no way be Veneciano. Nein. But both had the same rusty brown hair with that one curl sticking up at the side that simply irked him so. Both wore the same style of military clothes, albeit a different color scheme. Both were exactly of the same height, figure, stature, and, if Ludwig had to guess, weight as well. They were virtually congruent to each other.
Except the eyes. Though exactly the same, this one's hazel orbs burned with a red intensity that reminded Ludwig of his brother's. It scared him. Bedlam was one of the things that shone through the red flames grazing against his irises, yet the solid black of the pupils against its backdrop provided a firm counterattack against it; the light shining from within the darkness.
Maybe the metaphor was too inaccurate. Neither light nor its absence were in any way comparable to the orbs that were Veneciano's eyes.
Ludwig gulped and staggered back a step. He hated when his fear shone through his actions, rendering his reputation useless and laughable. What happened to him? What happened to his Veneciano? What happened to the ever-cheerful boy who never followed his orders, who could almost never be deterred?
Such questions danced about in his mind in an elegant dance, reminding him so of the characters who regularly attended the world meeting. What's this, his own mind against him, his own mind defying the rules it had created for itself? Something was very, very wrong.
And the definition of the word stood right in front of his eyes, in the flesh.