What are you hiding?

The door shut, echoing throughout the silent Study. Clack, that metallic snap of a lock under a key followed suit, slender fingers gripping it tensely. Razoff sighed and closed his tormented eyes as his palm kept on the key…as if afraid to let go. Snorting, he realised his skin had come to mesmerize that shape, that texture, that ancient metal surface after many years of locking this particular door...

Of locking himself away.

Whether such a thing was good or not—would turn the scales in his favour or not—caused his stomach to churn in sad uncertainty. Was this truly what he wanted?

Suddenly an eyebrow rose as he glimpsed the orange blur of his cat, which had sneakily slipped inside before the door had shut. He watched as it trotted to his signature seat with glorious tail held high—an almost identical pride in how it kept its stance as Razoff himself possessed. That air of pride and confidence in his pet…if only he could harness it right now.

The Hunter groaned in loud disbelief when he chanced the cat a glance, and just to be expected, he found that cocky feline had leapt into his signature, red, single sofa before his camera system. It smiled innocently back into his eyes with its large own as it sat upon its decided throne.

Hands rested upon his hips as he snorted in amusement at the 'puppy dog' look he currently received. "No, off."

He pointed imperatively to the crimson rug. However, the cat just stared at his finger, not moving.

Razoff face-palmed when it defiantly curled up into a ball to snooze instead, an affectionate whisper leaving his lips after a pause filled with cat purrs, "…Stubborn thing, you remind me ever so much of him."

With a smile, the Hunter silently crept over to the animal turned from him. Unbeknownst to him, the feline cracked a single eye open at sensing his presence getting closer, closer. You could practically hear the happy smile in its chirp when Razoff gently removed the hat from his head, and tenderly slipped the beloved object over the beloved ball of ginger fluff. A small purr rumbled from beneath the material worn for generations where the cat's head now lay concealed.

The Hunter chuckled fondly. Softly, he tickled the unseen cat's ears through the hat surface, to which a little nose nuzzled into the red material from the other side—loyal beyond measure.

Yet something caused a frown to cross the Hunter's face in that moment. There, there in the very crevices of his mind, he swore he could hear something cry. Something seemed to call to him. No, in truth, it yelled to him, screamed to him. But silence continued to deafen his alert ears that for once he wished were not so keen.

Silence can be more deadly than any noise…especially when one's conscience is left to roam. And it was this conscience that ailed him: in the form of a silently roaring envelope lying still upon his desk. Hesitant, his emotional mask filled with bottled secrets glanced to the open letter, to the delicate, black scrawls of inky blood faded by distance, parchment dangerously untouched by his own fashionable font, all those emotions in that mask restrained as if they, too, were a prey to be contained. As if they, too…were his enemy.

Onyx eyes narrowed at the silver buckles of his boots as he rubbed the tops of his arms, unsure.

Turning his gaze briefly to the desk on the opposite side of the room, he noted that it was piled with papers and that the grey, ostrich feather, quill, lay on its side upon the wooden surface. Its tip was dry, signalling that he had not been touched it in a while.

There the Hunter's Guild insignia reflected crimson light like a blade of truth. 'H' and 'G' imprinted like snakes among the piece of melted gold that had once sealed the parchment shut glinted. That golden seal, that important letter.

Those heartless screams grew in Razoff's mind, grew, grew to shrieks. They made him audibly groan, and he pinched the bridge of his long nose. Eyelids screwed shut in discomfort as those thin fingers slid up over a dampening forehead. Loud, just so loud; those silent screams too loud. Against his will, he forced his gaze to the right from the letter with troubled eyes…only to be awarded with his wordless report beside it.

He frowned as a niggling sensation in the back of his mind irritably shouted at him to write that report to the Hunter's Guild now. Sighing, he ignored it; he could do that after seeing that his two slaves finished the job.

He gripped his head with an almost inhuman cry of frustration. Could burdens truly destroy the heart over time? If hair had resided on his head he would have torn at it until nothing remained. Why, why was this so hard? Why did his conscience haunt him like a feral beast?

He decided he could not stand it anymore, and bleakly switching his gaze to the cat on the furthest end of the room he noted how those ambers stared at him closely from beneath his hat's rim. He smiled sadly at the diligence those eyes held…the concern. But even as he attempted to distract himself—and he knew with a curse under his breath that he was—all the while the dry image of an ostrich feather quill threatened to pierce his very vision out.

Like many times prior, he sighed and ignored the signs. He could write later correct? It was not of great importance, right?

Indeed, yes, I have plenty of time left. I have…time left…

Something suddenly brushed his shin. Razoff started with a reflexive gasp. Anxious eyes shot downward in alarm, only to make him exhale with heart racing. Of course it was only his loyal cat sat at his feet once more with an all-too-familiar hat resting upon its head.

"Meow! Meow!" 'Here you go,' it seemed to chirp.

"Pray tell, what am I going to do with you?" Razoff chuckled, stiffly bending down to retrieve his hat. Age or nerves, to be honest he could not help but feel unsure what stiffened him.

Grabbing the hat revealed pricked ears. Alarmed, Razoff felt his heavy heart drop…it knew. The cat knew of his nerves, sensed them, could probably see them floating around him even. For some unknown reason it struck a need to speak to his thoughts.

"Help me, old friend. There must be something to change his fate?" The Hunter sorrowfully muttered.

In response the cat cocked its head, staring back at him with curious eyes. The whisper had left his lips dried by the heat of secrets…as if the words were a gust across the very desert of his nerves. Could the cat truly understand his pain, or was this merely a lost cause? Those words too quiet for any ordinary person to hear sounded as if spoken to a long-time friend.

Razoff's eyebrows furrowed when one of the cat's ears swiftly twitched in answer, almost as if in understanding.

Clearing his throat, Razoff quickly stood with hat in hand and uneasily mumbled, "If only I could thrust away my worries as easily as my hat upon your head, boy."

The cat slowly tilted its head the other way, saddened. "…Meow."

He gingerly placed the hat back in its destined spot upon his head where it belonged. Though despite the object being back and fingers leaving the worn rim, he still felt extremely uneasy. His own nervousness suddenly became noticeable to even himself and he cursed under his breath.

All of sudden Razoff started to feverishly pace around his Study. Thud, thud, thud, each step resounded loud and sharp, like every hurtful beat of his heart. Eyes absentmindedly softened in approval at how his cat decided to stay a metre away rather than follow his harsh footsteps. Good choice.

Might as well, everything I come into contact with I taint somehow.

Razoff snorted almost hatefully; thoughts were such a cruel phenomenon. They never ceased, not even during his already restless dreams that remained haunted by things he did not wish to re-see. Why else do beastly dreams and nightmares feast upon these thoughts? They were cruel, the beast was cruel, that was the answer. He scowled with tense fingers pressed to his forehead…for he knew. That beast remained none other than his inner self gradually gnawing away at him from the inside out. Wise eyes reflecting distaste narrowed. When thoughts crawl to slithers, when conscious thought becomes the subconscious, it curses you. They become so sluggish, so small that they slither into cracks in your skull's cave to hide—and strike venomously when you least expect it. Things you frantically thrust into the very dungeons of your mind are never truly forgotten nor leave…

But Razoff desired nothing more than to erase blemishes of the past. He shakily sighed into the silence at knowing all too well the misery the past imprisoned.

Or, in reality…is the past imprisoning me?

Minutes then passed by in slow torment for the Hunter. The cat had decided to retake his seat and watch as the man paced back and forth, a threat to leave a path in the floorboards evident. In fact, the carpet already held signs of being flattened to the floor in certain places. How many times had the Hunter retraced that path? How many times had he paced this very route, the route of his past?

Only the cat could tell, and it could not even if it wanted to.

"*Cough* Ack! Blasted cough—*cough* I hate that Hunter."

Said Hunter froze. A cunning smirk suddenly upturned his lips. Rayman still hated him with an unrivalled vengeance; at least something was right with the world. Indeed, Rayman despised him, rebuked, resisted and revolted against him. The boy challenged him in a way he had never encountered.

Razoff's smirk grew ever more confident as he regally strode to that fatal key in its lock.

"Ah, the slave's finished I see," He sniggered before continuing. "Time for some…entertainment."