Night. The stars were like a fine powdered sugar over the all-encompassing midnight sky, a glittering veil spread above the sultry town of Little Twister, asleep and silent as the darkness itself. Every few houses, a light shone from a small window, the silhouettes of people moving around behind the glass. Every tavern was open and inviting, filled to the brim with characters of a less than savoury nature. Cheer, merriment and mirth echoed out of the pub's thin doors, the smell of lovely strong brewed liquor as familiar as the scenery itself. It was a night of many years ago, a long faded memory of the past.
Directly opposite the tavern, an abandoned old shack, bordered up at every window and door, creaked in the soft wind, empty and hardly showing the hint, that in fact, it was as occupied as any other dwelling in the town. Right now, almost all of it's inhabitants graced the presence of the all-hours pub, except for one, who reclined on the wooden rooftop, gazing with wide green eyes at the distant stars. He was young, about fifteen at the most, but he carried with him an air of wisdom and intelligence beyond his years, arms resting behind his head, cushioning him cosily. The night was far too warm to be uncomfortable, and he flicked ash from his cigarette out into the air, the breeze blowing it away.
"Hey, Swanky!"
He stiffened a little at the recognition of his nickname, but did not get up, well aware of who had addressed him. So, he was back early. A slight form pushed himself out of the hole in the roof and chimney, dusting away dirt from his already grubby shirt and pants. The little boy sneezed at the dust, wiping his nose with the back of a sooty hand. Little feet pattered on the rooftop, and a thump sounded, the boy taking a seat next to the sprawled teen. Ravendor looked at the boy, he was still mucky, so he must have just come back from either the pub or a job. "Good evening." He greeted, changing his mind on what the boy had been previously doing. He had a blunted pencil behind one ear and a sort of nebulous fatigue only inherent on one having just finished an intense study period. "How goes the study? Good?" He asked lazily, breathing in the cigarette smoke, tranquil.
The boy nodded eagerly, removing a soot smudge from his cheek and coughing a bit on Ravendor's smoke. He laid down in a parallel position to the teen, mimicking him exactly. "I'm done for the week," He murmured in a quiet tone, his voice tinged with a parochial southern accent, "It's about time, too. The Professor sent me some work on math, english and archy-archie… archymonology. It's really hard stuff, but I think it's interesting."
"'Archaeology'," Ravendor corrected, "Not 'archymonology', use proper pronunciation, please." The boy put a finger on his chin, sounding out the word silently with his lips. Ravendor's pronunciation did seem more correct than his own. He nodded and smiled. At a nearby house, glass broke and a man fell out the window, blood pouring from a wound to the face. Neither of the boys paid any attention to this, as such occurrences were common in Little Twister. "Where are the others?" He inquired, the house was still quiet, meaning that no-one else had come back yet.
"Ah, they're around here somewhere," Answered the boy, "What about you, did you do the stuff I told you to do, Swanky?" Despite his lack of a few extra years, the small boy outranked Ravendor by status, according to the rules governed by gang life, and the teen willingly followed his orders. Such things was common in the town, whoever had the ability to lead, did, no matter what the age or gender. This small child was the leader, and a mighty proficient one at that. He was only twelve, but his intense accuracy skills and an unnatural strategic talent made him a head honcho in the Little Twister gang rings. Who in their right minds would ever expect a child to be so deadly?
"Of course, sir. I am merely relaxing after the completion of my task. I took some notes and gleaned some more supplies, it went smoother than I had dared to hope." He smiled with satisfaction. "There was more dirt on the subject than I had anticipated, perhaps we shall be able to boost our treasury with the information." He fancied up the meaning of his 'treasury'. In the blunt truth, he was talking about a few bags of gella hidden under his bed, secure in a wooden box. He pulled out several folded pieces of paper, a listing of all the information they needed dotted down the page. He passed it to the boy confidently, brushing aside his long dark fringe.
He chuckled cutely at being called 'sir', nodding through the sentences he read on the notes, glad that he was one of the lucky few in this town that could actually read or write. "I know I was the one who was 'sposed to get it done, but I couldn't, 'cause they got my fingerprints on record. I'm just glad you were finally able to do it. Kaitlyn's been fretting over you again and Cathy said something about having to pay your bail instead of mine. 'Course, I knew they couldn't catch you, Swanky." The boy looked up at the crisp cloudless sky, following Ravendor's eyes. Little Twister was not an overly mechanical town, so the sky was not swamped with steam and exhaust, leaving the dark heavens at her utmost glory. This was an excellent vantage point to stargaze, the dark-haired teen certainly knew the best spot to pass the time, that's for sure. "Pretty…" He murmured, smiling. Music came from somewhere, probably the tavern across the street, a guitar solo just distant enough to catch the general melody, but too far away to hear the actual notes being played. It was music for free, a gentle amenity.
"I was just wondering," Ravendor admitted, turning his head to see the young boy's clear blue eyes, "Why do the stars provide such comfort when they are so far away? Are they an ideal, or something more?" He put the end of his cigarette to his lips, taking a drag to help his ponderings along. It was not really healthy for a boy of his age to smoke, but Ravendor didn't really care about that. He had already resigned himself to a short life anyway, as long as he stayed in this seedy little town.
"Whoa," Breathed the boy, "That's deep." His gaze automatically strayed to a little starry cluster barely seen over the horizon. Every time he looked up there, he unintentionally found himself staring at that spot. It made him happy to see it, though he had no idea why. "I always thought it was different for every other person, but, well, I thought…." He scratched his head, mop of unkempt hair falling across his eyes. He seemed reluctant to answer.
"Do tell. I am listening." Ravendor reassured him, as close as a friend could get. He removed his peacemaker from his holster and spun it around on his finger, a subtle amusement until the boy could offer a reply. He had gone through hell to acquire his weapon, and ironically, it was the only thing in the world he had left from his short life as a Begucci, a weapon and despised memories. But that was not the focus of his thoughts, he was genuinely interested in what his friend had to say.
"I always thought," He said, blushing as he did so, "That maybe it's a shining place where all the good people go when they die. Y'know, like a heaven that all the preachers are talkin' about? I just like to think… that there's a chance Mother and Father might be up there, looking over me. Maybe they still love me, maybe they might even know my name." The boy yawned sleepily, it was past his designated bedtime and he had already burnt a little too much midnight oil than was appropriate. Thinking back on his parents made him feel awkward, perhaps the reason was because he did not even know what they looked like. He could only make a guess based on his own scruffy appearance and what a drunken drifter had told him about his mother. He had been told that she was a blonde, and, he added to himself with a sombre sigh, very cheap.
Ravendor lowered his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you telling me you believe your parents can be permitted into Heaven? After what they did to you?" He shook his head, his own beginning years had been difficult, but his young friend's childhood was nothing short of a nightmare. "You can be far too kind sometimes, Clive." With his thumb, he stopped the spinning of his gun and slipped it back into the holster strapped across his chest, looking at his companion with incredulity.
The older boy saw depression visibly make a temporary impact on his younger leader. "Heh, me? Kind? I don't think so, but I like to try my best, I guess." He looked almost jealously at Ravendor's weapon, a fine and expensive ARM. He would give anything for an ARM of his own, they were so damn cool. "You're right, though. I should hate 'em, but I don't. I just can't, for some reason." Tactfully, Clive changed the subject. "Is Kaitlyn downstairs?"
The emotional depth in Ravendor's eyes almost tripled at the mention of that name. "I have already tucked her in. She is experiencing a rather good turn lately, I hope it lasts the season." Downstairs in the house, a small blonde child rested upon a soft mattress, long wavy hair strewn over her dirty white pillow. She was bed-ridden and terminally ill, how long she had left, Ravendor had no clue, but what he did know was that her time on Filgaia was short. "Kaitlyn, I shall miss her when… the inevitable occurs." He sat up and snuffed out his cigarette, as if the mention of her name made him stop wanting such luxuries, sadness milling around his presence.
His leader slapped him on the back comfortingly, grimacing a bit as the soot on his palm left a dark handprint on his perfectly white jacket. Ravendor could not see this, so he kept his mouth shut over the subject. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry, Swanky, I really am. I know you like her…" He forced a sympathetic grin, "I thought you two would go great together, err, at least that's what Cathy and I think." The boy's gaze fell to the wooden tiling he was sitting under, bluish and rotting a little bit from the precipitation they had experienced a few weeks ago. A trace of moss grew on the wood, he ran his finger over the growth, it was very soft. "Fuck," He cursed, thinking of the girl, "I don't want her to die."
"Language," Cautioned the teen, shaking a finger, "It gives you no right to resort to obscenity. Have Catherine and Berlitz taught you nothing?" Clive shot him a glare of annoyance, his youthful and exceedingly innocent face taking on all the temporary characteristics of his antithesis. Ravendor had overstepped his bounds on this one. He edged away from the boy in a sign of submission, holding up both hands. "Apologies, I know not for which I speak, but thank you for the concern."
"I wanna learn," Clive admitted in his timid voice, "I'll never get outta this hellhole town if I stay like this. I never really understood why you decided to leave home and come to this here place, if I had met you along the way, I would'a told you to keep away from this dump. Nothing good ever visits this place, and I don't think it ever will. 'Sides from Catherine and the Professor, of course."
"Honestly," Said Ravendor, closing his eyes momentarily and disliking the ancient memory he was about to summon up, "I like this town. It is very… informal and warm, when the townspeople are not trying to hunt you down, that is. It is hard to believe, and I do not criticize you for being sceptical over my opinion, but this place is much kinder than the home I escaped from. I like it here."
Clive shook his head, incredulous. A place worse than Little Twister did not exist in his universe. However, he was considerate enough not to contradict his friend. "But anyways, I wanna be like you, Swanky, so's I can see the world, and, and…" He always had many great plans for the future, but none of them involved him staying in his seedy little hometown. If he only had the money and security to pack up and take the next train east, he would have done so years ago.
"Be a proper gentleman?" Ravendor guessed. "It takes more than just speech and etiquette, my friend, but I have promised to teach you, and that is exactly what I shall do." Unexpectedly, he seized Clive in a headlock and roughed up the boy's hair, his smaller hands struggling with the teen's stronger ones. "I shall make a gentleman out of you yet!" He declared mirthfully, increasing his grip. "Now, how does one escape from this predicament with grace?" He asked the wriggling child caught in his trap.
"Aack! Lemme go! Owwww, you'll break my fuckin' neck, you bastard!" He cried, grabbing one of Ravendor's arms and trying to pry it away from his throat. Three fingers were pressed against his windpipe and Clive choked, gritting his teeth. He wasn't wearing any shoes, but despite that, he tried to kick Ravendor in the shins for a chance at freedom, but he was both too weak and too trapped to expect success.
"Ah, ah, ah." The dark-haired boy cautioned, smiling serenely like he was teaching a Sunday school class. "I have only just warned you about your language, never ever say such uncouth words again, it is unseemly. Also, ask nicely and do not abbreviate your wording, perhaps then I shall let you go."
Clive went absolutely limp. "Let me go," He growled through clenched teeth, "Or you will break my neck, and if so, I will break yours."
"Hmm… I deem it close enough." Ravendor said, unwinding his arms from Clive's neck. He rubbed the sore flesh gingerly and looked like he wanted to say something in direct violation to the rules Ravendor had just set up, a small hand on the pencil behind his ear. Back in the place where Ravendor used to live, he would have instantly branded Clive a penniless nerd and left things at that, because he looked exactly the part, until one read through his criminal record and heard all about the reputation he had earned. "Keep things up, and you may even be able to pass as a chevalier someday. But remember," He added, "That you must fulfil your part of the bargain as well."
"Don't worry," The gang leader reassured him, "I'll teach you how to make do in this miserable place, it's easy once you learn all the tricks. And, of course, the best methods of strategy, real good mental ones that'll make your enemies wanna shoot themselves before even you get a chance to. Trust me, I got a million of 'em." He cracked his knuckles, listening to the soft snapping sound that they made. "Now, c'mon. It's time I checked on Kaitlyn, I was putting it off until I found you."
Ravendor pulled himself up to his feet, sliding a little from the slick moss growing on their roof. "The way you run things around here, Clive, I am surprised that the others do not call you 'Patriarch', instead of 'Boss' or 'Sir'." Technically, their gang, the 'Black Shuck Gang' was a gathering of children who had nowhere else to go, but more than half the time Ravendor felt like he was living in an under funded orphanage than anything else.
The little leader was halfway in the hole of the roof when Ravendor said this. He paused halfway in and looked very confused. "What's a pa-tri-arch?" He asked, sounding out the word slowly in case he got it wrong. The older boy sighed and rolled his eyes, moving over to the hole and pushing Clive in with a hand.
"It means," Ravendor elaborated with a lopsided smirk, "That someday, you will make an excellent father." Clive made a disgusted face at that thought, for childishness still ruled his mind. Ravendor read his look better than any string of verbalized sentences ever could have. "Come off it," The youth scolded fondly, "The gods know that it will eventually happen to every decent man, I am hoping it will, at least, for me."
"You are weird." The child explained, imitating Ravendor's formal accent perfectly to annoy him. "I got enough problems without having to bring stuff like that into my life. None of that for me, thanks. When I become a drifter, I'm not gonna need all that baggage to haul around."
"I personally find the idea of a family quite a nice one." Said Ravendor, "You know I never really had a very good one for myself, but I wish to see what a happy family is all about." Fine, Clive could call him a weirdo, but the boy did not want to live the rest of his life by himself, even if he did have good friends to back him up.
His blue eyes blinked at him from the confines of his hole. "Well, if that ever happens, I wanna be an uncle!" He laughed, thinking the idea a ludicrous one.
Ravendor crouched down for a better look at his younger friend, flicking his long ponytail over his shoulder. "Only if the proposal is mutual." He smiled, seeing Clive nod and disappear into the darkness of the house. The green-haired boy was very bright and intelligent for a Little Twister native, but he did have a rather short attention-span when it came to thinking about the distant future. Well, who cared? It would be years until that time. Who was he to plan so far ahead? Ravendor had troubles now that needed to be worried about. His mood fell through the floor.
His trouble was in the room below the soles of his boots, resting serenely.
xxx
Clive and Ravendor dropped down into the darkened room with absolute silence, only a slight creaking from the rats and cockroaches in the walls causing any sound at all. Ravendor reached up and blocked their entrance with a plank of mouldy wood leaning against the roof, because they had to make this abandoned house appear empty, or they themselves would wind up homeless. Clive moved to the bordered-up window, bereft of any glass, and expertly removed a few loose nails, pushing aside some wood and letting bright moonlight illuminate the barely furnished room.
"Kaitlyn, are you awake?" The dark-haired teen whispered, walking up to an old bed with a broken frame, ratty and insubstantial blankets covering a small and fragile figure, a diminutive wasted girl with the lightest wispy blonde hair, her eyes were half-closed like she was attempting to sleep, but failing.
She turned and smiled weakly at Ravendor, wavy hair falling across her face. Her voice was tiny and a little laboured, reminiscent of a dying breeze. "Hello, Swanky. I thought you were… working tonight." Kaitlyn breathed, using a lot of energy to sit up straight, despite the dizziness it caused. She held her temple briefly, then brushed back her long hair, drawing her blankets around her.
Ravendor got to his knees near her bed, folding his arms on the mattress and looking at the girl with affection. She was the same age as himself, but because of her debilitating illness, Kaitlyn appeared much younger than she actually was. Still, despite that, nothing made Ravendor feel better than to be close to her, it tore him into a thousand pieces to know that all of them put together could not hope to muster enough gella to pay for a cure, or at least a doctor. They were poor, paupers, and because of that, Kaitlyn would eventually die.
"I finished early and decided to see you, Seraph." Everybody in their little gang had a nickname, Ravendor had fondly dubbed her 'Seraph', for the reason that her angelic appearance likened Kaitlyn to one of the heavenly messengers that appeared in so many books, and because of what the future had in store for her. She already had accepted her fate, and also the name, with a defeated smile.
Clive coughed, making a grossed-out face. He was still in the stage of his childhood where he believed all girls to be infected with cooties. "Well, I'm gonna go and see if I can find Cathy and the guys, or take a walk, y'know, I'll leave you'se alone." Kaitlyn and Ravendor both gave Clive a uniform salute as he exited through the window and onto the streets. He left the window open absent-mindedly, immediately ignoring the children still left in the house. A chain around his neck caught on one of the jutting pieces of wood and choked him momentarily, causing a string of un-childlike wording to emanate from the outside. He eventually freed himself and waltzed onto the bare streets, whistling a casual tune.
"A child… should not have to live the way he does…" Kaitlyn sighed, taking Ravendor's hand. "Nobody should…" Clive secured their income, he was the only one of their gang who had a steady job, an apprentice to a migratory professor who turned up every summer to work. That meant that Clive's 'business' became legitimate for a quarter of the year, at other times, he made ends meet in a much more sinister way. His switchblade hardly went without use for very long, and it grieved Kaitlyn deeply inside. Sure, he had to feed and house an entire gang all year round, but providing stuff like that was a job for an adult, not a little boy barely into his double digit years. Clive worked himself far too hard.
"It does not stop him, though." Ravendor observed, looking at the open window. "I think that a force drives him to try his hardest, whether it hurts him or not. Sometimes I believe that he is trying to punish himself for a deed that he himself cannot even remember." He placed a hand at her back, glancing at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I think… that he feels guilty for even being born in the first place."
Kaitlyn bit her lip, the thought making her feel uncomfortable inside. "I know his story… but he should not think of things that way. Our little leader… he always blames himself for everything, it is beyond sad… I wish I could help him…"
"Tomorrow, if you feel well enough, would you like to go for a walk with me?" The teen asked, changing the subject, "I will be careful to make sure you do not overexert yourself, what say you?" Through the pale spears of moonlight, Ravendor clearly saw the visible specks of dust float around in the natural light, swirling around Kaitlyn and his vision. The dust itself seemed to be illuminated by the moon, to Ravendor's eyes, it did make Kaitlyn appear like an angel, a fragile angel of dust, celestial beauty withering onto the barren world, an innocent siren that the world had not wanted, or cared for. Nobody cared for them, nobody.
And why should they? All the children in this seedy vessel of sin called a frontier town were accidents, orphans, and the homeless. By themselves, they were lower than the rats that swarmed in the summer for the sustenance to live on. Who cared for a sick child in this cold unfeeling world? He looked upon her soft pale hand, translucent in the light, the flimsy material of a home-made nightgown hardly covering her cold body. Filgaia was burning under the merciless sun almost all of the time, but loneliness continued to freeze their hearts and souls, a pain that never ended, a scar that could never heal.
She pulled at a thread of her old blanket, pale azure eyes in a constant state of sorrow, even though her mouth was smiling. "I would like that, Swanky." She replied, sitting up was making her tired, and Ravendor helped her lie down, covering her over with the hardly adequate blanket. Kaitlyn looked up at him with her weary eyes and spoke again, whisper barely audible. "I need to tell you something. I don't think… I have much time left…"
He immediately grew flustered, a tiny tinge of red spreading across his cheeks, going into a subject that hurt too much for him. "We have discussed this, do not talk about-" His lips fell silent as Kaitlyn pressed one thin finger against them, making the teen go quiet. Like the weight was too much for her, Kaitlyn's finger drew down his chin and her arm lost all it's strength, flopping back over her stomach. She closed her eyes sadly, the dim light of the room hurt them terribly.
"There are a lot of children in this city… that deserve more than this… like our little leader, like Janus, he just turned six… I think… and Ian. I hate to know… innocent lives are being smeared black with sin… most will grow up to be villains and heartless murderers. That is what this town… what Little Twister does to the children, it robs them of purity… a gift that should not be taken away. I look and Clive and I see… well, he is growing up far too fast. Swanky, when I die… please take care of everyone for me," She glanced at the window, the bright full moon was in the sky, so beautiful. "Especially Clive. He has… more potential than what he… believes."
Grief built up inside Ravendor, he leant over the bed and hugged the part of Kaitlyn that was not under the blankets, he was dark and she was light, together, both of them were completed. Though only young, Ravendor knew this could be none other than love. He loved her, more than anything else in his tainted world. That was why it hurt so much to know, to know the truth. "I promise I will," He swore softly, tightening the hug, "But, I will not let you die." He hated to realize it, but a small trickle of clear liquid ran down his cheek, a long held-back tear. Ravendor was crying. "Please, never leave here. Do not go away, not ever."
She returned the hug, but her grip was much weaker than his. "I will try my best to live." Kaitlyn promised, pressing her face against his chest and closing her tired eyes. Her breathing was permanently laboured and uneven, but it reassured Ravendor that she was still alive to take breath. This brought him a lot of comfort.
He merely repeated himself, for that was the only prayer running through his young mind, as if repetition would make it true. The tear reached the very edge of his chin, breaking away and falling on Kaitlyn's flimsy nightgown, dampening the fabric. "I will not let you die."
Yet he did, and she had, a slow lingering death, while fate forced him to watch every moment of it. He could still remember the exact moment, imprinted on him for all eternity, when Kaitlyn died.
xxx
And a little over a year later, as the turn of the seasons breathed life into the earth and stole it away again, so too did an angel return to the heavens, leaving a lost love behind. Spring, the air was fragrant with the smell of budding blossoms, if felt like the world itself was pleasantly perfumed, the mild, yet moving scent of flowers containing every perceivable hue covering the barrows at Sad Hill, the archetype of mourning. Ravendor visited every day, at the rise of the sun, abhorring the burning globe of fire for beginning a day without Kaitlyn's blessing, without her, the world was damned to fester and die.
The tombstone was just a simple rock with words carved into the front, it had taken Clive ages to get it just right, it had to be perfect, nothing less would do. The boy had chiseled until his hands bled, hours and hours of work going into such a simple structure. Ravendor shook his head slowly, habitually drying tears that had already evaporated off his skin. His hands bore a bunch of purplish flowers, irises and the violet roses Kaitlyn had loved so much when she still had the strength to pick them. Dirt was clumped to the roots, pulled directly from the ground. She deserved fields and fields of flowers, not a dirty rock on a lost hill, somewhere in the wilderness. He read over the tombstone, a final epitaph that Ravendor had selected, a summarization of both their hearts perfectly, one lost to death, and the other cracked and shattered, ground into the barren earth until no desire to rise was felt. Empty, a vacant vessel.
Since they can come and go again,
As often one brief hour witnesses, -
The sun finished it's birthing and became whole in the sky, telling him quietly that it was time for him to leave here, and discard all memories of her for the future. Well, the sun could have cracked in two and he would not have noticed, so deep was his suffering. His love, his Kaitlyn, was gone.
He turned sharply on his heel, barricading his true emotions behind an impenetrable wall of neutral indifference. He could be sad here, he could be a broken soul, but Ravendor's torment must only be an inner wound. Today, his gang needed him again, to be detached, cold, and ruthless.
That sunny spring morning, Ravendor's heart began to die, stolen by an angel of dust.
And nobody missed it.
Nobody cared.
xxx
The sound of a baying wolf far off in the distance snapped Ravendor back to his true place in Filgaia, lying on his old grey blanket in the middle of the night, the fire just a pile of lonesome ashes. Snoring came from the campsite, Romero and Dario sleeping soundly with their hostage nearby, her hands tied again so she could not escape, even in sleep. Antonio somehow slept sitting up, head drooping into his small chest with dark curls going everywhere. So much for a dependable night watchman. Kestorael was cuddled up next to Kaitlyn's side, head tucked under a dark black wing and huddled near her stomach. Ravens usually sleep peacefully in the treetops, but because of the lack of such luxuries, he had settled for the next best thing. Ravendor rolled over to his side, childishly drawing himself into a slight fetal position and releasing a shuddering expulsion of breath. Seventeen years later, and it still hurt, as much as the day her wistful azure eyes had gone dull.
As anticipated, the burning behind his eyes could barely be forced away, manifesting differently as a tight lump in his throat. He swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand, supremely glad that he was the only one awake. That girl, that angel, just thinking about her weary face stabbed him like a dagger in his heart. It had been a long time since he had remembered such things, what had caused it? The other Kaitlyn, Clive's child, that could only be it. She looked like Catherine, but bore the golden hair and name of Kaitlyn, she was the symbol of both his lost loves.
Damn you, Winslett, Ravendor thought in a whisper, hands clasped near his face, feeling lost in a sea of emotion, Why must you remind me? You have happiness and I do not, why do you continue to rub it in my face? His thoughts became darker, You… you stole it away from me, you took it away, all of it… away. You cursed me for your own personal satisfaction, and made me no less than a monster… Do you realise… what you have done to me…?
A monster. Not bothering to sit up, he rolled over to the side facing the campfire, using the weak light to look at the stigma that would forever mark his body. His accursed tattoo. If it were not for this, maybe Ravendor could have managed to live a peaceful, yet severely wounded life, but fate had always hated him since the moment he was born. The dark-haired man could get no rest. The tattoo was just one simple sentence branded with a deep dark ink into the front of his forearm, nothing more, but that only made it all the worse. Going over the sentence in his mind for the millionth time, Ravendor hated Clive with a vengeance that a sane man could never feel.
SERIAL EXPERIMENT : Hyades / PROTOTYPE : #001 / STATUS : Alteration and Corvus Corax Deoxyribonucleic Acid Mutation : Successful
"I despise that dream." He muttered out loud, for the most transient of moments, moonlight illuminating the specks of dust hovering around his face. He pulled the top part of his blanket over his head and tried to go back to sleep, by tomorrow morning, the feeling would be gone and he could lead again, but until then, all he was made him a broken lover.
In the wastelands of Filgaia, Ravendor was always destined to be alone.