He never screamed. He wanted to, many times, but he never screamed. He numbed himself to the images, drew within himself, hardened himself within a cage of ice. Slowly, he lost his sense of who he was, of who he had been, of the man named Kyuuzou. In its place, a cold, cold anger crystallized, building off the hate and pain that were an ever constant part of his existence. Slowly, slowly, a part of him died, and the last flicker of memory that was left of he who had been Kyuuzou faded was of a feather earring blowing in the wind, and sad brown eyes.