Unholy Trinity
o .
i. Makoto
. o .
Itsuki always said that magic things came in threes. Wishes, fates…
"…Children?" Makoto had murmured nervously, eyes desperate for something.
The dark-haired boy had sighed and muttered something under his breath before walking away. It had stung a little, but Makoto bit his lip and smiled at the fact that his question had not been denied outright.
They were special, he swore, and not just for the letters that were always slapped beside their names. Even the prissy blonde, Helena. Even if they just needed her to complete the Trinity (which was a fancy word he'd picked up from one of Itsuki's books when the older boy was in a charitable mood. Makoto loved it, because it rang of something bittersweet and ancient. Something powerful.)
Power.
He was going to be powerful someday. He would rule the world and show all those bastards who dared dismiss him with a scornful "D" that he, Makoto Isshiki, was not so easily shrugged aside. Itsuki and Helena could help him, if they wanted, but maybe he would make Helena beg first – favored first shining child, pristine stockings and polished shoes scuffed and dirty as she knelt in apology and supplication and he could almost taste her defeat –
He hated Helena with what bookish Itsuki would have called the fires of a thousand passions. Makoto didn't want to waste enough breath to say it all, so he just said he hated her and let his glare, already so poisonous, do the rest. Hated the easy way she could twist his words and his ears with equal viciousness and get away with it every time.
But he had found a place she hadn't to escape when the names she heaped on him managed to dig their way under his pale skin. It was miles beneath the manor, or so it seemed – dark and twisting and utterly peaceful. His, from the crumbling staircases to the fractured Dolem he was nursing back to life.
She hadn't stolen it yet; he knew because if she had, he would never be allowed to go back.
Childish fists clenching tightly in anger, he swore that she never would.
She could steal everything else - she already had – the praise and the spotlight and the bulk of Itsuki's attention. This place, this haven, was his.
His.
He liked the sound of that.
. o .
fin the first.
. o .