Cold Fire
Word Count: 495
Prompts: Blood – Mansion over the Hilltop
Summary: The winter months always brought back memories that Vincent would rather forget.
Vincent didn't like the cold.
The bitter snow and the harsh wind brought back too many unwanted memories. Recollections of lying on the stone pavement, nearly burning to the touch from the iciness that had seeped into and below its core, where it felt like his skin would peel off if he were to move his hand if it had accidentally fallen to the street. Times where he and Gil would have to huddle together under the single torn and tattered blanket that they had robbed from a clothesline, which had become threadbare from use.
When he and his brother had been on the move through streets, their gaze would fall into the valleys or over hills that lay beyond the walls of the city, places were they knew houses or mansions were tucked into, content in their warmth and happiness.
After his adoption by Nightray, he was never one to play in the snow with his adopted brothers and sister. He didn't like the feel of tromping through it or how the wet snow felt on his fingers. It reminded him too much of times where his feet would become raw and bloody from walking through the smoldering snow and frozen boulevards.
Instead, he liked walking the cleared pathways with his feet shod in high, thick boots. He liked wearing his coat and gloves. If it could be managed, he wouldn't touch the snow at all, be it that his skin was bare or clothed.
In the winter months in the Nightray manor, he normally stayed inside by the fire with tea and a book as his adopted siblings played out in the snow. He would only go out if it was completely necessary or if he just wanted to live the 'feelings' of conquering something that was once conqueror.
When Gil had finally been adopted by the Nightray family, Vincent had watched in strange fascination as Gil would play in the snow with little Elliot, not remembering at all the horror that accompanied winter on those desolate streets. Vincent felt envious of the fact, as he had watched from the cleared path, denying all of Gilbert's invitations to join them in the cold, ruffled blankets of snow.
Gilbert didn't remember any of it, but it didn't matter, did it? It was something that Vincent wished to forget, but his mind held to the memories as if they were vital life-strings that connected him to a place that he didn't want to remember, but felt that he had to.
There were times when he would just open the window in the dead of the night, just so he could breathe in the crisp, stinging air. The stars would always look so sharp and bright in the winter months, against the black backdrop and their companion, the silver moon.
The fresh layer of snow glittered in the moonlight, so pure and untainted.
How dare it look so innocent when it could cause so much pain.