Prompt: None (testing how to write Jack Vessalius)
Rating: K+
Warnings: Nah
I was randomly stricken with the muse to write him? This was me trying to establish how he thinks of himself and others mostly.
It's alright if they hate him—that's what he says to himself. In fact, it's almost a funny notion, that he could be someone who could be hated, being that he is hardly someone in the sense that one is a collection of cohesive thoughts and feelings that entwine to create a personality and pattern of behaviors. There is only one thing cohesive about him, after all, and it is not him at all.
( it's her, it's always been her. )
There is irony in the fact that his soul is a broken thing, scattered across the fragments his own Chain tore it into (not quite, for the thing couldn't think then, but by her daughter's order and hand such was done), embedded in shards of memories that he shared with her flesh and blood. He is not sure that his soul was ever whole, not for more than a fraction of a second when she smiled or sang or breathed the same air as him. Those moments should have been the eternal ones, not this fractured stillness; his body is very much alive, but his mind is so literally broken that he thinks perhaps if he had just died he could have sunk deep into the Abyss and his fragments and hers could have at least been a part of the same air.
But it will not let him die—he isn't sure what it is, here, whether it's her daughter (he probably deserves her ire) or some greater force of Fate (he probably deserves its disdain even more) or even her (he'd be overjoyed if she bothered to feel that toward him). He's a ghost in all but the truest sense, a spirit with a body animated by some sort of demon, a person who's always been completely empty.
Still, for as dead as he is, he decided to give that thing a chance at living as a human; maybe it would understand, then, how dreadful it is to be such a being, how weak and hopeless they are—would it understand him, then? He can't say he cares (but his words don't mean anything); he doesn't mind if it hates him for stealing back his body, either. His intentions are pure—warped, perhaps, but they are singular indeed, unlike his actions and words and thoughts and feelings and honestly, he has no way of knowing if the reasons they hate him are parts of him at all.
That's why it doesn't matter—whatever they think of him is alright. No matter what people think or feel or do, his singular consistency will not change: he will return to her, and bring this entire world with him as his welcoming gift.