The stars had lied to him.
Nathaniel spoke to them every single day, of every single hour, of every single minute he could spare, and yet his ancestors still watched him coldly, with their deep, unblinking eyes.
They refused to even speak to him.
"Father!" Nathaniel gasped.
"Guide me again, lead me back to him! Please father, I beg it of you!"
His father never answered, but stared, a frown set upon his sharp, handsome face, red eyes gleaming with an aura of disappointment that made Nathaniel curl up in shame.
Once again, the man felt like a child, looked down upon and bent to the floor, for the forgiveness of a man that could not be capable of such a thing.
"I'm sorry, Father!" Moder drew his eyes away from the scene in front of him, and towards the ground, where the child knelt. "I'm so sorry! I was trying so hard to be good, I swear!" The dark-haired boy sobbed, covering his face in his hands. He felt alienated from the older man, shaking in sorrow and fear. His youngest brother was still in his crib, crying loudly. "Oh Father, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt him!" The boy, his eyes the same deep Scarlett as his father's, were filled to the brim with tears. Moder stared at him, mouth agape. He leaned over the cradle, and watched the baby for a moment. "What did you do?!" He screamed at the boy.
"What did you do to him!"
"Please father, I beg you, hate me for the rest of our pitiful lives, disown me from this family for all of eternity, but please, don't let your grandson, my son, suffer because of your hate for me."
Moder shook his head sadly.
"Everything that has happened to your offspring, is your own doing."
Nathaniel sunk to the floor, hugging it tightly.
His father left him there, without so much as a goodbye. Nathaniel's sobs followed him through his son's house as he left.
They had brought him to a hospital. Of all the places in the world, they brought him to the one that tortured him the most.
The air felt heavy, and leaded with some kind of iron weight, like an anchor as it slowly sinks to the bottom of the sea. Remy blinked many times, trying to keep the weight away from him, away from his spot on the bed.
The doctors had held him down, and injected him with something. He didn't know what it was, nor did he care. All he wanted was a way out.
John and Piotr were since forced from his side. Remy's heart still ached, even after they had pried John's hand from his.
"M' sorry," He slurred.
"M' sorry, Johnny." The weight pulled him back further.
"M' sorry, Petey." It pulled him under, into the depths of the darkness.