Cesare yearned for many things.
A common thing which he yearned for was a bed.
His Master had a soft and comfortable bed, with plush pillows as white as snow and blankets as soft as down. Cesare imagined that falling asleep in a bed like that would be as simple and easy as closing your eyes, and his Master furthered the belief by swiftly falling into a deep slumber whenever he laid down in the bed.
Cesare yearned for a bed like that, but instead, his Master had Cesare sleep in the box.
Cesare did not like the box.
The box was shaped similar to a coffin, long and thin with only just enough room for Cesare's gangly limbs, his dark hair brushing the top of the box and his toes brushing the bottom when he lay in it. The wood was old and rough and left his uncovered skin vulnerable to splinters and scrapes. Cesare was given no blanket or pillow - despite the fact that his Master had many, and his back would constantly ache as a result of many nights spent sleeping on the rough bottom of the box. And he wasn't given a comforting view of the moonlight shining through the window at night, or the soft glow of a lamp on the bedside table - no, instead his Master would close the box, leaving him lying in complete darkness with the lid of the box only inches from his face, his warm breath quickly causing the still air to grow hot and stifling throughout the night. Sometimes his Master would leave him in the box for days, weeks, if there wasn't any reason for him to be out. And when Cesare was allowed out of the box, out of the small hut that he and his Master called home, he found himself yearning to be back in the box. For when he was allowed to be outside of the box, outside of the hut, more often than not Cesare would find himself on a stage.
Of course, he didn't like the stage.
When he was on the stage, his Master would place him in a different box, this one standing upright, and slightly taller with space to move around. Cesare would listen to the bustling crowd gather at the stage, shouts and cheers echoing around the small tent as the crowd waited to see the show, the air growing warm and smelling strongly of sweat as the curious crowd grew to fill every free spot in the tent that surrounded the stage. His Master would then come up behind the box and command Cesare to sleep, and despite his unwillingness, Cesare could never find the strength to resist his Master's command. His eyes would slide shut, and the noise and scents surrounding him would slowly fade away.
Cesare yearned to be able to stay awake, to control when he wanted to go to sleep and when he didn't instead of his Master.
When he would awaken again, it would be to the box being open, the crowd watching with bated breath as he slowly opened his eyes and stared out at them. When they saw him open his eyes, stumbling unsteadily out of the box and onto the stage, and when his Master exclaimed of his ability to answer any question asked of him - the crowd then erupting in yells and screams as each audience member fought to get chosen to ask a question - Cesare yearned to be anywhere but there, back in the hut, the box, anything to get away from the wild crowd.
When the audience watched as someone inevitably asked Cesare when they would die, predicable fools, Cesare yearned for the ability to tell them to shut up, to tell them to run far, far away, to save themselves from what was to come.
Instead of doing any of that, he would obediently answer their question, his Master watching with dark and evil eyes from the side of the stage.
"You will die before dawn."
And when the show was over, the audience gone back to their homes, he and his Master returned to the hut, Cesare would not finally return to the darkness and shelter of the box like he had spent the last few hours yearning for.
Instead, his Master would place a sharp knife into his hand, the blade shining in the moonlight as his Master whispered the name of whoever he had told a prophecy to earlier, with the command of 'Kill' echoing around his mind and taking over his every thought.
He yearned to kill.
...no.
He didn't yearn to kill, no, but his Master commanded it of him, and his brain told him that yes, he did yearn to kill, a thought that he fought against but couldn't defeat.
As he crept through the darkened streets in search of his victim, his limbs moving outside of his control, he yearned for the box despite his hatred of it.
He did not yearn to kill, but his Master's commands overrode his desire to just sleep, back in the solitude and safety of his box. His Master's commands filled his mind and took over control, forcing him to seek out the name his Master whispered to him, forcing him to creep in through an open window or an unlocked door, forcing him to loom over his victim as they slept unsuspecting in their bed, raising the knife high and-
He yearned to forget what he had done.
Cesare yearned to be clean, for no matter how hard his Master scrubbed when Cesare returned from carrying out his commands, no matter the fact that the red disappeared with water and soap, he was covered in blood, forever stained with the evidence of his crimes.
Most of all, no matter where he was - whether in a box, on a stage, creeping in an alleyway - Cesare yearned to be free.
Cesare yearned to be free of his Master, to be free to make his own decisions, control his own body, and live his life.
Cesare didn't receive any of the things he yearned for.