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He wondered if she knew that she was dying. She would laugh and tell you that the stars became her when she stared at them.
He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His heterochromia eyes darkened as his family’s words replayed through his mind once more.
“I heard you talked back to your sister. You are so useless.”
“Make sure he gets no food today. Don’t even think about leaving your room.”
“Do as you wish. Your being is of no concern to me.”
“The tutor said you couldn’t answer the question properly. Must you bring shame to our family?”
“You should be able to do this much.”
“To embarrass me in front of all those people, are you trying to sabotage me?”
“If you can’t benefit me, don’t even leave your room.”
“You’re disgusting!”
“Don’t come near me!”
He too wanted to be loved. But that was naive. They never once looked at him kindly. He shouldn’t have ever hoped. He was never a part of the family.
He flinches as he pulls his hands up. The tips of his fingers were purple, gnarled, scarred, and calloused. More fitting for a well-aged farmer than a young boy. The bandages covering his forearms started to come loose as a mixture of purple and blue leaked through.
“Ha,” he sobbed, “augh, ahh.”
He shuts his eyes and quickly brings his hands to cover his mouth. He must not cry. No, he must never cry.
No one comes by his room as the day passes on, nor does he care to leave his room today. For a young master’s room, it's quite plain. It has only the bare necessities for a guest to lodge at. He redressed his forearms and put salves on his calves.
The moonlight gently rested upon his frame as he looked out upon it. It illuminated him as he walked towards the window, placing a hand on the glass.
She would place a hand on the same window, holding eye contact with the moon. A warm, gentle smile graced her face every time she did. Her emerald eyes shined as if they were actual jewels. Her sun-kissed hair fought against the moonlight to light up the night. Her slim, snowy complexion with purple dyes only made her beauty even more enchanting. She would tell him that they all matched. Her, the moon, and him. The hollows on their skin were the same as the ones on the moon.
He turns and plops down upon the sofa. He puts his forearms over his eyes as he sighs. He begins to recall the day’s earlier events. His stepsister would feign crocodile tears if he dared to even try to stand out in front of other high society members. Simply so that others would take her side and chastise him instead. Those attendant’s words echo through his mind.
“The Lady has ordered that we starve you as punishment.”
“It's an order.”
“So there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“You should’ve been obedient.”
“Isn’t it all your fault?”
He began to laugh.
The ‘wealth’ and ‘honor’ of this family is built from the blood of innocent people.
Disgusting.
“My child. Just stay in here. Mommy will deal with everything.”
It’s small. He can’t escape.
“I apologize, Father. I will work harder to gain my husband’s attention. Please this has nothing to do with my child. I will take the punishment instead.”
The sound of breaking glass. Of squeals. Of harsh slams.
He can’t escape. They’re going to kill her.
The closet door opens to waning emerald eyes.
“My beautiful boy,” she spoke ever so softly.
Built upon the blood of the innocent.
She reached down to stroke his cheek, “I love you.”
They’re killing her. He can’t escape.
He spent his entire life yearning for his family’s love while believing he was useless. He did everything they said. Yet it was never enough. It will always never be enough.
For that is all it takes to finally have enough.
The next night approaches faster than he would like. The manor is bustling as guests arrive with attendants at their feet. It's a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the manor, a light breeze carrying the scent of marigolds swaying the flowers, the pillars dipped in gold and purple ribbons.
He walks along the railing as the moon gazes upon him. A simple white shirt and a black tie with a long black coat swaying behind him. His right eye is covered by a medical bandage. His lungs were tightening under the amount of bandages wrapped around his body.
“Young Master,” one of the maids called out, “it's time for introductions.”
His eye looked out towards the moon.
Sitting on the railing was a captivating woman. She sat cross-legged with a hand on her cheek and an elbow on her thigh. Feeling the night breeze pick up her hair and gently lay it down again and again. The moon behind her acted as her halo. An angel descended upon the Earth. She opened her emerald eyes without a single natural shine behind them.
“Coming,” he said without a hint of emotion, walking in front of the maid, heading inside.
The maid observed the railing. The moon would soon reach its peak in the sky. She turned to follow her young master as he was the only one out here. The party would soon begin.
The ballroom glimmered. The only thing that could outshine the ballroom’s light would be the jewelry adorning the guest. He stood next to his step-sister as his Father gave his welcoming speech to the guest. She wore a long, sleeveless blue dress with silver gems and butterflies, gloves that went up to her forearms covered in butterflies, necklaces with sapphires and pearls dripping down her shoulders and back, and even a silver laurel headpiece with butterflies on the side of it. If her outfit was overdressed, the Madam’s was even worse with the amount of jewels she was wearing.
His Father’s birthday celebration was always a glamorous one. Anything less would put a stain on their reputation in high society. Following the welcoming speech, everyone would toast with a glass of wine.
After toasting, he began to give his greetings to the family heads and merchants that attended his Father’s party. This was truly the best time to gather intel and secure business deals while his family was attending other matters. His words were always like sweet wine to these businessmen. Always knowing what to say and when to say it to get them right where he wanted them. Already being caught in a trap.
He was in the middle of a conversation when he heard loud thumps coming towards his direction. He sighed as he closed his eyes.
“You,” she screamed, marching towards him.
He clenched his fist and unclenched it. He slowly turned to face her with a smile on his face, eyes still closed.
“Oh, dear sister, how can I help you?”
It came upon him instantly without any hesitation. His body stood still as the only thing that moved was his head. His body instinctively moved to look down and hold his hands behind his back. When he opened his eyes, he noticed a broken wine bottle and glass scattered across the floor.
“How dare you,” she stuttered breathlessly, shaking and moving backward, “You are just some useless child compared to I!”
He could only look at her incredulously. A mixture of emotion running through his one exposed eye. Pity. Anger. Disgust. Acceptance. She could only respond with eyes wide open.
The Madam came rushing through the crowd to take her daughter into her arms. Many servants began to surround the young lady asking if she was okay and bringing her some water to calm her down.
He turned towards the crowd and smiled as blood dripped from his forehead, “I apologize, dear guests. My sister isn’t feeling too well. I ask for your forgiveness on our Father’s special day. If you would excuse me.”
He gave a bow before taking off his coat. Now soaked in wine, he folded over his forearm as he left the venue. The soft music was drowned out by murmurs and whispers, the worries about his stepsister from the guest, the fury radiating from the Madam, and the silence from Father.
He made his way to the garden, back to where he belongs: underneath the moon.
He examined his reflection within the fountain’s water. The bottle gave him a laceration below his eye. It was already starting to bruise. To him, it was just another hollow forming on his body. He barely felt this one. Maybe he was getting better at handling pain or maybe he took it better because he knew it was coming. He painted stories in the water as he thought about his next plans. He lay down next to the fountain, putting his head on the basin.
He wondered if she knew that she was dying. She would laugh and tell you that the stars became her when she stared at them.
As his eyepatch fell, a warm, gentle shine came to his eyes when he looked at the moon. The moon reminds him of his mom. A once beautiful planet, now corrupted. Unable to do anything to save itself, no one is willing to save either. Now, it's dead.
“The moon is dead. What we see is its corpse.”
He took a deep breath.
“Hugo.”
He must escape this place. If not, they will kill him just like they did his mother.
“Hugo. I am going to hold your hand now.”
He will take everything they hold dear just like they did to him. They took the one thing you cannot replace. He will take theirs.
“Hugo, slowly count to four before inhaling.”
Hugo did as he was told. He was trying not to cry outside his Father’s party, but wasn’t that years ago? No one came looking for him after he got hit. Who was talking to him?
Hugo looked down to see Lycaon’s hand holding his, rubbing soft circles onto the top of it. Oh. He was in their hideout. He looked up and saw the moon. Hugo was sitting on the windowsill, staring at the moon.
“Tell me something you can see, hear, and touch.”
“Ugh, must we do this every time, Lycaon?”
“Hugo.”
“Fine! Fine. Hmph. I see you, Lycaon. I hear, oh! You, Lycaon! And yes, I feel your hands, Lycaon.”
Lycaon's eye twitched as Hugo smirked and giggled.
“Fine,” Lycaon replied, pulling Hugo up in which Hugo stammered right into Lycaon’s chest.
“What in the world, you big oaf!”
“It’s time for bed.”
“You cannot be serious.”
Lycaon said nothing as he dragged Hugo away.
Hugo, rather grudgingly, and Lycaon got into their nightwear and ready for bed. As Hugo moved underneath the covers, Lycaon pulled him close. Wrapping his arms around Hugo’s waist and placing his head on top of Hugo’s. Effectively trapping Hugo. Well, Hugo would say trapping; Lycaon would say protecting.
Hugo always wanted to be loved. That's just naive thinking though. Many do not look at him with admiration nevermind love. He long ago gave up on that. Yet, despite knowing it's naive and foolish, a piece of him wants him and Lycaon to be family.
He lifts his hands to look at them. The tips of fingers were well groomed despite being scarred and calloused. Very fitting for a thief like himself. There are no more bandages covering his forearms and eye instead replaced by a Wolf Thiren. Lycaon’s hands grasp his bringing them down. He laughs a little at Lycaon’s attempt to get him out of his own head.
They will follow him no matter where he goes. At least tonight a big bad wolf is protecting him.
“...He used to think of little things that didn’t matter. Yes, just like that. I wonder if he knew that he was dying. He would laugh and tell you that the stars became him when he stared at them.”
-Nakahara Chuuya. ‘autumn poem’