Today was Seven's tenth birthday, a fact that had been seemingly overlooked by everyone but himself. Waking up to the sounds of wind chimes was not what he had envisioned.

Thus he laid still, fist clenched around the seam of his pillow, depression's scent looming. This was the moment that he had the compelling thought that would birth a world owning fate worse than his own. If mother was here, would she remember?

Seven crawled out of his bed and got dressed before sneaking his way out of his bedroom and down the hallways. From his window, he'd spotted two children near the market that were playing with a ball. Seven was typically a rather shy child, but today was his day. He waved at the children with a pathetic smile as he leaned over the window sill.

The smaller of the two waved back with a joyous smile stretching from cheek to cheek, a twinkle in his eye. This filled Seven with an interesting, unfamiliar feeling. It forced Seven's lips into submission, growing the smile into something of which to be proud. It was slain by the other child when Seven spotted the look of horror upon his face. He grabbed the hand of the smaller child and pulled him away, muttering words Seven couldn't fathom.

Seven was used to this sort of thing, but that never made it easier. In these lands, it was considered a curse - a sin - to bare white hair. He'd grown too tired to care to cover it on his own birthday. Venturing onwards, Seven carefully snuck into his father's study, expecting to have a morning conversation. To his dismay, Seven's father was missing. What was not missing was the wholesome warmth of the flame from the fireplace. How odd.

I must've just missed him, Seven thought to himself. Well, I shan't waste the warmth. The boy sprawled out on a soft mat in front of the fire and watched as the wood crackled and the flames danced. A moment later, he fell into a peaceful slumber. Something about warmth defined home.

As Seven slipped into the void of dreaming, a red smoke filled the dream filled air. He opened his eyes to find himself in a copy of the landscape from one of the paintings from his father's collection, displayed in their dining hall. The boy stood from his sprawled position and began to let his eyes and mind wander.

He continued to do so until he found a figure kneeling in the distance. Seven closed the distance between the two. "Hello?", he called out. Now he could see it was a disrobed woman, skin coated in what appeared to be blood. Her bowed head rose to meet Seven's eye, but it felt as though she gazed through him.

Fear flowed through the child's veins, the woman's composure possessing his spine to force him to kneel in front of her. He saw that her eyes were covered in white, the darkness of her pupil absent. "Whose blood is that?", Seven asked now that he could smell it.

"Don't recall. For it could be anyone's, possibly your own," her raspy voice muttered. Her body appeared young and beautiful, but her voice was old and worn. She was the size of three normal women. "Who are you?", Seven asked, curious.

"Is that really the inquiry for which you've traveled all this way?", the woman laughed creepily before reaching out to rest her hand on Seven's cheek, covering it in fresh blood. He didn't flinch; it was odd how much like home it felt.

"Are you my mother?", he spat out under his breath. The woman pressed her fingernails against his cheek; they were long, unkempt, and sharp. "Would you like me to be?", she responded with a more serious look about her.

Seven grabbed her wrist before pulling it away from his cheek, sitting in the process. The boy exhaled a sigh. "Why do you breathe in a place that doesn't require you to do so?" the woman asked, seeming annoyed. "Because I'm trapped here until you release me."

"Would you like me to do so?"

…

"What a kind murderer you are.", Seven picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt by his own feet. The woman leaned very close to Seven's face and had a threatening look about her. "I'm an androphage.", she insisted.

Seven raised an eyebrow as he tried not to smell the creature, due to her being so close. "A what?" he asked honestly. "An. Dro. Faje." she spaced out. "Yes, but what does that mean?"

The woman stood tall and hovered above the ground as blood dripped from her fingertips and toes. "My blood is sacred. It gives me the ability to gain more than nutrition from the consumption of others. I gain their traits, memories, strengths, powers. Whatever it is I desire. I'm the god of death." she spoke in a preposterous monologue.

The boy watched keenly. "What would you gain from eating me?", he called out. The woman stopped for a moment before lowering herself to the ground. "You've more than you know, Seven. I fear you'll never truly understand."

Seven sat and looked down at what he'd drawn aimlessly, studying it. The blood woman began to lower herself as she groaned. "I've worn myself, too much lecturing. You've hungered me, child.", were her final words before gripping onto Seven's arm and yanking him close. Seven felt a sharp pain sinking in through his throat and at the seam of his arm and his shoulder. And then, nothing.

Seven's senses returned to him as his bloodshot eyes shot open and his consciousness renewed. There were tears running from his eyes as he grabbed at his shoulder with an audible sigh of relief. He found a blanket that was covered over him; exploring the seams, he would find it to be a short cape of sorts. Throwing it over his shoulders, he found that it fit perfectly.

It must be a present!, he thought as a smile stretched across his face, fading all of the negativity that filled his mind a moment previously. He stood and found a leather-bound grimoire on the desk along with an ink jar, a quill and a note, all not previously there. Reading the note proved to teach Seven that his father had, in fact, not forgotten his birthday as these were all gifts.

Congratulations are in order for your milestone of ten years, my heir. Take these and record the history of your becoming. One day you shall impose a sense of respect for knowledge in this world. I'm counting on you!

Seven hugged the book close to his chest before setting it down, flipping it open and readying the pen for work. I won't let you down, father. And with those thoughts, the child began recording his first entry.

An hour of time passed. Seven sat upon his father's chair, scribing away on parchment, careful not to tear the pages or make a mistake. There were stacks of books that he had pulled out to study different pieces of knowledge; they had been stored away since before his birth.

The creek of rusted metal alerted Seven's attention to the door's motion that followed, swinging open to reveal his older brother, Three, in his typical robed outfit. The child grew a face that told a story of annoyance. This had better be good.

"What is it today, little lord?", Three beckoned in a condescending tone. "More monsters?", he snickered. Three and his sibling had never seen eye to eye, but Seven thought perhaps today he would be able to avoid the needless conflicts of everyday life.

"If it was, I'd have asked you to model." Seven snapped smartly. Three's disapproval of Seven's comment was enacted by his gripping the corner of the page on which Seven was working. Sinister energy filled the room before Seven quickly took hold of the page in one hand and Three's hand in his other. With a glance, Seven begged his brother to spare him.

A single motion ended the bond between the page and the book, the resonating sound of the tear stabbing through Seven's chest and filling the child with a fearful passion. "Cut it out!" he whined desperately, praying he could lessen the impending doom. His cries resulted in no avail as Three crushed the page in his fist and tossed it to the nearby fire.

Seven watched as the flames consumed his work, his gift. Tears rolled down his cheeks before he slammed his closed fist on the desk, dreaming it were a nail at the center of Three's forehead. Three looked over the child with no remorse before making his way to the open door. "Father wanted you, brat.", he unhappily remarked before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

Several minutes passed before Seven grew the courage to stand from his seat. The tears were dried, but his puffy eyelids remained. He walked to the door before grabbing the brass knob, cold to the touch. As Seven opened the door, he was bewildered by the darkness; the hallway was only lit by a single candle. It was odd, but perhaps Three had been too lazy to light any others, which wasn't odd.

Upon passing a corner in the hallway, an unfamiliar creek of the wood met his ears. Seven peered down to his side, from where the sound had come, to see a pair of black boots. Before he could look up, Seven's cape was pulled over his head to block his vision. He wailed out in urgency, but his mouth was quickly covered.

Legs and arms quickly bound, Seven was helplessly being carried away. "All clear, back the way we came," an unfamiliar voice spoke. Seven strained his voice through muffled screams out of confusion and fear. "Oh, shut up, already," another voice spoke, with an odd accent.

Seven quieted down as he began to think as quickly as he could for any chance of escape. He listened closely. Click. The sound of furniture sliding across the ground resonated against the walls, must be the dining room or the library, Seven figured based on the type of echo.

It wasn't long before a bright light was shining from beyond the shield of his cloak. More sliding of furniture happened before Seven was lowered in what sounded like a staircase, but that confused him. There are no rooms beneath the first floor . .

After a few moments, the descent came to a halt and the man set Seven down. The sounds of knuckles cracking and one of them urinating ensued. Seven mumbled again, in a calmer tone. The feeling of a hand pressed against Seven's face before his gag was removed. "I've not got any money . . . I'm worthless," Seven spoke desperately. "What a sad shit you are," one of the voices spoke before both of the strangers laughed. Seven's mouth was stuffed again as he sighed through his nose.

With Seven being lifted again after the brief break, it seemed hopeless to try anything else at this point. Distressed and tired, the child fell asleep.

Seven was woken by a thump; he felt like he was in some kind of box or cart. Meanwhile, he could hear the men speak, followed by the jingle of coins. "Is he alive?" a raspy voice spoke. The cloth was again pulled from Seven's mouth. "You alive?" spoke the voice from earlier. "Y-yes, I-" Seven was cut off with the cloth being forced back in. "Nice doing business with ya," one of the voices of his captors spoke. There was some more muttering before Seven was pushed off in what most seemed like a kind of wheeled cart. It wasn't long before Seven would again succumb to an exhaustion-induced slumber.

Thump. Seven woke from a rumble underneath himself, momentum pulled his head around and hit it against a hard wall. "Ouch.." spoke his dry voice. Seven was still bound, but at least the cloth was missing from his mouth. They must've removed it in his sleep. Seven arched his back in stretching as much as he could and came to realize the rope around one of his hands felt loosely tied.

Starting to carefully try to free his hands, Seven decided to work towards a distraction. "Do you take pride in the napping of children?" he called out, taking a deep breath afterwards as it felt difficult to breathe.

"Quiet down, child," responded the raspy tone. Seven slipped his wrist free from his binding and slowly attempted untying the binding for his cloak. It was too tightly bound, so he mustered up the strength to rip it clean in half to free his vision. His eyes were met with a dull gray light from the sky; in an instant he leaned forward, wrapped the rope around the neck of the hooded stranger in front of him, and pulled as tightly as he could.

There was a struggle, but it appeared Seven had the upper hand as he quickly tied the rope behind the strangers neck. The front of the cart was dropped while bony, pale hands swiftly moved from the stranger's sides. With a snap, Seven fell backwards onto his bottom, his back slamming against the inner wall of the cart. The stranger had cut the rope from his neck.

With a swift turn, the stranger's hood fell to reveal a long, pale, serious face accompanied by silky white locks of hair beyond the man's shoulders. "This world stole my pride long ago," he said. Seven was in awe, and fear crept down his spine from his shoulders. This was the first time he'd seen someone that shared his own complexions and abnormalities. "Your hair . . ." Seven choked through his speech before the world began to spin. It felt as though he was imploding from his core. Suddenly, darkness filled his vision, his mind following.

Coming to, Seven sat against a bumpy stone wall atop a smoothed stone floor. Pulling his eyes up, he began to regain his perception. He was inside a cage with metal bars, and his torn cape was laid over his lap.

His body shivered as he felt the cold surface of the stone ground; he stretched one arm over the other. Seven reached to his chest and rubbed over it before coughing in an attempt to get the attention of whoever was there. He'd rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness.

The strange man who had taken Seven to this prison appeared from the void beyond the metal bars and leaned down before placing a wooden bowl of water through a small slot at the bottom of the cage. Seven looked at it for a few seconds before kicking it away. Poison!, Seven was no fool.

"Just water," the unfamiliar voice spoke. "If you stay dehydrated, you'll be too weak to fight."

"I don't want to fight," Seven replied.

The man was illuminated by a flame extending from what appeared to be the palm of his hand. He was tall, robed, with long fingers. "The child can lie. A good skill to possess out there," he spoke. Seven avoided his eyes. "You're a sin." The boy climbed to his knees and peered through the cage bars as he inspected the man's hand in dismay.

"As are you," his captor said. He used his free hand to run his fingers through his own hair to move it from hiding his face. "The ivory locks we share are said to be woven by Lucifer himself, haven't you heard?" he stated in a sarcastic tone. "That's why you shan't be in that place any longer. The cult that owns that castle executes people for far less."

Seven scoffed in reply. "You must be a lousy assassin."

"Is that so?"

"If your job is to kill sins, then you should be dead."

The man's eyes lit up with a small smirk. "How clever you are," he started. "Alas, my real job is to stay out of the way. In this case, there was . . an Emergency. An unpaid debt, you could say."

Seven made an exasperated sigh. "Who is it that wants me dead? I've done nothing." In response, the man's smirk disappeared before he extinguished the flame with a close of his hand and left the room. Seven stood and waited for his footsteps to grow distant.

Once he was confident he was alone, Seven began kicking at the wall in an unsuccessful attempt to break it. Frustrated, he got down on his stomach and tried to fit through the small opening. His head almost wedged its way into getting him stuck, so he gave up after gaining scratches and what he was sure would become bruises. He retired to the ground and attempted to rest utilizing his cloak wrapped up for a makeshift pillow.

Coming to, Seven's eyes met pointed boots on the other side of the cage bars. There was a bowl of dark liquid a few feet from Seven. He reached out and began to hesitantly taste it with his tongue. A familiar taste filled his mind, some kind of broth that seemed delicious. Seven quickly leaned it upwards to pour it into his mouth as he gulped it. The starved child's hunger was given relief.

"You could stay here and become my apprentice . . The world must never know you remain here," the serious voice called out during Seven's meal, to which he gave no response. The man continued to speak for several hours, Seven choosing the silent treatment until he could develop a new plan.

Seven learned the man's name was Theodore. Seven was sure he was some kind of wizard, even though he denied it and said his fire trick was science. Theodore said he'd lived out here where it was safe from the dangers of the world, but Seven grew frustrated from this talk and finally broke his streak. "My home was safe."

Theodore sighed and put down a grimoire-looking book he commonly read next to him. "I'm afraid not. The people there are involved in terrible business that you'd be dragged into before long. You're much safer here."

"So I would become your slave, bound to a life of hiding. Is that much better?" Seven snapped.

"One day, your growth may change your appearance and you could-"

"I'd rather die, old man," Seven cut him off.

Theodore grew a disappointed look upon his face and shook his head before storming off into another room. Seven's eyes shifted toward the book and quickly got onto his stomach and reached through the opening to grab it, dragging it inside.

He pulled the black cover open and started flipping through the pages curiously. There were diagrams with which Seven wasn't familiar, most involving human anatomy. It was written with words he couldn't make out, looking like gibberish. I can't read any of this.. After a few dozen pages, Seven's flipping came to a halt as he saw a diagram of a person hung from the ceiling with a rope. His breathing grew shallow as his heart raced. He quickly shut the book and pushed it away.