A child. A youth no older than seven. A listless head of banal brown hair fell languidly upon the visage's lithesome insubstantial shoulders, their physique no more significant than a mere metre in height, stood dormant, as though in wait for those words that would bring animation to their frozen form. A trite world of monochrome graced the being's view, with floors of polished hard Titus wood that appeared to consume what sparse amounts of radiance loomed dormant in the land, their reflection unable to be seen despite the abundance of gloss that seeped into the wooden canvas that lay underfoot.
Sporadic decorations lay strewn across the barren domain, from a crow-coloured sofa made of what appeared to be the most refined D-rank monster hide and embroidered with threads of gold to a box-like item emulating the appearance of a bed, its sheets of white dishevelled, its corpus stretched and maimed, obese pillows in a blanket of black spread chaotically across the surface of the creation. The land could be considered significant, with a space akin to a grand dining room, the very antonym of claustrophobic and yet, it failed to recreate the aura of bustling joy and life that percolated from such a place.
The spirit of the domain had long since been killed, leaving little more than a comatose body upon which the sole maggot-like creature infested. A gaudy chandelier hung high above, attached to the sky-like ceiling the sole inhabitant could purely prey to, its crystalline body and arms of Aurelian stretched endlessly across the sky, the burning orange light that simmered within, dyeing the room in a kaleidoscopic fashion, with fragmentary splotches of almost snow-white luminescence. No window hung in such land, no fenestration from which the figure could peer. They lay prisoner contained within the acreage of royal mimesis. A sole gate in the form of a deep titanic, pink ivory broke the monotony of the tediously monochrome obsidian wall that lay painted to its side, birthed from the boredom that stemmed from within the caged bird's brain. A scintillating ruby interbred with gold, their tandem erupting in the form of a glistening gilded auric spherical handle, its position atop the land of pink Ivory an untouchable flower for the youth, for it stood over two metres above the unnatural terra firma.
The meandering youth stared at such an object, draped in an anaemic cloth of silk feel, one frigid to the touch despite the apparent humidity of the sealed land and trousers of umbral make, their garb unbefitting their stature billowing and roomy, the weave of gossamery colossal in comparison to the visage's minute form. As though not concocted for the now but rather an imminent future, the solitary inhabitant of the room could faintly prophesise.
Chocolate-brown eyes glistening with youthful innocence lay firmly fixed upon the pink ivory colossus, obscured ears focused, waiting, flinching at the slightest of sounds. Something was nearing the door, the youth could tell, and within mere seconds the corporeality of the ostentatious cardinal ruby amalgamation began to twitch, its mouth of gold letting a low, harrowing cry as the seams of the door advanced in a tormenting march.
Darkness assailed the land, a malady harbingered by the outside world. The cloak of umbral momentarily spread dominantly throughout the space, an all-consuming void of sunless blasphemy, until light once more reclaimed its throne, as, with a tempestuous bang, the door shut. Order had returned though a foreign pathogen now loomed before the youth.
A woman no older than thirty, arrayed in a sleek black dress that clung tightly to her ample figure garnished by a loose grey jacket strewn across the precipice of her shoulders in a manner akin to a reverse virgin killer dress, a thick set of spectacles adorned her face, while a mask concealed whatever beauty she may have possessed. An emblem embossed in gold sat serenely atop her right breast, its appearance akin to a book, though one left open, its pages fecund with the child of air. Sky-blue pupils of intrigue originated from her form, the apple of their eye, the maggot that infested such illustrious, resplendent aristocratic terrain.
"It's time for your monthly exam," The lady spoke, her tone apathetic to the youth who did little more than reciprocate her gesture with his prior eyes of pure innocence, "Now, Eros, tell me, what is my ability?" She continued, revealing the identity of the branded seven-year-old child.
Eros looked at the lady, his gaze distant, as though seeing a realm different to hers, one of isolation and confinement, the outlook of a prisoner. Unconsciously his heart started to beat, commanding an orchestra of joy, as unknown to the world spare for the sole bearer of the ability, a thick parchment appeared before the boy.
{@#$(#@ @#()(#)}
{Age: 30}
{Race: Human}
{Ability: Paper blades}
{Love:0}
"Paper blades", The boy mumbled, his face scrunched, as though expecting little more than a flurry of demoniac jeers solely targeting his person in recompense for his otherwise virginal action, he couldn't bear to meet the lady's gaze, her eyes of sky-blue the likes of which he had yet to see, to witness their once enraptured light replaced by little more than embers of scorn. And yet, such lashing would never arrive, for instead of the harsh words he oh so envisioned, he would be met with perceived unconditional benevolence.
"Very good, you're right," The lady extolled, a painted white hand extending from her side, its destination set upon the youth's dishevelled ungroomed head of brown. Warmth momentarily inundated Eros's form, a quiescent calefaction the likes of which he had sparsely experienced, the symphony of his heart growing into an explosive crescendo of blessed vivacity, thoughtlessly a smile tugged at the corner of bland lips, though deep within his psyche a sense of foreboding continued to brew.
{+5% Affection}
"Now, Eros, has anything changed with your ability over the past month? For example, can you see any additional information pegged to my person? What about this blade? Perhaps you can help me and share its name, grade and so on?" The lady continued as unwittingly, Eros's smile grew dim. He could tell her, show her the oddity that was his ability, and yet, he chose to remain silent, like he had always done and would forever continue to do. Instead, his gaze meekly fell upon the ornate piece of baroque craft that adorned the centre of her opposing hand. The blade couldn't be described as long. Bearing the epithet of a dagger, it rested neatly in one's palm. Its metal, stained silver in hue, shone lustrously under the variegated pellucid light of the paragon chandelier, its handle wrapped in green jade lay enceinte with a myriad of gems, from sparkling tanzanite that adorned the hilt to magnificent flecks of red beryl and rubies that endlessly lay grandiloquently placed in the most eye-catching spots. It would take a fool not to realise such an item's value. At least 300 years in the past, now it meant little. There were countless espers with the ability to generate such magnanimous jewels.
Eros eyed the magniloquent creation, the desire to prove himself radiating from his person in abundance, and yet, no such scroll would appear before him. The creation's statistics remained uncelebrated, undistinguished and unperceived. He couldn't call upon his ability. It merely served one purpose. His lips trembled, the flaps of coloured skin grating against one another in a rhythmic, jittery tune. He was agitated, an apparent fact to all who gazed upon his otherwise average form. Eros didn't wish to state the obvious. Still, the sky-blue eyes of his examiner scantily left his person.
"I-I can't," Eros melodiously breathed, his heart now little more than a ballad of foreboding apprehension, its aria reticent, reserved, his chocolate-brown eyes failing to meet with the sky-blue make of his examiner.
"I see," The lady muttered as a torrent of messages befell the youth's gaze.
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
An endless tirade of acrimonious loathing and repugnance, an unhindered world view as to how the boy was seen, to know every thought, every notion someone felt to you, Eros hated it, yet the constant stream only continued, never-ending, never ceasing, it had always been like this, and it always would be.
"You're useless, aren't you? You're never going to improve, never, ever, forever, little more than a spec upon the world's surface, a martyr destined to die, bearing little more than a tarnished legacy," Her every word now sparked with irrepressible hatred, her gaze once inquisitive now little more than a malevolent leer, Eros didn't wish to face her, and yet, his head instinctually moved, his neck craning until he caught sight of something so vile, so contemptible and immoral that his brain could do little more than cease function, an absentminded trail of tears tracing a streak through his anaemic shade of ill-possessed white skin.
Countless eyes, too many to number, their direction solely focused upon his quivering form. They occupied every inch of the maimed face the former beauty possessed, fighting one another in a boundless, self-perpetuating battle for omnipresence, myriad shades and countless forms. When one died, lay vanquished, ten more would sprout from its corpuscles. They writhed and moved with a chthonian air of arrogance. Her skin was little more than a vessel, her body coated by infinite leers of amaranthine bane, the world once bright, shaded by the blazing crystalline judgement of the almighty seraphic chandelier, now plunged into perpetual darkness, a gehenna bearing no escape, tendrils, countless arms sprouted from her side, cluttered in the same membraned orifice, they moved, inching ever closer to the youth, whereupon they would stick, scraping against his consecrated skin, besmirching, adulterating, maculating, until all that remained was unhallowed boy forsaken by countless gods.
Eros's gaze was filled with such horror, and yet, even when he closed off such sense, he would be assailed by ill will bearing the form of a singular notification.
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
{-10 Affection}
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Eros repeated, his voice hoarse, little more than a muted sob.
Tendrils of darkness given form whirled around the boy, lashing at him, flailing his skin to all that remained was a red husk of crimson-stained bile. He cried, he prayed, repeating the same mantra until his mind fell blank, and his eyes lost their light.
"....I'm….s-sorry, I…prodi…."
The seven-year-old fell quiet, his final words an atonement for his multitudinous sins.