~•Talking to the moon•~

Chapter One

Third person's view

A ticking of a clock can be heard around the echoing walls of the cell a masked man was in. The noise droning on endlessly as if he was stuck in a void that he could never escape. It seemed like it, for the moment.

It probably was, especially after all he's done. He wouldn't doubt it. Of course, a little enthusiasm never hurt anyone.

He'd more likely hurt his feelings and diminishing his hopes like a burnt out fire, but still. He's used to expecting things like those.

Multiple papers were strewn around his close to empty cell, it having either words of stories or poems that he remembered or made or drawings of a certain man.

The certain man that we're talking about right now was in the outside world. The world that kept him safe, yet still in danger. The world that turned its back on him and rightfully so. The world that he wanted to control, yet defeated him.

I mean, he was the one that started the world, so he had a reason to control it, right? Maybe, but what he did just to do so was a bit questionable, but he digressed. Power is power, after all. If one can't take the ways of getting power, then they shall not get it. You have to be aware that you do this for a reason, may it be right to other's eyes or not.

A dwindling sigh went out from him as he looked around the bland cell, shifting from the chest, to the cauldron, then to the clock. The annoying clock.

It may be annoying, but he found enjoyment in it and could never seem to find it in himself to break it permanently.

His eyes landed on the papers on the ground before taking it with careful consideration, the page consisting of words that seemed unfamiliar to him. It wasn't new, he sometimes forgets what he wrote since he writes so much that his thoughts practically kept stacking on top of eachother.

Green lifeless eyes started to trace the words in every sentence he wrote, him not remembering when and why he wrote this. It was all unfamiliar. Too unfamiliar. It made him question his memories. Was he starting to be forgetful? Maybe. At points of his life, he doesn't remember what he did since time passed by either slowly or faster than anticipated. It never seemed to like him and like choosing between the two options and never in between.

His hands let go of the frail paper before going back into his corner, staying there for an appropriate time. There was nothing else to do, why not waste it sitting in a corner? What else would he do, stare at the clock for hours to rile him up ever more? That would be a way to cure his boredom, but skyrocket his insanity and he wasn't trying to be stuck in prison in more ways than one.

Well, he already was, but then again we don't talk about that.

The man stood up and took his mask off, letting the straps fall freely as he holds the chipped and cracked mask between his fingers, walking towards his chest to hide it there instead of inflicting more damage onto it. He placed it inside, shifting it between mounds of papers and books.

He would be having a visitor soon. He always did come. He wouldn't doubt it for a second that he won't. Anger has resided in his heart for too long and now his heart has accepted the fate it was put in. The shadow of his thoughts blanketing the innocence he once had, the cheerful guy that never held any grudge against someone. It was sad, really. That the guy had chosen this as his last resort, but he wouldn't say that he had no connection to it.

Sounds were heard from outside his wall, making him hum and get closer to it to hear better. It was just the birds chirping, a distant sound heard always found annoying before, but now adored. It overpowered the sound of the clock, making him be calm for a moment. Eyes closing in contentment.

The room was filled with serenity and peace for once. No anger. No violence. No villains.

He envisioned he was away. Out in a field with his friends. Laughing. Teasing each other. It was such a distant memory he wanted back. Where was it? Where did it go?

Alas, that moment was ruined when the birds flew away. Eyes shooting open in a desperate attempt to search for the birds once more to hear the sound only to realize he was stuck, back inside his lonely cell. It made everything click. He left the memory behind for power. And I did say you should know what you're risking and losing for that power. He was well aware of that.

His clear past turned blurry once more, him forcing it back to he darkness in hopes of getting no weaknesses from it anymore. All connections that could lead to him being weak was cut off immediately, him blindly using scissors in the dark. He didn't know the damage he's caused to the people he cut off from. He shouldn't care. He would dare not care.

After all, all he's here for is power. That's it.

There shan't be any weakness that can ruin him. Everything should be empty. His head. His heart. Nothing should distract him from his goal. That's how it should be.

Everything was according to his plan, with some branches growing without his permission, sure, but the very tree that he planted was still there and that's all that matters.

And as he continues looking at the wall like before, the entrance of his cell parted open, revealing the man wearing a blue beanie, face being lit up by the lava that kept him caged inside, a scar running down his left face from a sort of pickaxe, making it run down from his eye to his mouth. It was a bad scar, but he had more to rival his.

Emotional scars, maybe not.

He stood up, lifeless eyes meeting feral ones. The latter moving closer to him with his usual set of tools, the lifeless eyes following them as they dropped the floor for picking later.

The man who had the feral eyes always made this into a game, letting his tools be like choices that he can use to scar him even more, but the lifeless man was used to it already. Show no weakness, he always said to himself inside. You got this far, don't ruin this now, he continued.

It was beginning to get funny, honestly. Him telling himself not to scream, flinch, attack back just for what? Nothing? Maybe. He wouldn't know. Maybe he wanted to finally be a corpse.

He wouldn't know.

The man with a beanie only stared him down, a manic grin placed on his face as he looks at his weapons before choosing a sharp sword. He sighed out inwardly, already knowing what's to come.

And so, the day ended for him when he passed out, bunched up on the corner after his assailant left.