Tribulator of Melancholy

Devoted to melancholy

Rebel remembers the day he met Patchwork. It was night, pitch black and eerie out. The moon was big and bright in the sky, casting down a soft glow that illuminated his soft blonde hair.

Coincidentally it was a full moon, but there were no stars shimmering.

He sat in a cemetery with his legs crossed, just watching the night pass away without a single relevant thought. His blonde hair fluttered in the frequent waves of wind and his eyes of emerald remained unmoving. The boy held an old shabby used book with torn edges and a wrinkled cover. The words that were once written on it was now unintelligible and faded. His eyes were tilted downwards to the open book, and he was dressed in robes of black with red lining. His robe contained unique embroidery, and there was a brown belt attached to his waist with identical embroidery on it. He wore black shorts with numerous pockets to store little trinkets, his legs were shrouded in knee socks and his feet shielded by thick combat boots.

The teen ripped his eyes away from the pages, closing the book with a pat.

Mikhail's eye's had long adjusted to the dark, having been out there for days now. Realistically the rain should have drenched him starting from his hair to his trousers. But he was unable to be touched by the rain even if he wanted to, it slid off his form.

He no longer had a physical body.

He watched strangers pass by and groups of highschoolers giggle and dare eachother to step into the cemetery.

He watched people walk by with their pets, speeding up in fear when they caught a glimpse of the old tombstones.

But none of them saw him. Mikhail was now used to it, used to not being seen. At first it was a hard pill to swallow but gradually he grew used to it.

And it wasn't something he resented, on the contrary he found it relieving. There were no more sneers, insulting remarks,  and harsh laughter following him.

Mikhail also knew that other spirits and entities avoided him like the plague, he was aware that they were afraid of him. But again he didn't mind it, being feared was thrilling after all. It did make him a bit lonely, though, because no one wanted to approach him.

Suddenly he felt something jostle beside him.

It was a person. They sat down beside him. And Mikhail noticed, but didnt acknowledge them, he thought theyd go away if he made it obvious that he's uninterested.

The silence carried on until they looked at him and spoke, "Do you always sit out here like this?" They asked.

Mikhail didn't reply.

They were fine with that, sitting in silence and listening to the screeching of the wheels on the road. The cries of the owls and the pitter patter of rain. The breeze rustled Mikhails clothing.

"Is this your grave?" They asked again.

Mikhail didn't know why, but he nodded.

"Don't you get bored sitting around like that?" They inquired.

Mikhail pondered it for a bit, "I do not have another place to go, or anything else to do. It's the only thing I can." He replied honestly.

"Then just come with me. You'll have plenty of fun!" They offered with a smile, legs swinging back and forth in excitement.

Mikhail tore his gaze away from the sky to look at them. He felt he had misheard them.

"What?" He asked and took in every detail of them under the moonlight.

They had dull black hair, bordering between short and long. Unevenly chopped bangs that cupped their round plump cheeks perfectly. Their hair was like soft charcoal, spiky yet uniquely satisfying to the eyes.

They had soft features that stood out more under the moonlight, soft pink lips, chubby cheeks, long curly eyelashes and big round eyes.

They wore a bandage over the right side of their face and bandages on their left leg. They were adorable with a hint of childlike mischief.

Their clothing consisted of a velvet trench coat with long sleeves and black buttons, and a folded collar with white lining. Underneath the coat he could see a plain black gown, and black trousers. They did not have any shoes, only socks wrapped around their feet.

"What's wrong, Mikhail?" They removed their gaze from the sky to look back at him.

The moonlit sky remained still, Mikhail was expecting it to warp and next he'd wake up from a dream.

"You.. really mean it?" He asked, unsure.

"Of course! It gets kinda lonely with just me and Doctor around." They grinned at him and stood up. "What will you do, Mikhail?"

They walked forward a tad then stopped, turning to face Mikhail. Shockingly he was actually considering it. It grew lonely and boring in the cemetry when it was just him, and he no longer wishes to cling to his grave like this. Mikhail wanted to go, to find somewhere else to dwell. They'd made an offer, so who was he not to accept? It was like fate.

And he knew what he was getting into. They had a masked scent of blood to them, the kind that could never be washed off because it runs too deep. They were like him, and he noticed how the entities avoided them even more. He noticed how their eyes held no glow or twinkle even whilst standing beneath the moon. He noticed the tense and always ready posture that one cultivates after continuous danger, the carefree way they laughed, and the curve of their eyes when they smiled.

If he accepted, from this day forward he would become a monster. A murderer. Mikhails hands were shaking.

They held their hand out to him with a smile, "Your answer?"

He thought and considered it over and over again, and despite a fraction of him wishing he had a problem with it he didn't.

He didn't mind being a murderer.

He didn't mind being a *monster.*

He grasped their hand.

"From today onwards you will no longer be Mikhail. You will identify as Rebel, the Tribulator of Vexation."

They stated and pulled him up. Then with a wave of their finger a white mask materialized from the particles in the air. It reeked of anguish and blood, familiar in a way.

Mikhail could feel the ominous energy radiating off of it, a small thing with so many horrible aspects. Should he decide to take and put that mask on, there'd be no turning back.

Mikhail would take the new identity even if it felt weird on his tongue, he would twist and tear his person apart to fit the wishes of the one infront of him.

"You.. what's your name?" After a moment of thinking this was the first thing he asked. They stared into his eyes and said-

"Just call me Patchwork."

Patchwork.. Mikhail closed his eyes.

They slid the mask onto him.

It fit perfectly, like it was finally where it belonged. He dropped to his knees.

From then onwards,

Rebel vowed to devote his eternity, his everything to Patchwork.

-- Tribulator of Vexation