Love in Ink

IV - I Continue

I was always a strange looking child. I only really filled out around my forties. But that was much later on. At the time we are discussing, I am still a youth, barely entering my twenties. At that point, I was still scrawny - a narrow-chested, dark haired youth with a sharp jawline and alluring blue eyes. Back then, I knew little compared to what I know now, and I wish whole-heartedly I had seen more. You see, my love, back then, I only knew people, their minds, their hearts, their stupid instincts.

Now, I know Gods.

After that incident, our party continued on, myself with them. We moved a lot faster without Priald, and the change in pace only served as a sorrowful reminder to both myself and my brothers, for despite my actions, I did love Priald, and I cared for him greatly. His death grieved me, though you may snort to hear me say it. Whatever I did, he was still my brother, and I loved him accordingly.

After that event, I lived in fear. Not of being discovered, of course, that opportunity was long past provided I didn't reveal myself. I feared a repetition. Priald had backed out because he was the youngest, and he was scared. He hadn't been ready for something like this, something with this much uncertainty. Ignius and Henry were the next in line.

While most of my brothers looked the same, the resemblance between Ignius and Henry was still astounding. While they all had the same sandy hair and chiselled chin, Ignius and Henry had the same face. The same crooked nose, the same green eyes - it was all the same. Even having grown up with them, I would have mistaken them on more than one occasion had it not been for the remarkable difference in height.

Ignius was the taller one - and the older one, yet somehow I felt he would fall next. But not in the way his brother had.

Ignius and Henry were the jokers, the comedy relief, especially on a mission like this. But on their own, Henry was the light-hearted one. He had the casual skill of being both intelligent and witty. He was able and light. He was the one bound to do well in a long, uncertain journey such as this.

Ignius - less so. Without Henry to prompt him, he was liable to lapse into minutes of brooding silence, thinking about what he couldn't change, worrying about what he could. He would still joke, and he would try his best to present his good side, but he was certainly more likely to become the thinker of the pair. This tendency to become more serious is what I feared would fell Ignius, because it meant that more than often, he would clash with Gyro, and after the death of Priald, I wasn't sure their relationship would survive it.

But Gyro had the map, and Gyro had the food, and Gyro had the weapons, so we would stick with Gyro, and Ignius would be left in the dust.

Maybe.

Young as I was, I was unsure as to whether Ignius would give up on whatever cause they were clashing on, and take the chip off his shoulder, or whether Gyro would kick him to the curb at the first sign of dissent. I only knew people. I didn't know Gods.

I was scared. I needed help, but of course I didn't, because I wasn't like the others. I never needed help. I wasn't allowed to.

I knew that no matter what happened, Gyro would remain in control. Maybe not of our brothers, maybe not of the crystals, but he would remain in control of himself, and that was more than the rest of us could say.

Yes, darling, myself included.

Many times I have looked back on this series of events, wondering what else I could have done, running through the possible scenarios, and the problem with this form of speculation, is that you have no way of knowing whether you are right or not. And I do love to be right, my dear. Already I regret opening with this passage of events, for they do not portray me favourably - especially to one such as yourself. You see, I have no sorrowful, tear-jerking villain backstory. I have no story with which to force sympathy from you, my love. But I wish I had.

I wish my childhood had been miserable - that my brothers had been bullies, my parents abusive and I the underdog too sensitive to form an emotional outlet. I wish I had grown up alone, or been a victim of some strange and terrible disaster - I wish a world of misfortune upon my younger self - anything, to justify my actions. My way of thinking. My strange, horrible philosophy.

But maybe, this is enough. Maybe it is enough that I do mean well, that I am trying for the best - doing what no one else will to ensure the greater good? Maybe it is enough that I wish these terrors upon myself, wish myself pain, simply to win your approval. Maybe my desperation, my intentions, are enough.

Maybe cows have wings too.

Maybe I'm not being fair. I don't know you - you might approve. Not of my actions, in their immoral and coarse nature, but perhaps of spirit - of my nature. Maybe you already empathise with me, with my situation. Perhaps you already love me.

Not yet.

I don't know you yet, but I'm sure that you are kind, compassionate, logical, and feeling, if nothing else. I hope that in time, you can come to understand me. You are the only one.

I hope you understand, I am writing this for you. Because no one loves a villain. No one, no matter what they may say, because a villain is not just the hero's nemesis. A villain is every person in a story that angers you, every antagonist, every little inconvenience embodied in a character - they are the villain. And no matter what you say, you hate almost all of them.

I am just the main villain, the one everyone knows, the one everyone hates, or feels sorry for. No matter what you say, you don't love the villain. Not truly. I know, because no one loves me.

No one. Not truly.

And I am writing this in the hope that if you see everything through my eyes, if you go through the entirety of my life with me, through better and worse, until death, you might come to love me. Or at least, to understand me. And aren't they really the same thing?