Azrael, Pre Colonial Philippines, 1040, "Seeing me so soon."
Milo POV
Why can't I forget about them?
Why am I still torn between two families?
Why did I ever think this was a good idea?
Fix your family problems.
Fix your family problems.
Fix your family problems.
Fix your family problems.
Why did I even put that there? I know it won't work!
I have to tell them the truth somehow! I can't be the cause of another catastrophe!
Why did I ever think this was a good idea?
...
THIRD-PERSON
Footsteps swiftly tramp along the muddy ponds, raindrops bolt on the children's skin, and rushing screams of a child at the sight of heavy nightfall.
Milo reaches the younger's shoulder, "You don't have to do this!"
"...why do you think so?!" The other hums are full of boldness.
He jolts back, staying in position, stroking fingers around the bride of his nose, "this is dangerous! Do you know how many murders happen on dark rainy nights?!" His fingers whip out the fingers off his face and glance in the child's running direction, soon offended by their absence.
"Meet you there rotten coconut!"
...
Azrael stands before a ruptured house; seems this family's done something to be thrown back into a cesspool, stains of rocks and pests wrap the framing as the wood rots, insults, warnings written on tedious whereabouts, and blaring commands from the father of the house—the simplistic property of a Bunao.
The child snatches a rock, winding their arm.
Boop.
"GET THOSE MANG-MANG OUT OF THE HOUSE!"
One groan, tangling his steps and falling on his knees, the day can worsen not. He peeks his head at his father, nodding at his occupied embodiment with the widest of obedience.
"HALILI!"
"Oho!"
At last, he climbs to safety, knocking his face onto a thick wooden door and whipping his head to unpredictable locations. Where is it? Where is it? His body falls frantic on a rigid container, "found it!" He stands with conceit and competence, ripping the door out of sight to greet a group of pathetic children. They smirk. He swipes.
"Out! Out! OUT...! Wait- what?" Halili is awestruck, "Why are you doing this...?"
"It's the only great introduction for me."
...
Milo catches up before his knowledge, distinguishing an egotistical silhouette arguing—in the slightest hint, it's the youngest twisting the older into an argument; "like younger, like oldest." they imply!
"Who is-"
A soft chuckle, never to be heard more.
Hiding behind a stack of logs, Milo peeks in his head to receive answers, finding the two siblings nowhere between competition or conflict—he is frozen.
Halili releases his hand from the child's shoulder, "I forgot about that."
"Yeah, you did!"
Presently, the duo proceeds along the halls, stirring time for Milo to sneak near the voices. Various footsteps scatter across his range of hearing, mumbling alongside the mentions of politics, and groans of the father, straining to accept a guest his son brings.
"Azrael?"
"So I think we should change the-"
Despite the prediction of the family reunion, Milo is awestruck.
"How did-"
He hears the grunt of a squeezing embrace, tearing a piece of his soul.
I want a hug!
The tapping on the thin cloth of Azrael's dress whispers to him that the embrace widens with each relative, prayers, requests, a few whimpers, and a stream of tears hitting the rotting wood floor.
The youngest whispers curse and sweep the contact out, he's surprised they declined the attention.
"I..."
Milo sinks into his position.
...
The child grimaces, holding their breath and squeezing their arm. The attention is so delicate yet corrupting; it allures them to return to this residence, invalidating the effort they witnessed with their found family—they're aware of the stakes, unlikely it is if they wish to relive the family trauma.
Their eyes locked with the air surrounding their body.
Halili notices and attempts to shake them awake, carried by a thick hand aback in sudden. Summoning gasps and frantic commands from farther relatives.
"Azrael!"
The child whips their head at a crowd of former allies, drooling at their reappearance.
"What made you leave?"
"Are you gonna come back to us?"
"Who are you with?"
"What happened?"
"Where are you living now?"
"Who do you think you are?"
"How are y-"
"I'm fine!" Their plastic cover rips a piece to reveal what a fountain of emotion, slapping fingers on the holes, pinching their waist, and squinting their eyes, "fine... I'm fine!"
...
"You aren't?" Milo screams through the front door, before sweeping his fingers on his mouth with wide eyes.
He hears the other grumble, tramping along the hall, "show yourself, Milo! Tell me more!"
His blood boils green with jealousy, escalating from the child's wry remark. He huffs, swinging the door open with a smile of displeasure, striding along the threshold and clenching his fists; he's never been so affected before.
"You're shaking, can't speak properly. Y- you forced yourself to be here!" He reaches the room with a novel expression, gritting his teeth with furrowed eyebrows, "If you want to tell them all about the things you say to me, just spit it out!"
"Oh," Azrael mumbles alongside everyone, "well, what if I can't?!"
"I don't know, to send out a letter or something?"
That's surprisingly a great suggestion.
"Now come, you'll rant about the experience you brought yourself into." The older rolls his eyes as he drags them near the exit. Appalled by the frank allowance of his behavior, "aren't you gonna strain out of my grip?"
The younger mumbles irate prayers, groaning and swatting.
"Ah!"
They fall out of his grip, shutting the door as they swing to a standpoint; "what's with you?!" Kicking their feet off the muck, the child further swats their brother, "you're never like this, d- did you hear everything? Were you angry? Why?"
"I was always like this! I'm just, jealous."
"Jealous of WHAT?"
YOU ARE READING
DOmI
Historical Fiction(don't be fooled by the cover the drawings in this are random doodles) Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo this is my first book im sensitive anyways, description: Azrael's family has always gone through bad things like tragedy and poverty and stuff l...
