𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐧

✧[031]✧

A violent noise was never a pretty one. A pretty little bird being held down by small hands, letting it trash and scream for freedom. The bird was never the sun, it wasn't meant to be anything more then what it was. It couldn't replicate dawns fleeting nature, nor dusks ethereal glow. It could only sing and sing... Because a bird wasn't ment to be the sun, only the thing that sings to it.

You felt bad watching your dear friend clutch onto the robin with unseen enthusiasm. It wasn't the first time, you could assume it was far from the last. But even in this moment you remembered, this was only a memory of your past. You often relieved such things, listing to the reason the bird sings over and over through each night you sleep.

Then watching the bird inevitably come to it's bitter, bitter end. Tiny hand crushing on her windpipe before ending her poor life with a rock. Singing then silence. You felt tears form in your eyes for a second yet the only words that slipped out were.

"Don't you think that's... Wrong?" The young version of yourself asked, staring at the boy a front of you, clutching onto the remains of a poor little robin.

"What do you mean?" [Redacted] asked, tilting his head in genuine curiosity as he dropped what was left of the bird onto the ground, not bothering to wipe his hands clean as you watched the birds corpse sadly twitch in aftershocks.

"Well, don't you feel bad?"

"The bird would die eventually. That's how life is. Whether or not they'd die now or later was a decision entirely up to me. I am just executing that. This bird would starve to death in this winter anyways. So, no. I don't feel bad. I've never had a reason too. What I am doing is right, don't you see?"

"I suppose. But the bird was so pretty... She deserved to at least live a little longer."

"In this life, not all birds can choose how long they live. No matter what kind of bird they are. An end comes for all of us..." He stared at the mama bird, turning away from the crimson painted snow and walking back to his mansion with you trailing close behind.

You found yourself intrigued with his fingers, such soft hands... Yet they were capable of things you could hardly stomach watching. You at this point in your life had begun to realize the great rift of difference between you and you friend. He was disingenuine. Frighteningly so with his young age.

Yet even then... You found yourself empathizing with him, growing closer to him in your own mind. He was your first friend, you were his first friend. You found yourself at ease in his presence despite it being ever so cold, colder then the weather in a sense.

You stood in the snow, feeling the flakes kiss your skin painfully, leaving your cheeks flushed with warmth, yet you were as cold as ice. The warmth the weather gave was only ever in the heart, never in the body. He stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at you, annoyed that you weren't following. Even then he always kept quiet, willing to wait for your feeble self to catch up.

His house was grossly large, you wonder how you never seemed to notice it before. But the fact it was surrounded by forest was the aiding factor to that. He stepped in, not bothering to hold the door open, just expecting you to always linger only a step or two behind.

"Oh. You are back. I see you've brought some vermin with you. I could've sworn I told you to know better... But you are little after all," His mother seemed colder then him, yet her gaze only softened at the sight of you, sending a wave of confusion dien your spine, "I can't expect much of you anyways. And as for you, it's about time I finally meet you."

She was a tall woman, hair tainted with grey from age. The style of clothing contrasting yours in a drastic manner, she maintained a traditionalist style. Long hemmed dresses, covering her ankles with sleeves covering her arms. Yet, she had a bustle beneath it all, giving her dress a nice amount of volume. You found yourself tongue tied as you soaked in her features.

"Honestly, I would've never expected [Redacted] to actually make a friend. It's been a while since we've seen the presence of others. After all, the few times he found himself in social situations, some type of fight always managed to break out. Friends weren't even a thought until now. Nonetheless, come hither, dear. You look cold. I'll have our maid brew tea, take a seat in our common room."

And an odd place it was. The room was filled with photos of redacted and mounted dead animals. As you looked around the room, you took notice that not in a single photo was he smiling. You looked back over at your friend who seemed more silent then usually, disinterested in the presence of his mother.

She was more lively then you expected, chatting away with you, although being a tad harsh with her words. While you stared at a warm cup of tea in your fingers, not listening for a second. You let your eyes drift to [Redacted] once more, looking at his solemn face before letting your eyes drift to the oxidized blood on his fingers, deep red blood he put there himself by killing an innocent bird.

You wondered how some people has that ability. You wondered why certain people made such choices. Ones that seemed inhumane. Ones that set them apart from the rest of society. He brought his fingers up to his lips, licking the crimson, making you turn back to your cup. His mother still chatting away with you as you drifted off.

"[Name]? Are you listening?"

"[Name]."

"[Name]."

You felt yourself shaken awake, sweat dripping down your neck, panic still lingering in your chest. Your heart fluttered as you slowly gained awareness of your surroundings. You found yourself in a plush bed, surrounded by a mix of Ramshackle and Pomefiore decor. A hand on top of your own, you looked up, locking eyes with a beautiful blue hue.

Their form maintained a blur as they reached for your neck, sensing the heat that burned from it. They clicked their tongue at the feeling, "Vil sent me in here to get ya something to feel better... How are you holding up?"

"I... I don't... I can't think... I feel so hot. It hurts, Epel." He felt a pang him his heart, turning away briefly as tears welt in his eyes. You felt yourself succumb to the sickness once more, falling over on the bed, ill as could be. He blinked them away, scotching over your sick form, he tucked himself in besides you feeling an disgusting amount of guilt flood through him.

He could've stopped it. He could've helped you but... But now you'd room bound until Vil would want otherwise. Once that potion got in your system it was only a matter of time until this happened. He knew Vil would keep you here, he knew things would turn sour. And sooner, or later... He knew Vil would try to steal you away with him, trying to "cure you" of sickness.

It was only a matter of time.

And Epel had never felt so helpless as he held your unconscious body to his chest, letting hot tears slip out his eyes, falling into the bedding and against your supple skin. He wasn't raised like this. He was never raised to be a coward and sevens hell him... He wanted nothing more than to fight. But Vil was strong. He knew that if he wasn't careful, he could very much get killed as quickly as you had fallen ill.

"I wish that boy was a little more like you... I wish he was normal. I wish... Sometimes... That'd he'd never been born. I know you've realized it already, young one. But he only brings great pain wherever he goes, I only hope that you learn to watch yourself."