Selcouth . adjective
[sel-couth] . sel-ˌküth
archaic
1. odd, unusual, or extraordinary in appearance, effect, manner, etc; peculiar
2. not of one's own kind, locality, etc; alien; foreign
WARNING: This book contains the following.
- gore
...
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My hands were stained with dark red, the blood dripping from my fingers, and it felt like the world was destroyed by my anger. I could only stare in shock as a young boy lay motionless, while his brother cried for him to wake up. He must've sacrificed himself, I thought. He loved his brother enough that it got him killed.
My eyes were emotionless, and I seemed to be frozen in place as I could only stare at the hands that had done the deed. "Oh! My son, you did great!" An older woman cooed, placing her gloved hands on my shoulders as she stared at the pitiful sight in front of us. "You learned a lot from your father," an older male piqued. "I'm proud. You truly are befitting of the title of the heir to my throne."
Pride.
They felt pride.
Over what? Over the bloody mess that I had created? Over the painting that I had ruined and ripped to shreds, desecrating it because of what?
"Why?" I whispered, my voice soft and defeated. The woman- my mother, in this world, I presume- took off the bubble helmet I had on and tucked my hair behind my ear. The gesture was sweet- bittersweet. So ironic- hypocrite. I clenched my jaw tightly, and fury bubbled in my veins. "They got what they deserve for touching your robe," she cooed, her tone laced with faux love and innocence.
Did she really think that what I had done was justifiable?
"Now that his brother's gone, no one will get in the way of that brat's punishment," she hissed, now glaring at the sobbing boy. Now that I watched his every move, I realized what I was in. I was a noble, and slaves were right before my feet. The sight of him shaking and trembling while holding onto the dead body of his brethren made me remember one of my lives. I knew what he felt, I had been in his shoes- in his ragged state.
I have knelt before a king.
I have felt the crop that left the same scars and wounds on my back (even when I close my eyes- even when the scars are no longer there, I could feel the ghostly pain every night, crumbling and reduced into a pathetic state as I trembled while clutching my back).
