Eyes of the Artist (Final Fantasy XV FanFiction) DISCONTINUED

Prologue

Life is crap. That's the reality of things. Not everyone is as privileged as others to have a house, or a family, or even friends. I would know from experience...

My name is Lullaby Melody Singer. Odd name, right? I forgot my real name a long time ago, so I just go with it. I only have vague memories of my family as well. Whenever I try to remember, I see smoke, and fire. It was everywhere, the trees burning down, the house glowing with the heat. I can still smell smoke, burning pines and flesh, feel the heat of flames, the thud of animals fleeing the area. But most of, the clearest part of my memory, is the screaming. Gods, the screaming of my family as the flames seared their bodies, the screeches that ripped through the air as they cried out in pain.

This is followed by blurred vision. I'm running, running like hell is after me, and the God of the Underworld is chasing me himself. I try to get away from the sounds of my tortured family, trying to escape the raging the inferno...

I must have blacked out or something after that, because I woke far, far away. I was alone, the only one to escape the flames. I was in the outskirts of a large city, one that I quickly recognized: Insomnia, the capital of the Kingdom of Lucius.

I was discovered shortly after that. Some officials took me to a hospital to get looked at, and when that was done, I was going to a foster home. Everything that I had been through hit me like a truck. In a single night, I had lost everything. Because of this, the doctors concluded signs of depression. I was also diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They didn't see anything else wrong though, so I was sent to a foster home, as planned.

It wasn't necessarily a bad home, I just felt... lonely. The parents' only biological son, Jonathan, was a bit of a bully to me. He would always tease me about my past, my alias, how odd I looked. I began to isolate myself from them, feeling unwanted. I began to lose sleep as well, and I had pretty bad mood swings. What finally forced my foster family to take me back to the hospital though, was the pain.

I had begun to wake up feeling incredibly stiff and sore, my movements were slow, and I had to sit in odd positions because it would hurt otherwise. At first, I was just given pain relievers to help me deal with it, but after a while, with no change, it was time for another examination.

After asking me some questions, and looking me over, a lot was discovered. On top of the depression and PTSD, I now had insomnia, borderline personality disorder, and early fibromyalgia. My foster parents tried to deal with the problematic child I had become, but by the time I turned eight, they'd had enough. I was put back into the system, and another home was arranged. She was a middle aged woman, a widow who was unable to have children. She was very kind to me, but I already had a feeling she wouldn't be able to handle me.

And I was right.

Shortly after she began to foster me, she began to get very tired. Even though I was quiet and didn't cause trouble or create giant messes, I had a lot of needs because of my medical problems. She didn't have a car, so we'd have to walk everywhere. Because of the constant pain though, I couldn't go very far, or walk for too long. My PTSD also made public school hard, so she had to homeschool me. She couldn't go out to parties or anyplace crowded because I was prone to have anxiety attacks.

Unable to put up with me any longer, the widow called authorities to have put into the system again. But I had no intentions of going through this whole thing again. The night of my ninth birthday, before the social worker came to get me, I packed up everything, and snuck out the window.

I spent the next several weeks of my life hiding from the authorities. I had moved into what looked to be an abandoned warehouse, and had taken the time to learn different skills. I became a master pick-pocket, skilled in lock-picking, and on top of that, I was fast and clever. It may sound like bragging to you, but when a person has to basically grow up on the streets, the different between "bragging" and "survivalist" becomes blurred.

I'm seventeen years old now. I have made the warehouse a home now. A once empty supply closet has become storage for food and water. An employee lounge is now the bedroom. The storage has cheep snacks, like chips, candy bars, and those mini boxes of cereal. The bedroom has a single mattress, a pillow, and three blankets for a bed, crammed tightly into the corner. The clothes I get are separated into old wooden crates, set side-by-side as a dresser. And finally, a small box sat next to the head of the bed. This, of course, would be my medication. Nothing fancy, really. Just some stuff for pain and sleep.

But the main part of the warehouse, where all the shipped supplies were kept, isn't just an empty beige colored space. As a matter of fact, it's probably the best part of my home.

I managed to get my hands on paint. I have tubes, buckets, and spray cans of every color. So, of course, I also have a collection of paint brushes and art tools as well. A ladder had also been left behind in the warehouse, and I now use it all the time. The walls of the inside of the warehouse are covered in my artwork. One wall showed a detailed landscape of a pine wood forest, with glittering rivers, bright blue skies, and fluffy white clouds. Another wall showed the same forest, in had a darker tone. The sky was painted in dark shades of grey, with slight lines going through the whole painting to depict a rainy pine wood forest. The third wall showed a city glowing with lights, an inky indigo blue painted for the sky. I had scene Insomnia at night, and that's what gave me the idea to paint this. The final was devoted to a detailed painting of the palace, which I had gotten the chance to see a long time ago. It was painted with the fresh memory of a beautiful spring day. The plant life surrounding the palace had been in full bloom, with bright, colorful flowers, recently clipped grass, and trees with healthy green leaves swaying in the breeze.

But my artwork doesn't stop there. A project that had taken a painstakingly long time do hung above the heads of all who enter. I had carefully painted the the night sky, with colorful stars, planets, and constellations. I had painted every inch of the night sky on the ceiling, from corner to corner, paying attention to every little detail, every single color used, every spray and brush stroke, to make it look perfect. The perfect night sky, right where I could see it.

Now, as much as I love my murals, an artist can't be satisfied with with five paintings. I painted the warehouse years ago, when I was eleven! I wasn't going to just stop there. And so began the street art. Every few weeks, I would sneak out at night with buckets and spray paint, and go out into the city at night. I would go to empty streets and alleys, set down my paint, and create beautiful scenery. It may sound like vandalism, a crime to ruin a beautiful city, but I assure you, it was quite the opposite. I would spend all night to creating a beautiful and detailed picture, painting a scene that people could enjoy. And, while passing by the crowds who would see my paintings during the day, I would here many compliments.

However, I don't take the credit. I don't sign my name on the pictures or tell people that I made the street art, for a couple of reasons. I'm first reason is that the art belongs to everyone. I made them for others to enjoy, not so I could get attention. The other reason is, of course, because I don't want to be discovered by the King.

Even though I have good intentions with the art, the royal family still views it as vandalism. I've had a few close calls with guards, but as it turns out, even when I'm in pain, I can outrun them easily. I sometimes wonder if that armor they wear and the weapons they carry weigh them down? Either way, they're big, slow, and stupid. I don't even know how many times I've run from them, though I must admit, I have let them see me on purpose a couple of times just to play a bit of a game. Nothing beats a good chase every once in a while!

Now you know the basics about me, what I've been through, and my routines. Now, it's time to continue on from here, and see where life takes me...!