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BORED — AVERY WAS VERY BORED. He supposed that annual meetings with neighbouring royal families were always mind-numbing but that didn't make the wait any easier. Uncomfortably cooped up in a ship, that frankly, was becoming more claustrophobic by the minute. They're all about fake niceties and strained smiles desperately hoping to secure the next mindless trade deal. Dull eyes fall into the back of heads as fathers drone on about tense intergalactic politics and mothers fawn over eachothers gorgeous silk gowns. The familiar feeling of icy apathy that twisted between dead cells decorating pale skin only heightening.
Both Avery and his charming older brother, Cristan, sat grounded in their family's ship. Balthin previously ordering both his sons to remain out of sight while he and their mother greeted this new family — something about not wanting to give them the wrong impression. Avery felt his fathers pointed glare towards him at those words. Ever the failure.
Machinery secured from his lower thigh to where his foot would be, Avery nervously bounced the metal up and down. The feeling of cold steel against his skin is something he'd never get used to. Numbness is though. Glazed eyes devoid of any emotion, even the electric nervousness coursing through his veins, glanced outside the ship. Colossal evergreen trees suffocated them even in their spacious ship. There was an eerie feeling of not being completely alone. Someone, or something, was out there in the thick shrubbery.
Spools of thought interrupted by the tapping of fingers on cold metal. Cristan's sandy blond curls shining in the sun, a halo of light encircling his head.
Cristan.
Cristan Delour, golden boy glorified in all prints of text, text in which then mould into his skin and seer into his character. Undoubtably their parents favourite, Cristan bathed in pools of liquified love and praise, a bad word never once thrown at him. But that doesn't stop the poison in which those words hold from infecting him. A boy of pure beauty diseased by a bloody tongue. Avery knew not to the say the wrong thing to his brother for then he would risk unadulterated malice and volatile language. Words melting so deep they'd forever leave an imprint, even on the dead metal that was a part of him.
Jealousy was something that Avery was akin to. He wasn't afraid of the overwhelming urge to wish for a different life and the ugly side that came with it. Perks of growing up the way he did. Of course he's privileged and has a better life than many but that sickly feeling that consumes his being when blatant favour is shown is something he simply cannot help. It's natural, he would argue when the beast surfaced. Please I just want to be like you, he would choke out as the beatings got harder and more unbearable. But that's in the past now. There is simply no point in dwelling, he would whisper as his hand-servant dabbed acidic water onto split wounds. Even throughout the violence that was a consequence of holding such a grotesque emotion inside of him, it refused to leave; often rearing its beady eyes and sharp teeth when Avery was just beginning to believe in the false facade that he was free from the plague.
