『Schadenfreude』▷ jaesahi。

b e g i n

The rain pitter-pattered against the asphalt. In the wide space located at the center of the abode, a man stood firmly. His robes were a pristine white— the dirty blood that painted onto it forming a huge contrast. A younger man laid motionless on the floor, face devoid of emotion.

"Ettore Aleksandr C. Starikov," the white-clad man spoke. "You are nothing but a disgrace to our home. You shall be sent back to your... peasant father, and never to return again."

Ettore remained still. His lips never parted to utter a word even as the other man walked away, leaving him alone on the ground. The floor beneath him was bestrewn with gore, coldness quickly circulating through his paralyzed form, shivers surging on his weak spine.

He was losing a lot of blood. He needed blood. He craved blood.

However, even as his stomach roared and his fangs sharpened with desire to devour, the fading young man could only make a finger twitch at most, nails digging onto the hard ground. A rumble left his throat, pupils dilating as he espied his so-called relatives slowly dispersing and leaving him all alone.

He found it almost farcical, able to vividly recall how they had welcomed him with warmth and open arms upon his first arrival. Of course, such warm greeting was but not without reason. Ettore was young, yet strong enough to stand on equal  with the famed prince in aspect of swordsmanship— the Calhalev were atrocious beings who put importance only in those with ample functionality. Now that he had been sucked dry of purpose, it was time to throw him out.

It made him want to wretch his guts out when his felt a disgusted gaze linger on his lukewarm figure.

Alfin Calhalev, his cousin and the person who had pledged his friendship with Ettore, looked at him with a pair of eyes that presented nothing but disgust.

Ettore chuckled; then a cough shook his being.

He was beyond disgusted. He was revolted, seeing that dastardly bastard of a cousin even dare to rest his eyes upon him for more than a second. How sickening; he had almost wanted to puke.

Fury filled his veins more and more as his death drew in closer. He was on death's door, and none of his family would like to spare the littlest bit of effort in saving him. Ciel, that bastard, all etiquette and manner flew out of his mind as he recalled the face of his own uncle, he said I would get sent back to father, does he not remember that he's dead?

Resolve, he'd perceived, was for naught. If one wanted to kill, or possessed the hankering to devour, then he musn't be willed to do so. Will, resolve,  determination— in the mere seconds that Ettore had left and during the little time he spent thinking before his conciousness faded— he came to realize they were all useless.

If one wanted to raze; what they ought to have was rage. Hence, he let wrath completely eat him up on those last few seconds, madness imbued in his eyes.

He was going to ingurgitate them.

——— Asahi shrivelled under the sheets, coldness engulfing his body. But even as he felt the piercing cold that traveled down his spine, his body burned. The crook of his neck and his forehead scintillated with unbearable heat, pain flaring throughout his veins.

Heat.

Heat?

His eyes cracked open with panic.  It almost felt like oxygen had been knocked out of his lungs as he bolted up, gripping onto the sheets when his body convulsed with pain. He would have screamed when his stomach spasmed had it not been for the aching of his gravelly throat that made tears prickle on the corners of his eyes.

The closest thing he had felt to heat was the warmth he'd felt upon his birth. It was what he had experienced whenever his late mother, Asahi's, gingerly embraced him.

But not like this. Raging, burning heat that seemed to torch him.

He stretched his arm from under the covers, patting away to the nightstand beside his wide bed until he felt his hot skin touch against something. A grunt left his chapped lips as he grabbed a hold of the object, a satire chuckle bellowed from his throat.

He laughed.

Asahi hadn't laughed in such a long while. So, holding the beautiful flower by its stem, he roared with a the loudest cackle he had ever done in centuries. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed as his eyes beheld at the sight of the pretty, pretty plant at the tip of his fingers; all whilst he ignored the scalding heat and excruciating pain that burned his veins.

Purple petals danced around his digits, and his eyes not once left them even as they brim with tears of laughter.

Ah, ah. Such a beautiful flower it was.

Petunia.

resentment and anger.

His guffaws doubled up at the recollection of Jaehyuk's pleasant smile as he slipped the flower into his hand. Perhaps he had been laughing for far too long that his cheeks and sides both were starting to hurt, but Asahi could only remain cackling raucously as the alluring petals crumbled under his perilious touch.

Ah.

He was beginning to like that bastard's sense of humor.

Asahi gave one last laugh before he fleeted into unconsciousness— and this time, he couldn't feel the cold at all.