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He gathered his things, hurriedly throwing on a coat and saying little and few goodbyes to those who lived with him. The cold of space nearly glanced off of him as he thought himself to be on somthing akin to a mission.
A mission that entailed digging up things that should have stayed dead and forgotten right where had had left them in the back of his mind along with everything else he had no business in thinking of. This would include several books he had the displeasure of reading and the thoughts he wished he could burn.
What happened in the front of his mind currently was a head splitting pain, screams ringing through his ears and deafening all thoughts and feelings he may have had in the present. All he needed to do was get there.
And he knew he was close, he could feel the wails easing on him and turning into general whispers and coaxing voices telling him where to go- not that he needed that anyway as he was there.
He was back.
He didn't want to be back.
But nevertheless he opened the door.
The halls rang a familiar cold, as Vitreous entered his own house of horrors. This was not where Amalthea now stayed, this was his first house and only true home.
He gripped the door handle, fidgeting with the icy metal. A wave of memories lapped at the walls and he was quite the fish out of water; he dared not move but the currents pushed him in.
a tidal wave of thoughts brushed through him, a single note left on the shelf, a warped floor board, the warmth of the kitchen, the laughter that rang through the halls- it all washed over him as he gripped his hands together.
"Why did things have to end this way?…" he whispered to the house, excpecting nobreply and receiving such as he continued his journey through the labyrinth of a Past he tried to forget and regretted.
. . .
As quiet as a mouse he navigated a ways away from the common area and came to rest in a child's room, weary eyes gazing over the many drawings that hung on the walls.
His room.
It had been… so many years since he had been here, so many empty years… and then he noticed it sitting atop the bed.
A small trinket of sorts, similar to a fidget spinner but smaller and star shaped. He made his way over to it, being careful not to wake up somthing that would pain him even more.
The bed frame creaked as he sat on the mattress, not fully relishing the fact at how tall he had become and reached for the thing.
The fidget-star fit in the palm of his hand and weighed almost nothing, and with a pull from his very soul he cast it away like a frightened child would a bug. Eyes wide with shock and unable to speak from a acute fear.
His father had placed this here, the one who abandoned him, the one who forgot about him, the one whom he hated and loved and couldn't describe in the slightest had been here and he was afraid.
He watched the star fall to the floor, curling up in on himself, covering his ears and hysterically started to spin a chant.
"They aren't here."
"They aren't here."
"They aren't him."
"I don't need to worry."
"They can't be him…"
And he slowly, very slowly opened his eyes and lifted his ears. The room was silent. There was no reason to believe that the living devil had gotten in, and so he hurriedly picked up the spinner and left; quietly closing the door.
He hated that place.
And he hated that he had to go there.
And he hated home.
And he thought this to himself as he departed, and it rang out true to him. He didn’t need that place anymore and it didn’t need him to be whole. It need who he had been and who they should have been and what should have happened. That place didn’t deserved smiles and happiness but he loathed that it never got that. That it only got tears.
But he could never change that, and he would forever live with this… reminder… this… star. This thing that he hated but loved with his entire being as it was a change of pace for him. And he kept it close to himself, in the pocket of his coat and never acknowledged it. And was never brought fear nor comfort from it.
But he would live with it.
He needed to remeber the hate.