Dark Descendant's Post:
He wanted to scream, clutching tightly onto that stuffed bear of his as the feathered wings on its back pressed deep into his arm. The staring from younger girls his age bothered him, even if it was out of adoration or amazement, he hated it. His deep black eyes didn't sparkle as the light reflected off of them, and that never was a good sign with him.
Yet as Dorian passed by them and was out of their sight and making eye contact with them, those dark eyes of his let out a little hint of sparkle as he looked up at the sign in the sky above. Near noon, and he had been out since the early crack of dawn. He was known for wandering away from the castle for the entire day, but he was going to a record this time around.
He wanted to stay within the village until the next morning.
Sure, it would send the Queen for a loop, possible throwing his sister down a path of worrying, possibly force her to send out a few knights to search for him. After all, it was her who was to watch over him during the day and teach him what he was to know.
He wasn't going to sit up in his chamber all day, every day reading about a history that more than likely had nothing to do with him or his origin. Didn't they understand already that he wasn't like them? What, did they find him at the gate of the castle and decide to take him in? Without a doubt, it had to have been something along those lines.
He wasn't normal.
His hands tightened more one that defenseless bear, his face skewed into a look of disgust. Just that fact alone brought him to who he was today. Not the nine year old prince expected to take over the kingdom if the Queen passed on and his sister either refused the position or was whisked off to another kingdom by some fancy prince. Oh, far from that. But the twisted and devious little demon that he was.
There was always something standing out -- other than his hair -- that bothered him to the point that he had to destroy it, kill it, or force someone else to. Sometimes he thought he was normal and could be saved, play with the other children and be like them. Yet everytime he came close to convincing himself of so, he destroyed a child's toys and sometimes hurt that child.
Jealousy wasn't in it, he was never jealous. He just hated humans, even demons, too. Anything that had somewhat of a physical semblance to him he hated.
All of them. The lot of them. They all needed to die. To him, they were pathetic with their arguments and fights. And to think he had the blood of two of them mixed within his childish body. When he tried to clense himself of it, he always woke up in a warm bed with a bandage over his neck.
The thought angered him. Angered him so much that the grip on his bear increased around the neck until his fingers pierced the material and popped the head off the toy. The only thing Dorian did was stand there, ready to scream his lungs out with his ebony eyes watching the head of the bear roll down the dirt path on the hill toward edge of the village.