Dusty toy-box
Title: Dusty toy-box
Characters: Envy
Rating: Perfectly worksafe
Spoilers: Not really, no
Notes: We finally resume the saga of young Envy… perhaps one of these days I’ll make these things their own section.
Precise steps were key. Mistakes were never tolerated, failure was just that, unforgiven. It was a dance he’d had to learn, and wished he never had to. He was confused by the changes requested of him. He was young, he didn’t know why she wanted what she did of him, but he’d give. In absence of his creator, he’d give and give until he had nothing left if there was a hope of soothing the ache.
Rejection was more than clear in his mind, pain a constant companion offered to compensate the knowledge of being unwanted. He’d let himself be swept under the wing of someone not his creator, been taken in and used as she saw fit.
It did not matter what little things her requests broke inside him. It did not matter when he had uncertainties of his own identity. It did not matter when he flinched away from her eyes. It did not matter what his opinion was, because he had no choice. He’d started weak, and was now stronger than her.
It made no difference.
He was the favored pet, the perfect companion forged into various forms to inspire jealousies in others, the perfect toy to be used when she wanted to lure in some girl, or to break someone’s heart. He was perfect to turn into the little girl she never had, to offer as a sultry maiden as a bribe to keep someone out of their affairs. He was perfect for anything she could possibly ask of him.
She never asked his opinion. She never asked him his mind or desires, for they were not important to her. She asked for specific things, simple things. She knew his intelligence and denied him use of it. It was her choice. She owned him as only an alchemist could own, and he was forced to bow to that.
When she started creating others, there was panic. Did he not satisfy her wishes any longer? Did he fail to do anything she wanted? Lust, Greed, things that he had tried to fill in his own ways and failed.
Lust was beautiful, but he knew he could be better. He could be better, and he was scorned for trying to show that. He was to bow to the younger ones, give them whatever they might so desire of him. He was to teach them to behave as she asked, things she never asked of him. Lust she’d ask knowledge of, spying and intelligence that she’d never once trusted him with. Greed she used as a fighter, an assassin in the dark when she’d claimed him too weak to attend those wishes.
Bloodied hands won him no more favor than a beautiful form, and he was punished for stepping beyond his orders. Diminished before an audience of his own kind as trying too hard to be something he wasn’t. He failed to remember his place. He failed to remember that he was only what she willed him to be.
It could all be blamed on the one who created him. He’d been abandoned to these callous mercies by his creator. If the creator had not left him he would not have had the ache of pain nor the fear of rejection. He would have no cause to be jealous of replacements for there would have been none. He blamed his creator for leaving him to a cruel mistress who thrived on her own selfishness.
He blamed and blamed, knowing that he would share the misery at some point. He’d find his creator again and be with him, and if he wasn’t accepted he could force the hand. He’d do what he had to to make the pain of rejection finally go away. He’d do what he had to so he would not be in this place again.
He was never meant to have a mistress. He was not created to be such. He was created to be changeable, moldable, and ultimately given life in a manner fitting those abilities.
He was created to not be cast aside with untapped resources. He was created not to be a toy at all.
But he was.
He had no idea how to change the fact that he was.
Characters: Envy
Rating: Perfectly worksafe
Spoilers: Not really, no
Notes: We finally resume the saga of young Envy… perhaps one of these days I’ll make these things their own section.
Precise steps were key. Mistakes were never tolerated, failure was just that, unforgiven. It was a dance he’d had to learn, and wished he never had to. He was confused by the changes requested of him. He was young, he didn’t know why she wanted what she did of him, but he’d give. In absence of his creator, he’d give and give until he had nothing left if there was a hope of soothing the ache.
Rejection was more than clear in his mind, pain a constant companion offered to compensate the knowledge of being unwanted. He’d let himself be swept under the wing of someone not his creator, been taken in and used as she saw fit.
It did not matter what little things her requests broke inside him. It did not matter when he had uncertainties of his own identity. It did not matter when he flinched away from her eyes. It did not matter what his opinion was, because he had no choice. He’d started weak, and was now stronger than her.
It made no difference.
He was the favored pet, the perfect companion forged into various forms to inspire jealousies in others, the perfect toy to be used when she wanted to lure in some girl, or to break someone’s heart. He was perfect to turn into the little girl she never had, to offer as a sultry maiden as a bribe to keep someone out of their affairs. He was perfect for anything she could possibly ask of him.
She never asked his opinion. She never asked him his mind or desires, for they were not important to her. She asked for specific things, simple things. She knew his intelligence and denied him use of it. It was her choice. She owned him as only an alchemist could own, and he was forced to bow to that.
When she started creating others, there was panic. Did he not satisfy her wishes any longer? Did he fail to do anything she wanted? Lust, Greed, things that he had tried to fill in his own ways and failed.
Lust was beautiful, but he knew he could be better. He could be better, and he was scorned for trying to show that. He was to bow to the younger ones, give them whatever they might so desire of him. He was to teach them to behave as she asked, things she never asked of him. Lust she’d ask knowledge of, spying and intelligence that she’d never once trusted him with. Greed she used as a fighter, an assassin in the dark when she’d claimed him too weak to attend those wishes.
Bloodied hands won him no more favor than a beautiful form, and he was punished for stepping beyond his orders. Diminished before an audience of his own kind as trying too hard to be something he wasn’t. He failed to remember his place. He failed to remember that he was only what she willed him to be.
It could all be blamed on the one who created him. He’d been abandoned to these callous mercies by his creator. If the creator had not left him he would not have had the ache of pain nor the fear of rejection. He would have no cause to be jealous of replacements for there would have been none. He blamed his creator for leaving him to a cruel mistress who thrived on her own selfishness.
He blamed and blamed, knowing that he would share the misery at some point. He’d find his creator again and be with him, and if he wasn’t accepted he could force the hand. He’d do what he had to to make the pain of rejection finally go away. He’d do what he had to so he would not be in this place again.
He was never meant to have a mistress. He was not created to be such. He was created to be changeable, moldable, and ultimately given life in a manner fitting those abilities.
He was created to not be cast aside with untapped resources. He was created not to be a toy at all.
But he was.
He had no idea how to change the fact that he was.