Okay. I just want to say that this REALLY needs to be read with my other story, Myriad Of Rose. Read this after you've read that, please. Otherwise it won't make sense.
Some of you are going to wonder, 'Why the hell didn't she give him a name?' Do you want to know the reason?
He isn't means to have one. He is a mysterious character, and I want people to interpret him however they will. So I don't think he needs one. This focuses entirely on him, so it isn't easy to become confused on who I'm portraying. I think he's nice like this. I'm letting you decide what you think. Therefore, I won't make any theories. I'm shaping this character as a person by showing his past as I imagine it. (I treat all characters I write about like real people, so I try and actually become their mentality.) But he still is however he is in your mind. I don't mention anything about what he is or what he may/may not have done. I just show him, the only way I know how.
Thank you in advance.
When you grow up getting everything you want, you become spoiled.
He would know.
The hired help always commented on how he got whatever he wanted. And it was true. He could make people give him anything. He was a pampered child, but he still didn't like anyone.
He wasn't a happy child, though. He was dark and brooding. He didn't have any friends, and he didn't really want any. He didn't much care for the other children. He hated having attention taken away from him. He absolutely hated it. He had to have everything that he wanted, when he wanted it, or he was prone to rage.
He never really changed. He was always the same mollycoddled child, only he grew. He had to have attention, all eyes had to be on him, and he better get what he wanted, or else.
Nobody really liked him. His own parents eyed him with distaste, as though they wished they didn't have a child. His Mother died when he was ten, and he never cried about it. He was an eerie, calculating child.
"I'm afraid of him," confessed one of the maids.
The next day she was dismissed mysteriously.
He wasn't a good person; but maybe he wasn't a bad person. He was just spoiled so badly that he became accustomed to nothing but the finest. But he did understand pain. No one knew how, but the child did understand pain.
He took all his things for granted, tossing them about. And if they broke, he threw a fit and made the help replace them. He was rich enough that they could wheedle some money out of his parents to pacify him. But he always seemed to want to get someone into trouble. It didn't matter who; anybody would do. He just liked to create chaos. And that was why not even the people who raised him liked him. They just let him have his way.
He knew that he was a terrible boy, but he didn't care. He went around abusing his possessions and hurting others. Maybe he meant to; maybe he didn't. He, himself, didn't know. All he knew was that he hated everyone and everyone hated him.
Which, of course was true. He had no friends, and any relatives he had refused to acknowledge him. Nobody wanted to associate with such a rotten child. He was ill-tempered and prone to fits, and nobody wanted to be near him.
He didn't care. He told himself that he was better off alone. He ignored people who tried to help him and pushed others away.
But even though he hated easily and passionately, he also loved easily and passionately. But he knew he was too greedy and jealous. He never had mere crushes, it was always true love. But it always fell through, making him even more bitter and hate-filled than he already was. Nobody could deal with him. Nobody could calm him or even bribe him into submission. Gradually, they came to hate him.
He never would reach an old age, and as cruel as it may seem, none of them cared. They wouldn't cry at his funeral, and they wouldn't mourn his death.
But he didn't even care about that. He hated them all. Every last one of them.
He couldn't give anything to those he loved. Something about him made giving an impossible task. He just couldn't give, but he could take. He understood everyone's hatred of him, but he couldn't force himself to care. He just couldn't.
In some ways, he needed the perfect person to become his conscience. Which is why she was perfect.
Lily Rose fixed him.
If you've read thus far, I hope you review! Sorry, had to do that. But I hope this doesn't suck. I just wanted people to be able to get into his mind. I wanted them to see who he is and what he is while still leaving him open to imagination. If I failed, just send me hate mail! I don't really care.
So either way, here it is. I'm practicing for an upcoming story about the mentality of a criminal. Before you ask, I'm not studying psychology. I'm thirteen and I like to observe mental dysfunctions. I've had a few in my past, so I like to learn more about what it means to not be able to function normally.
This character isn't based off of anybody, I just created him to portray selfishness. I didn't intend to give my first story a prequel, but then I realized that maybe he wasn't structured enough as a character.
For those of you wondering, I am fascinated by the human psyche. I'm told that I'm very able to read people, and I like being able to help. I love to think, and I do so all the time. I overassess things, which is my biggest problem. Basically, the darkest character I can find fascinates me, but I begine to disect their minds and try to see how they think. TV characters, usually. I try to, in a sense, gather some bits of their mind. I know, I'm strange.
Wow, this is longer than I intended. Sorry about this.