Prolouge- Before Giza (darkness)
He hadn't meant to kill him. It was an accident. The carpet was stained red, and the silvery surface of a mirror reflected the scene to him. The young man lay on the floor, eyes wide with fear and surprise. Blood that flowed from his neck, arms and a large gash on his forehead. And then there was him, the teenage boy who stood in front of the mirror, not caring that the fancy silk of his blue shirt was ruined, nor the puddle of blood he was standing in; barefoot. His eyes wandered to his reflection. The indigo globes devoid of any feeling. With a strangled cry he hit the mirror with his fist. The shards fell to the carpet with a delicate tinkle. The shards cut into his hands, adding more to the already bloody hands. In the shattered mirror he saw his fragmented self. Long black bangs falling into his feminine face, the flat gaze of his eyes, to the small nose and the petite lips. He was disgusted. If the mirror had been full-length then a sleder feminine body would have been revealed, wearing loose black pants, a cobalt blue shirt and a black cloak. With a soft sigh, the young teen turned on his heel, planning to flee. It was all his damned looks! If he hadn't been so.... so... pretty then everything would have been fine! He would be on his way to art school, or something.... A manservant opened the door to the room.
"Master Klarce?" The servant asked, before seeing the body, with the boy standing over it.
"Young Master?" the servant gasped. The blood was all over the place. The boy turned his gaze on the servant, and smiled. The innocent smile was marred by the dull glazed eyes and the blood that was on his shirt and coated his hands.
"Master Klarce is dead," he said in a rough singsong voice, then giggled. Carefully and deliberately he lifted his bloodstained hands to his mouth and licked the blood from his fingers, giggling madly the whole time. The servant began yelling something, but the boy couldn't hear. Still laughing, with his tongue red from the blood he ran. Out the door, his feet pushing into the mud and pulling out with a slucking sound. Soon he was crying, or maybe it was the rain? Salty rain? He didn't care anymore as he ran, through the rain, away from what had been home.