Reborn (1)

Thursday morning 7:27 am - Killer Wind Headquarters.

A child came through the darkness, standing before me. I stood frozen, unable to escape the empty space. Suddenly the scene around us changed. The veil of shadow fell away to make way for an endless expanse of water. The thin layer of liquid tickled the soles of my feet in a great calm. The purple sky and its cottony clouds were reflected so faithfully that no one could tell which of the two reflections was the original.

I know this place, it can't be him, he's an impostor, he's still trying to play with my feelings. If I had any, he would have broken me by now. Why is he wasting his time by coming back again and again?

The boy stopped for a moment to admire the view. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. I couldn't make out his scrubbed and scratched face. I couldn't remember Big Brother's face. He gave me a wave and came up to me and said coldly “You see, I was sure you had a flaw. You haven't changed a bit, you're still a weak thing unable to find your beloved ‘Big Brother’! You can't hide anything from me, I see right through you. Don't forget, Miss: I always get what I want.

I wanted to hold him back to tear off that head which was not his, but I did not have the strength. What an odious trick, I was biting my lip! To use his image to taunt me...

“Take back what you just said. Don't you dare speak for her again. Soiling my memories, is that all you could find to pass the time?”

He simply continued on his way after passing me. I couldn't do anything but threaten him with empty words, how humiliating... My body didn't flinch when he brushed past me, nor did I turn around, refusing to look at him for another second.

I couldn't let that filthy parasite think he could ever take control. I couldn't play his game or he'd eat me alive.

“That's exactly what I said, a weak thing. You are incapable of doing me any harm when I am in this form. What creature never learns from its mistakes?”

Humans, I thought with annoyance.

“I'm not like them anymore, you made me an empty shell, remember?”

“Not for much longer, Miss... Not for much longer...”

~~~~

When I came to my senses, I found that I was still the pillow of the prince who was sleeping deeply on my shoulder. I was obliged to wake him up so that I could extricate myself and do my business. I jerked him awake until I saw him open his eyes, with an unequalled limpness.

Fortunately for him, he had not taken advantage of my kindness to attempt to run away. That would have put me in a state that no one would want to bring back, especially after the dream I had just had. Anyway, I would have easily prevented him from doing so and the cellar door was locked by a biometric lock that only my fingerprints or those of my mentor could unlock. But it was a good sign that he hadn't overstepped the red line.

Leaning over his frail body, I told him that I would be back in a few minutes without getting a distinct reaction.

Don't look at me with those frail doe eyes! I haven't done anything to you yet!

I went up the cellar stairs alone and gathered a whole bunch of things that would be useful to me in remodelling his image as a prince. Once I had done my little trip, I went back towards the secret passage and found my prisoner waiting for me there. We struggled in a duel of strength as he refused to approach the torture chair. Despite his resistance, I had no difficulty in putting him in his place after having firmly grabbed his wrist. Finally, I stood behind him and placed a towel over his shoulders, which were as narrow as a child's. Without waiting, I briskly cut his hair and applied myself to trimming it into small fringes, which I neatly arranged into strands.

He had silky blond hair that slipped through my fingers. I curled his wild hair as best I could, and it naturally fell back with each attempt. I finally abandoned my hairstyle for a dye job. Since I had no dye left, I bleached his hair with a dry shampoo made from tropical Coudiac oil.

I had obtained this rare product to cleanse cursed blood, to no avail. A few years ago, I assassinated a magician who was desecrating bodies to refine his necromantic magic, a practice that was forbidden for obvious reasons. This mission quickly went wrong because the target had put a curse on himself to have a chance to beat me. The problem with this type of forbidden spell is that it costs you your humanity through a random side effect. This setback certainly didn't stop me from killing him, but I didn't escape unscathed: my uniform and hair were smeared in the corpse's cursed blood, and I couldn't wash off the liquid that had touched me, even after a shower.

Because I couldn't come out stained with human blood, Justine had advised me to use magic make-up to restore my skin to its natural colour. As for my hair, there was nothing I could do. Its silvery shine had disappeared under a scarlet red like paint on a blank canvas. Not even a high-quality magic oil could counteract the curse mixed with the blood.

Knowing all this, I refused to cut my hair. Over the years it continued to grow and the redness now only rubbed off on the lower half of my hair.

I love to inspire fear, I love the colour of haemoglobin, like an exhilarating wine. And I am insatiably thirsty. I want to get more and more of it flowing my way. This colour represents me perfectly. I didn't want to be white as snow anymore, white as a singular creature, like them, like their work of art.

I am neither pure nor innocent.

By now, the prince had changed the game. I had new and more appetizing goals ahead of me, and for the first time in a long time, I finally felt like I was starting a worthwhile adventure.

When I poured the oil on the boy, the effect was immediate. His natural blond hair had faded to an even lighter white than mine. The change was radical and happened in the blink of an eye. He would have to get used to it because if he didn't like it, I was ready to give him some extra scars.

Apart from his green eyes, which gave him away about his previous identity, nobody would think of Gasencourt at first sight. The impostor look like my blurred memories of Big Brother, small and childlike, and that was exactly the result I was hoping for.

If I devour you with my eyes, will I ever remember the precious face of Big Brother?

Once he had finished his relooking, I invited him upstairs to the ground floor of the house to make him discover the result of my retouch. Thus the impostor would not see the dust of the cellar again for some time.