"You don't look so hot there, you okay sport?"
That small frame huddled within the meager protection of the boundless night, beneath that pallid moonlight. Delicate shoulders hunched. Slender arms wrapped so close, as if staving off the chill that he had not felt in so long.
Piece by piece of that crumbling facade peeling away. The mask sewn upon troubled features.
That fractious expression long since gone. Like drops of molten rain melting into nothing, leaving only a curious introspection painted upon pale features. Uncertain vulnerability peeking just beneath cracking layers of immutable clay. Those radiant eyes that flickered up looking more of a child lost, than a feral beast who ate human flesh.
And that was all he had ever been...
No more than a petulant child in the always in the midst of a temper tantrum. Â A miserable and pitiable creature born from a simple wish that, somewhere along the way, had gotten so horribly skewed.
Trapped within the wretched boundaries of this âfamily..â Within himself. Those unshakable threads of bonds, of his own wretched illusions. Sitting idly and spinning web after web of beautiful lies. Casting himself within his own demented dreaming. As well as anyone who dared to get too close.
Yet just like webs, dreams were so very easy to break. One touch could destroy everythingâŠ
Sooner or later. Everything had to end. Nothing within this world could last. The curtain had already fallen upon his make believe family crafted of empty dollsâŠ.And soon he too would fall next.
A beat of silence then.
It was only then, with that gentle symphony of silken rustling, did he first notice. The muted melody of webs quietly creaking in soft protest in the dead of the night. An intruderâŠ.Stalking through the thick woods, the sea of boundless trees, catching upon web after web. The realization giving sudden pause.
A young boy hidden. All alone, silently watching.Â
Yes. The child lingering there, resting upon steady threads, might only be described as ethereal.
The yukata, bathed in pure white, patterns of spider webs, of crimson circles embroidered  within the threadbare fabric. Cast the same pale hues as his skin, the lavender undertones of silver, windswept, locks that fell before the boyâs face. Merely gazing at the jet black spiders lazily ghosting upon his  open palms. Feet porcelain pale, bare. Soft azure hues standing out sharply against crimson sclera
Azure hues flickering with notes of confusion then, catching heavily upon the older...
â   ....Who...are you.....?  â
