I'll be good

See what I've become

Damian was sitting on the edge of the open window in his room, his legs were swung over the ledge and dangling into the pitch-black void beneath him. It was a long way down; if he were to throw himself over the side, nobody would reach him fast enough, and no amount of time spent in the Lazarus pit would be able to save him. It was a split second, intrusive thought as he inched himself closer, staring down into the abyss. He felt like laughing at the simplicity of it all.

He didn't follow through with it, of course-- what would be the point?-- and instead turned his gaze to the now rising sun that was just peering above the surface of the water, painting the sky with infusions of orange and pink, and chasing the darkness away.

He always loved watching the sunrises when he was a boy, it was his favourite part of the day, and in some ways it still was. It was beautiful. Ethereal. Something Damian thought he could look at forever. But that sense of peace and awe that would overcome him at the sight of them, he couldn't feel it anymore.

He watched a flock of birds he had never seen before, fly straight past him-- as though he wasn't even there-- and flutter around each other just above the surface of the water, breaking the tranquillity of the waves. He used to envy them-- how freeing it must be to be able to fly from one place to the next with just a few flaps of their wings-- and for the most part, he still did. But he understood now what role he had to play in the great game of life. He knew he could never try to run again; where would he go? He'd had a taste of the outside world and it spat him back to the very place he didn't want to be.

No, he wouldn't run. Not this time. He would play his role to keep himself alive, make his mother proud, and keep his childish dreams of being free to himself. Locked away forever.

Damian couldn't be sure how long he had been sitting there on the window's ledge, just existing whilst the world moved around him; it was as though one second the sun was barely touching the horizon, and the next second it was high in the sky, beating down upon his clothed legs. It was as though he blinked and missed everything.

The door behind him opened suddenly, disturbing his short moment of peace and welcoming the inhospitable presence of his mother. Forcing his eyes away from the scenery before him, Damian quickly shuffled away from the edge and climbed down from his chosen seat at the window.

Talia did not smile when her eyes landed upon his face, nor did she present that cruel smirk that always seemed to paint her lips. She didn't reach out to him or attempt to reassure him under the guise of a soft expression. Her face was hard and lacked any sort of emotion that Damian was familiar with, her snake-like eyes just as so.

Damian felt his breathing pick up slightly but he didn't look away from her challenging stare.

Only then did she reach out and take his chin gently between her thumb and forefinger, "you look unwell," Talia spoke dully as she surveyed Damian's face.

Damian swallowed heavily, praying that his voice wouldn't sound as hoarse as he imagined it would. "I'm fine, mother," he answered.

Her grip held firm, seemingly unsatisfied with his response. "Have you slept?" she asked him, though Damian could be sure she already knew the truth.

When Damian did not answer, his mother released her hold on his face, and he let his gaze drop. Clicking her tongue in disapproval, Talia turned away from him and moved over to the small table in the corner of the room, where a small, silver-coloured chalice sat upon it. It had been brought to him late last night by someone he didn't recognise, but he didn't dare drink the contents-- in an act of defiance, maybe? He didn't know. He was certain that he was important enough to not be poisoned, but he still refused to drink whatever it was that lay inside that chalice-- choosing to instead, place it on the table far enough away from him, where it remained throughout the night.