Sokeefe AU: The Farmer's Daughter

Part Five

Keefe Sencen hated his eyes.

He hated everything about them.

The color of them, the stupid, ridiculous color that made him want to puke all over his mother's too fancy carpet that sat annoyingly in the foyer of Candleshade. He hated the shape, and the way they crinkled the slightest bit at the edges whenever he smiled and it actually was genuine, which wasn't as often as he had hoped it would be.

He hated how they perfectly mirrored each other, and how flawless they seemed.

Not a disappointing thing about them at all. Not his eyes, at least.

Keefe Sencen hated the way his pupils were bright and full of life and how the ice blue color was rare, even for elves. He despised how they seemed to reflect light and make it a thousand times brighter than before, shooting it back out with a twinkle that made him wish he could claw them out with his mother's hair pin.

He hated it all.

The funny thing was, that's all anyone ever said about him.

Things like shadows, gripping onto his mind and suffocating him, pressing down on his lungs with so much force that he couldn't breathe at all, things people said over and over and over and he just wanted them to stop, please stop, just shut up, please . . .

"Wow, your eyes are so striking!"

"I love the color of your eyes."

"Woah, I've never seen eyes quite like your's before!"

"Jeez, did you take an elixir to get your eyes like that?"

"Your eyes look so much like your father's!"

No, his eyes didn't look like his father's, he wanted to scream from the top of the stupid tower he was forced to call home.

Because if they looked like his father's, that would mean they were cold and cruel and calculating and mean and everything he never wanted to be. That would mean that every ounce of joy he thought he saw flicker through his eyes was a lie, just a mirage, it wasn't real, Keefe, you're just like him, you know? Look at yourself, you're the spitting image of him!

He hated his eyes.

What he hated more, though, was his best friend.

Okay, he thought, late one night, while sitting on the roof of his home.

Yes, the roof. When you live in a 200 story building, that's not exactly a safe thing to do, and he knew it, but who was he to care? Who was he to question if the tower had a small, hidden stairwell that led to an enclosed spot, high in the night sky and perfect for stargazing. It wasn't his fault that, after finding it, it had become his favorite spot to sit and think.

I don't hate Fitz, he told himself, then, as he was overlooking the world that seemed so small underneath him, his feet dangling off the edge of the building. The thought of knowing that if he slipped, for even a second, he could fall to his death and lie splattered on the ground below for his parent's to find. This thought was somehow energizing and horrifying, and Keefe couldn't decide which made him more sick.

But, his mind forced himself to think as the wind whipped through his blond, messy hair, what do I hate, if not him?

An image of Fitz, smiling and perfect, appeared in his head, and he studied it with the effort only a child with insomnia could do at midnight.

Keefe finally found the answer, and he wanted to cry.

He hated Fitz's eyes.

He growled, shaking the image of his best friend out of his mind.