The Meaning of Treason (I)

"You knew that one day, he was going to leave."

The man in grey sighed. Bleak, almost as stark pale as his knuckles as he gripped the arms of the seat. Not a moment of this was real to him, not a moment of it.

It could not be real.

"You have known for as long as I have, that he would stray. Nature over Nuture- He was never like us."

"…You did everything you could to stop it."

Strained, disbelief wiping the notion of fear from one mans words. Apathy dripped from the others.

Finally, there was light. The curtains drew back, and shadows cleared. Tarnish could never be undone, sapphire blues and hues of silver struggled but shone through dark additions. Not even the light of morn' could brighten the men.

Step.

His pacing ceased at the window, and grey eyes peered down to a courtyard. Long ago left untended, weeds wouldn't dare to grow. Barren, briars on woody stems adorned the paths. A world bleached clean by the air, the water, slumber befell all but the damned who stood in the cold.

The damned that watched a child that was never his learn what snow was in an oversized coat he'd stolen one night as if stepping outside was forbidden. As if he wasn't entitled to that sky.

"Not every dream, every wish, every desire can come true."

Cold breath, the world became faded and obscured. Cold words, denied a single dream.

The window and view, lonliness. He turned, the warmest hazel met the coldest grey.

"I want him back as much as you do."

"…Vale, he is never coming back."

As if suspended in lucidity, words ceased. What was there to say?

Old, worn out eyes looked to the courtyard one final time. The coldest grey broke and showed that sliver of humanity only such a loss could uncover. A child that was never his, a child never meant to stay.

Faded, the frost gave way to ice. Worn out features looked back at the man, eyes just as broken as his mocked what they saw. Mirror me, unafraid to show it was never cold. Yeilding to humanity that survived a Hell created by hedonism.

"Vale…"

The other stood, steady and slow. Old age was kind, but humanity rended a man like a savage. Humanity bloomed, the warmest hazel reached out.

"Vale. You know where he is."

Hope. A wish for life to be so easy, so easy as to bring a man home.

"You know where he is. You know what he is doing."

A subtle denial. The slight of light and shadows serving to seal away that last piece of humanity from sight.

"I know where he is. I have always known." A scowl, a flicker of rage.

His son could be dying. Expendible- worthless in the eyes of those who dared to pull at strings so carefully placed upon unwitting puppets.

"…He knows where he is."

"What do you mean?"

Recognition and realization met confusion and curiosity.

"He knows what they think of him."

"He knows the world he's stepping through- and he knows they are wrong."

The coldest grey looked away from the pane that blinded it- stark white that burned like cheap whiskey.

Somewhere in the distance, far across the land, broken grey looked to a frame so carefully placed across from the bed.

Soft smoke fell, and a quiet smile grew.

The coldest grey called, and called.

"Come home."

"Come home…"

Yet, the void offered no reply.

A world away, the broken grey lets the smoke drown out the pain.

"I miss you, Father."

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