Soon the time announced by father arrived.

Dad pretexted a trip for the sake of training. Gregoire and a cortege of servants came along with me, who hadn’t yet realized what was happening — or more precisely — who didn’t want to accept it.

We left before the rise of the sun and rode tranquilly to our destination.

Was I tranquil? I was inert for sure, staring my eyes empty at the walls of the cart.

We were alone in the cart; the others accompanying us on horseback.

Aside from the coacher sat someone, a small boy.

A kid whose face I couldn’t see.

We rode and rode until finally we arrived.

Secretly hoping that dad had somehow changed his mind.

I kept peeking at him, trying to read his expression before looking elsewhere. During the entire ride, he kept his silence.

My heartbeats increased in volume as time passed, soon so loud that it was all I could hear. I closed my eyes, trying to get myself under control, but I couldn’t.

‘Calm down.. calm down.. you’re a Balmung!’

‘Strong and proud,’

‘Calm down!’

Useless, I couldn’t relax and my breathing grew with time, more and more laborious. I gasped for air, and then, without thinking, jumped to my feet and ran to a window.

It was without a doubt reckless — especially in a moving cart — but I didn’t care. As fate would have it, nothing bad happened — at least, not there.

As I opened the window and let some air in, I breathed a sigh and emptied my head; silently staring at the moving panorama.

The scenery was. How was the scenery? I couldn’t even tell.

My thoughts elsewhere.

Far from contemplative, I was stuck in my head.

Trying to get this despicable thought out of my mind. ‘There’s no way dad will abandon me.’

Soon, or maybe after a while, we arrived.

I didn’t even realize, but at some point, we had crossed into a forest.

We stepped outside, and there stood a simple, rustic wooden cabin.

Father went to talk to the coacher, and maids came to me and lead me inside.

Inside was a chair.

I didn’t want to get in, every fiber of my body telling me to run away. But I couldn’t. I fell to my knees, my legs becoming like overcooked noodles.

For a reason I only knew too well, but tried to deny, I started sweating enough to fill buckets, my hands clammy and my whole body shivering of its own.

‘NO- no- no- just believe in him.. maybe..’

The maids didn’t seem to mind my antics, and lifted me off the ground and carried me to the chair.

I waited inside, waiting — scratching my hands. My patience was rewarded as another maid entered the room, bringing with her a metallic box and handing it to another.

I swallowed my saliva.

The first tied an apron around my neck and then cut my hair.

Like that.

Before I could beg, the scissor touched my nape, and as I felt the lock of hair touch my dangling hand, all I could do was mouth my shock.

“Ah.”

‘This is real.’

As the blade continued its carnage on my head, I contemplated.

Maybe it was foolish to hope for anything else.

I didn’t cry, though. It didn’t befit a man, right?

I wouldn’t disappoint father again.

Maybe if I stayed strong here, he’d change his mind.

I only stared at the door with emotionless eyes, dissociating myself from whatever was happening to me.

Soon though, a creak of the door broke my facade.

My cold, emotionless eye went turned to a look of distress as father stepped in, thinking of begging for forgiveness.

Begging for another chance.

Begging for…

‘What?’ I thought as I saw him enter.

The distress disappeared, replaced by ...

He wasn’t alone, after him, entered a boy — the same boy who I had seen sitting next to the coacher.

As I met him, I turned frigid, frozen by his cold, emotionless eyes.

A youth, my spitting image, wearing no emotions on his face, appeared; the eerie sensation of looking at one’s self in the mirror in a dream. Knowing something was not quite right, without being able to identify what.

‘Oh.’

Hair.

The only difference between me and him.

“N-n-n-n-n,” I stuttered, unable to speak as I looked at the boy. My mouth too stunned to say a thing, I then lowered my gaze.

The ground filling my vision.

I didn’t want to face that.

‘No way.. No way!’

So that’s what he meant by “body double”.

“How do you like him?” Dad said. His voice, an ice-cold shower, dragging me from my daze.

“A lot had to be done, to make sure he looked like you,” He continued.

I swallowed again, the moat in my throat making the act much harder.

Looking at the emotionless eyes of what I could only call a human doll, my eyes ablaze, I contained myself and did nothing.

Was there anything I could do?

Could I even convince him anymore?

As he saw my non answer, he said “Boy, show him”

At these words, the broken human doll changed its demeanor entirely, adopting my mannerism, my expressions.

Seeing that, my dad said with a laugh, “Hahahaha, Gregoire you crazy bastard!”

The name should have stood out to me, but in the sight of that masquerade, it didn’t compute.

“It’s not the first time I see it, and even then I am blown away.”

“N-n-no,” I said, stammering.

‘No! No way!’

Nothing felt out of place, nothing but me.

Wearing hair, enacting my character and even speaking with a voice much too similar to mine.

Right now, he looked more like me than even I did.

Dad gazed at me and stopped laughing.

I wanted to think that he didn’t enjoy inflicting me pain either. Nevertheless, he followed by saying,

“Well, this boy shall now live in your quarters. When we return, you will exchange rooms”

“E-exchange rooms? Who is he!?” I said, totally at loss. “How is that possible?”

No answer.

Having stated his piece, he took the hand of the youth and left the room. He wouldn’t even spare me a word.

‘He’ll come back... right?’

He didn’t.

I looked around me, everything feeling distant, out of place. The world itself was crumbling. As I stood up from my chair to chase after him, I tripped on air.

“D-d-dad!!?” I called.

I forced myself up and ran toward the door.

My body didn’t respond as I wanted, and thus I fell too many times.

The servants behind me continued doing whatever they were doing, showing no concern about my frenzy.

I finally reached the door, and as I touched it, my vision obscured.

‘Uh,’

‘What..’

‘Bars appeared in front of my eyes, and suddenly I couldn’t move my head as freely anymore.’

‘Wait what!?’

I brought my hands to my head.. I couldn’t touch it.

‘no’

‘no’

‘what’

‘no’

I yelled as I felt my blood flow backward towards my head, and my back turning cold and itchy.

Panic.

“g-G-G-GET THAT THING OFF ME!!!” I yelled, still believing my words still carried some authority..

No answer.

“GET THAT THING OFF ME!! THIS IN-“

“Please! PLEASE..! Please!” I started crying.

Rolling around, tugging, fighting. Banging it on the wooden walls, pulling it away, praying, begging.

No movement, it stayed there.

As I panted on the ground, eyes blurry, I saw the maids clean up the cabin and leave.

Leaving me behind.

‘Help!’ I tried to mouth, but I couldn’t.

I gasped for air, as I felt my chest pressured.

Unable to breathe.

My brain short-circuited.

I don’t remember much of what happened after that.

[…]

I woke up in an unfamiliar room, staring at the ceiling. My neck hurting, and my vision still obscured.

[…]

Where am I?

#

The bland ceiling was unfamiliar, while familiar.

‘These engravings, the manor?’

But,

‘AArrgh’

A throbbing headache, and my neck.

As I tried to caress my head and couldn’t, everything came back to me.

But weirdly enough, I was calm.

There was no way I’d stay here for long, yes dad would come look for me soon. I convinced myself of it. There was no way I had been abandoned, right?

No fucking way.. right?

I wrestled myself to sit, almost falling back again from the dizziness and pain.

As I looked in front of me, trying to get a better idea of where I was.

There, sat at the edge of the bed looking at me with eyes full of reverence, was a familiar face.

“S-S-Son of the Hound! Have you slept well?” The worried Gregoire asked.

“G-Gregoire? Where.. why are you here? Wait, why am I here?”

“You are in my chamber”

“Your chamber?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“My Lord stated you were to stay here until further notice.”

These words prompted me to remember father’s words.

‘You will exchange rooms…’

“Wait.. so this boy lived here?”

I said as I looked at him.

He nodded.

“No way,” I said, my eyes hidden by the bars of the helmet, blocking the daggers I was shooting.

At my words, he looked away, a sense of guilt showing on his face.

Mine warped into an expression of disgust.

Even without further words, we both knew that the other knew.

I left the bed, struggling to walk straight.

“Y-y-young d-“

“SHUT UP!” I said.

“Don’t talk to me and stay away.”

“But”

I glared at him before paying him no further regard. I sat in a corner of the room. Convincing myself that soon dad would come to look for me.

I sat and talked to myself.

First, I observed the room. At one corner stood a bookshelf.

It was empty, except for a box that laid awkwardly on its bottom shelf.

Towards the center of the room, two beds could be found.

The one I had just stood from, and a bigger one.

To my right side, against a wall, was a desk, as well as a chair. On it a gray feather from an unknown bird and a pot of ink.

No paper, however.

Next to the bigger bed, the one closest to the only window of that room, was a night table. On it, a purple flower — a Helorist.

I owed this knowledge to Mom, this flower representing the cycle of life and death, what she called a memento mori.

Once my superficial survey was over, I went into my mind.

I closed my eyes.

I started reflecting about everything I had read inside the library. No matter how fake it was, the information was decidedly true, since if it wasn’t, father wouldn’t have made me test the recipes from that one book.

It was ironic, until not too long ago, this information was exactly what I was trying to forget.

Now it was the only thing I wanted to think about, the rest too terrifying to even consider.

You could always come back from failure, but if I had really been abandoned…

Still, it made me wonder what exactly mom meant by “sham”, and what was that weird moon symbol?

I lost myself in my thoughts in such a manner. The headache was still present, but same as the gripping anguish that had me enraptured, I ignored it.

I was fine.

Everything was fine.

Everything would be a-okay.

The first day went like that. Gregoire had left the room to go tend to his responsibilities as head maid. Gregoire brought me food.

I didn’t eat it.

There’s no point eating, I thought.

Soon enough, I would feast on the lavish meals of the Balmungs. What problem would there be to not eat for a few days?

Still, I drank the water.

1 day became 3.

The anguish, like a vicious bird, constantly chipping at my patience and perching on my shoulders, always suggesting ideas — that I knew to be the truth. As time passed, its size increase, and the violence of his onslaughts worsened. Still, as if in my own reality, its influence didn’t affect me much. It was there. I knew it was there. This alone bothered me. Proof that I wasn’t completely sure myself, but I controlled myself.

‘Dad will come look for me.’

I still occupied myself until then, the multiple books I had read in the past few months being thoroughly digested now.

‘Oh yea, that’s definitely why father sent me here... so that I could reflect on it!’

Even I knew this was complete and utter bullshit, still it allowed me to continue. Today too, the food wasn’t touched.

Soothing my dry throat with a single glass of water.

‘Dad will come for me.’

Then 3 turned to 10 days...

Somewhere in the past few days, I had stopped sleeping. My eyes reddened not from tears, but from tiredness. I hadn’t moved since that day.

The anguish had now totally consumed me, totally except for a little tiny part of me. Still desperately believing in father, believing that he would come look for me, believing that I would return to my rightful place.

Believing that this faulty core would be fixed.

Despite how ruminative I was, I wasn’t removed from the outside world. I still listened to the voices in the hallways, and the noise of my mom’s pregnancy coming to term were becoming more and more present.

“Mom,” I said, my lips cracking from the simple movement. My throat a fallen leaf in a hot summer.

I took the glass of water which Gregoire had brought me and left the chamber.

‘Mom.’