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There was once a boy sitting in an alleyway shivering
all alone he could only watch the snow around him dance about
until a girl crossed paths with the ever lonely he, he would realize:
She had waltzed into his life, forever changing the course of fate he was meant to have.
The first time he had ever felt a glimpse of warmth in this world, was when he had held her hand. That hand which reached out to him on a snowy day, that day when she had found him. The hand which belonged to "Lacie." "Phenomenal", or some word along the lines, he had described her in his mind.
Long black hair, and red eyes…she wasn't part of this world. She was surely from another dimension.
He could still recall how she had looked at him. There was a smile on her face. She did not grin at him, for her eyes had no wrinkles underneath them (or were there?) She had smiled at him. But there was no trace of disgust or mockery. (she should have at least made a wry expression.) There was yet no sympathy or pity hidden in her fine, delicate features (you would harbour such feelings for a "beggar" on the streets, wouldn't you?).
Lacie had introduced herself, and held out her hand for Jack.
He would treasure the very pieces and their heat.
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The rain outside tapped harshly against the window. Jack Vessalius peeked out. Raindrops splattered on the ground relentlessly, but he paid no mind to the thuds. He gripped the curtains and dragged them across the window. Sitting on his bed, he pulled the duvet close to chest. The glass on the window reflected his face, a tainted image. He didn't want to see the ugly expression clung to his face. It did not belong to him. His face does not belong to him. He did not recognise himself in his own reflection.
The rain only made his sullen thoughts worse. It was forcing him to retrace the memory of her dancing in the blood rain. Lacie. Lacie, after picking Jack up from the streets, had saved him from being attacked by two men. Lacie, with euphoria present on her face, twirled and laughed and sang while the blood of the man she had decapitated splattered on the ground. The blood red rain didn't last long, but her joy never ceased. Rosy cheeks stained with blood, she brought her fingers up to touch the red liquid and beamed wider. It was truly a sight, or a spectacle — Jack had viewed it as so.
The show came to an end as Lacie was escorted by people in blood-red cloaks. Lying on the ground, bruised and battered, he desperately reached out to her. He didn't want to leave Lacie. He didn't want her to leave him.
"...Don't forget the name "Baskerville". She had told him, if he wanted to find her again.
Baskerville, Baskerville, Baskerville. How could he forget? Of course he had to find her again. He wanted Lacie. He had found his reason to live. He had found his world, the world that Lacie had given him. He must grasp hold of the beauty of the world she had shown him. Lacie was right. She had looked right through him like he was glass, and knew — he had no will to live. He had already lost his sense of identity. Looked down upon by his family, living on the streets, Jack Vessalius had no reason to live. He had no reason to keep his head up in this world, until he had found Lacie.
That's right. He couldn't care less about himself or the rest of the world. He would sell every part of himself, use himself for other damned humans, please everyone around him, to survive in this cruel world. Because Lacie was the one who had brought light into his life.
Chained to her world he was, a cage surrounds his heart.
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Warm feelings from that snowy day had turned into deep, searing hatred. Jack hated Lacie. She had given him a reason to live. She had given him a sense of identity, and without her, he was nothing. She had tied him to the world. She had made him depend on her to feel alive.
He never wanted to die, but he couldn't feel alive.
He hated it. He hated Lacie. If only she didn't show him this beautiful world, he would have never known how miserable he truly was. Lacie. Lacie. Lacie. It was all Lacie's fault. He'll never forgive Lacie. He'll seek for Lacie, and cling close to her, because his life wasn't worth living unless he was with her.
His love and spite really did look quite alike.
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He sat in the silence of the confined room. His ragged breaths reverberated against the cold walls. The rain had not ceased, and so did his thoughts.
8 years. It took him 8 long years for him to find the one he was looking for again. The mansion of Baskervilles was where he had found her. Jack had flinged his cloak away and pulled Lacie into a tight embrace. The first time he had initiated physical touch, a boundary of his own which he did not dare to cross.
"Who are you?" She had whispered.
She did not recognize him.
But that was alright. Lacie didn't need to. He only needed Lacie.
Somewhere deep down, he could feel his heart twinge.
It was in that heartfelt moment where he suddenly found a knife pointed at him, wielded by none other than her elder brother — Oswald Baskerville.
Jack Vessalius is like water. "Water so still, that even fish avoid it. You look at him just to see yourself reflected, you can't discern his true nature. Even though he's right in front of me, I can't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that no one's actually there." The man had described Jack as so.
Oswald was right. Jack is nothing more than a shell of an empty person he had never been. That was why he needed Lacie. With Lacie, he could at least feel something, he could have a reason to live.
And at last, she did remember him, recalling that snowy day. She had thought of him as a mere toy to play with. Whether Jack knew that or not, he couldn't stop the tears from flowing freely when they were reunited. He could see her. He could hear her. She could take the pain he had off his mind.
Lacie could set Jack free.
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"Lacie is dead." Oswald had told Jack. "I killed her." A wistful expression had made its way on Oswald's face.
During the days he was away, Lacie had been cast into the abyss. Jack had lost Lacie for good.
There's no way to bring her back, Jack. The abyss had corrupted her body and had erased her existence completely.
Oswald wouldn't lie. He wants to believe Oswald, but he denies the truth which was staring at him.
He wonders — What was Lacie thinking as she was sinking into the darkness?
What was he thinking as he was sinking into the darkness?
If only he could stop her from leaving then.
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Jack's dull eyes surveyed the room. It was dark. The rain was still pouring outside. His thoughts jumped from one point to another, but they lingered with him.
He couldn't forget the way things used to be. It has been a month after Lacie was gone, but his mind has been stuck to that day Oswald had shared with him the despairing news.
It was as if the hands of time had stopped ticking after her death.
He felt emptiness. Now there was nothing tying him to the world.
drip
drip
drip
...ah, how pathetic it all is. He brought his shaky hands up to wipe the tears that trickled. His throat burned, and so did his eyes, and so did his heart. He wanted to scream, to curse everything and anything, but he couldn't.
He could only scream internally.
He sighed. And smiled. And touched the tears on his rosy cheeks. And beamed.
He promised he would bring the world to her, so she could no longer feel lonely, even if she'd disappeared completely. He seeks to quell the violent feelings within him, so his heart shall finally be set free.
He'll make sure — this world, his world, and her world, would be chained to one another this time.
Forever.