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The Hero sits in a tub warmed by water, pleasant to their skin, and gentle on their worn body. Their expression is one of blankness, silenced with their shoulders hunched down, and their eyes half lidded yearning into nothingness. Their lips part as a soft breath blows through them, unblinking like a porcelain doll, fractured and frail.
They are stained with red, but are unwilling to move to clean themselves. To them it’s pointless, the grim, and sweat just serves as a reminder to what they are. Their hollowed eyes staring into their bloodied colored bath tub, the scent putrid and an iron metallic taste that always seemed to cling to them no matter how hard they may scrub. The dirt under their fingernails never washes away, they are tainted.
A bucket of water was then doused on them, as calloused hands came to scrub the remaining blood colts that mingle in their hair. The familiarity of the motion eased them somewhat, hindering their dissociative state as fingers with care gently rubbed and undid their clumped up hair. It felt good.
It was their Guide taking care of them as he always had. With their hands clasped around their knees, they fidget uncomfortably before shifting back a little to make his job easier. They stumbled to their shared quarters, bloodied by some sort of battle in which they couldn’t recall. After that it was some sort of blur, they had trouble remembering, their memory fuzzy, a collection of colors and scents but no real images. Most of the time it was just red. They especially didn’t like the color red, but it followed them everywhere: their armor, their scent, and now their body.
They were born with red stains with them that never seem to wash off.
They believe they could see other things such as blue, maybe with a dusting of white like the sky. Something peaceful that beckons them like stars tattering the endless quiet.
They wanted to say they weren’t beyond repair, but with one look down to their hands which was fused together by blood they weren’t welcomed by a peaceful existence, even after everything they fought for. They were left to instead fight a continuous existence with themselves. This world's salvation, but they are their own destruction, bloodied by their weight which was once on their shoulders.
Reminiscent to some sort of weapon made for killing and maiming. They were burdened more than just a suit of armor with the color of wine twining into the crevice of their being.
Were they? Separating them from killing is like separating one from their soul. It was their purpose.
They weren’t a person, but a tool. It was a necessity. To make them understand what they're fighting for but never giving them the clarity to have them for themselves. They'll never experience the warmth made for others. It was never for them no matter how much they want him they don't exist for that reason.
But they don't stop themselves from yearning.
Their hands inch towards him as they lean back. Almond eyes gazed at their own, dark and dull in contrast to the gentleness he showed them with his hands. They stare at the whites of his eyes, the color of a lamb made for slaughter.
“ Is something the matter?” He spoke with his fingers gently cradling the back of their head, a measure to prevent them from sinking.
How could I ever hurt you?
They shook their head, feeling the layered skin upon his hands, warm and calloused that grounded them. The familiarity of his skin eased them back to simpler days, days where trees once stood among the horizon, the scent of pine lacing his head with their own.
They called him their savior, even though he was their martyr. How could he care about them, in such a way? His fingers gently smooth over their face, softly paving the wave on their skin, he does it so easily, so lovingly like they were meant for it. Like they weren’t disgusting, like he shouldn’t hate them. How could he touch them with love? How could he love them?
Their hands unstuck from their own gently rising to meet his face. They wanted to caress like they were his actual lover, to feel his skin underneath their own in an act of their wanting. Their thumb comes to crease on the corner of his face, smudging his cheek with a ruby color.
Even ruining him has still left him divine.
They stain him with their own red watching as it contrasts his coffee skin. They could never love him properly no matter how much they wanted to. The dark dull blood on their hands isn't a comparison to the sheen that is produced by the blood on his face.
Hadn’t they ruined him?
...
The Guide sighs softly, a quick gentle breath before scrubbing the blood out of their hands. The color was still present on their skin, staining it softly but that too would fade away in time...most likely. They smelt like pale flowers, a scent that he personally found nostalgic. He quickly glanced down at them, their gaze half lidded, distant.
"What are you thinking about?"
He stood from his sitting position to fill up another bucket of water from the sink, the sound of wooden board creaking as he grabbed their bucket. He could feel their eyes training him as he waited for their water to finish pouring. The sound gave him a moment to think, he was aware of the repressing guilt they kept in themselves, shouldering a burden of necessity as they liked to gesture it.
Necessity is what they told themselves when they felt like a burden.
He knew that too well, drumming his fingers near the porcelain skin, his digits following on a crack. They were created for the sole purpose of protecting this world, learning what it means to be human, but never being able to be one. It wasn't who they were, a person they were too attached to the concept of self sacrificing. They never get hungry, they can eat but they can never get full. It was perfect conditioning to whoever created them, a stroke of genius to have them understand the beauty of life, but never have themselves attain it to keep them in desperation. He glanced once again to their direction, they were staring at the ceiling. Now with their purpose fulfilled, what's left for them?
"I've made dinner,"
His voice hoarse. They turn towards him, their eyes weary, but they nod softly. After everything they get to have this much they have to. For everything they've sacrificed they deserve to. He still remembers when they first came upon this world, bright and wide eyed smiles that could warm themselves. After awhile they started blocking out their face with their armor. They cover their expression more than ever nowadays but today he looks at their vacant appearance.
He knows that they don't believe him.