Stand. Be. There, there.
There, there, there.
Inside a closed cubicle in a very expected place, for a moment, a place he has already visited before. A cubicle where there are many garments, quite a lot—too many—covering the surroundings, an expansion of the old arrangement. A place where clothes are kept, a space rather large for the simple role it serves. It is not gigantic either, but it is big—not immense, but square and a little claustrophobic, despite being somewhat spacious. That is how this place is perceived by the boy, a boy who is short, someone standing inside, holding a garment he got from outside.
One foot first, then the other, each placed together side by side. Feeling the fabric brushing against his legs, and how everything begins to slowly take shape. One after another, in a colorful and firm blue fabric. A dress, a blue dress with a light, transparent sky-colored collar. One hand passes through an opening that connects to a sleeve, another opening that connects to the other sleeve. Both arms sliding into both openings. Putting on a dress, something somewhat revealing but quite beautiful.
A catboy stood there, avoiding the sight of a mirror, dressed and arranging accessories around his body. A corset, a brooch, a bow—things like that decorating his feminine appearance. Despite being a man, he dresses as a woman, something his master imposed on him since he arrived at that mansion. Thinking about himself, and about an appearance he has not yet seen, he adjusts his long hair so it will not bother him inside the clothing.
He took his hair with a rose-shaped hairpin, purple in color, which also had a ribbon, more blue, accompanying the color in a softer way to the eye. With a ponytail behind hanging from his mane, and with an open fringe he has never touched, he stood there. Fixing some imperfections that felt wrong, arranging everything by blind guess, since he was not looking at the mirror.
Heels, blue as well, matching the color of the dress overall. The harness that connected all of his underwear was no longer there; he only had his panties and stockings, which he carefully adjusted so they would not slip down. He touched up the chest area, because he felt it was a little loose there; logically, the dress is designed for someone with breasts, once again marking the difference between the gender of the boy who dresses like a girl.
The catboy who stood there, in the middle of the room, standing and dressed like a woman, was slightly hurried. He was putting earrings on both ears, earrings shaped and colored like diamonds, very beautiful and bright, which together with the dress looked wonderfully fitting. The holes in his ears had been made quite a long time ago; the pain it took to make them had been so great that he needed the support of other maids during the process. He kept fixing things, kept and kept adjusting.
Checking himself, looks and looks. Adjusting, looks and looks. Moving, looks and looks. Placing, looks and looks. Feeling, touching and holding fabrics carefully so as not to damage them. Finally, after much and much checking of himself, he realized the clothing was fine and ready. He had put on that dress that had been set aside for him.
In that dressing room, the catboy was ready. There was nothing else to move, nothing else to adjust. What came next was simple; this was the reason he had been so hurried. All the clothing took time to put on, but he still had to be efficient when dressing himself. He had repeated this pattern enough times to understand the most effective way.
Now it was time to leave that imposing room, which the boy considered large, though in reality it was not that big. That dressing room, filled with white suits, black ones, bright ones, dark ones—of everything. A place that was the wardrobe of someone who, supposedly, must obligatorily be the one he loves. The man he had been serving during these past months. There he was, about to leave the dressing room just mentioned. Holding the door handle, with a faint tickling feeling he always felt before doing so. With a gulp of air, he pulled and opened that piece of wood.
It was night, very night—deep into the early hours. The chandelier above the room cast a warm light, the characteristic orange color illuminating that whole area. There, between those brown walls but with edges and decorations in clean white, a not-so-pleasant atmosphere rose, something the boy always endured. In the middle stood a canopy bed, occupying a space at the back of the room, beside the dressing room the catboy had come from. The place held multiple pieces of furniture and decorations; the bed sheets were white, contrasting with something that lay on top of them.
Something, something, something.
It was not a something, but a someone. Not just a someone, but a very special someone. Covered in a black, furry and warm robe, softening the spreading cold. He waited in front of the dressing room, waiting for the effeminate demihuman, dressed in blue and somewhat revealing clothes. There he waited, that well-known man. There he was, him.
[Akuma: Ah… Lior…]
Akuma Eidoriku sat on that cushioned bed, looking directly at the catboy named Lior, who had come out of the dressing room with a completely feminine appearance, being a man despite the confusion.
His eyes opened wide. He looked at those hips, curves, chest, face, hairstyle, dress, accessories—everything in general, everything that could be seen at first glance from the boy. His eyes, filled with a burning gaze, lit up at that palpable impression. Something he felt deep in his soul, his heart—a sting that felt very good, and that he enjoyed with deep ecstasy every time the opportunity presented itself before his eyes. With a burning feeling at his center, there he looked, there he was, standing before him.
[Akuma: Come… kitty…]
Moving his hand with a certain delicacy and subtlety. He made a somewhat strange motion, inviting the little cat to come closer. His gaze still firmly set on the boy, who at this moment was seen from head to toe like a fragile and defenseless little kitten. Hinting, hinting. With that continuous motion of attraction, with that kind of insinuation that invited more direct things. There he was, sitting and looking at that beautiful damsel, who began to move.
[Lior: …]
Fearful and careful, his body swayed on those heels on his feet. He was not used to wearing them; they were quite uncomfortable, and when he stepped he felt as if his body would fall. Holding his hip with one arm, crossing his abdomen and covering it in some protective way, the catboy walked delicately toward the man ahead. Covering his more visible parts, hiding himself out of fear of the intimacy that could be felt in the air. Carefully, he walked carefully. He felt like a cat inside a cage with a dog—cornered and forced to follow orders—something his face reflected with fear. Looking at the floor, looking at the floor so as not to see the face of the man in front of him.
In a spacious room, the catboy could be seen approaching the bed submissively, that bed with white sheets and varnished brown wood. He walked fragilely, almost collapsing, until he reached the outstretched arms of the man who waited for him. His waist was embraced, and the man's face was placed against his abdomen, breathing in the perfume the demihuman had put on earlier. He hugged him with passion, taking hold of his prize, of his boy, the one he owned.
Lior stood there, being held, looking down at the nape of the strong man. Watching how his face buried itself in his abdomen, and how he breathed in his scent heavily. His body trembled a little as he kept looking and looking down, the blond hair brushing against his navel and the warmth created by the breath from his mouth.
The young master raised his head, lifted it and looked into the blue eyes of the catboy, which held faint, unpainted dark circles. He looked at him, with an unshaken smile on his face, happy to have achieved his long-awaited dream of the night.
He looked at him while holding the buttocks of the submissive catboy.
[Akuma: Lior… you look…]
[Lior: …]
[Akuma: So beautiful…]
Words that came from the deepest part of his being, as he watched the catboy tremble from the uneasiness he tried to hide. Eidoriku did not notice; he was so lost in his ecstasy that he wanted to see nothing else but that.
Little by little he stood up, showing the difference in height between the two men. And how the master grabbed the catboy by the lip.
[Akuma: You are… beautiful… my little kitty…]
[Lior: Ah…]
[Akuma: …]
Admiring his beauty, the man brought his hands to the catboy's hair after fully standing up from the bed. He brought his arms, his hands toward his face, toward his face, but… he passed it.
His hands went somewhere else—to his hair, to the fringe in the front that held a blue ribbon-shaped clip. Carefully and delicately he adjusted it, moving it and positioning it properly, moving and moving, adjusting and adjusting. Something no one but him would notice, that small imperfection which now, with this adjustment, was…
[Akuma: Perfect…]
Now finally touching the face of the catboy standing before him. Looking at him and looking at him, feeling his soft skin and seeing his diamond-blue eyes.
There, in that room so warm yet at the same time cool and cold. In a night, in the early hours of the morning. The catboy and his master were one to one, face to face, feeling the other's warmth in person. They looked at each other, looked and looked, there in the light of the fire. There they looked at each other, in that spacious place which was a bedroom.
[Akuma: Come, look at yourself, Lior…]
There was a mirror near the bed, to the side. Akuma grabbed Lior by the arm, who was standing before him, to bring him in front of it. A very clean mirror that reflected everything in the room itself. A tall vertical mirror that showed from head to toe the entire body of whoever stood before it. With a somewhat strong grip, Akuma applied force and moved toward the mirror, with Lior acting somewhat strangely.
They, master and servant, stood before that mentioned mirror. There in front of it, Akuma held his hips and stroked the fallen tail of the boy. Lior simply looked downward; he did not raise his head.
[Akuma: Lior… look at yourself in the mirror… you look so beautiful like this.]
In front of the mirror, Akuma tried to lift the catboy's face so he would look at himself. Even though the body of the feline demihuman was facing the mirror, his head did not rise; he was simply looking at his feet, at the floor beneath him.
[Akuma: Lior… look at yourself.]
[Lior: …]
Akuma called to him, telling him to look in the mirror. Lior did not respond, did not form words, he simply did not look. With a small tremble in his limbs, he did not move, he did not turn toward himself.
[Akuma: …]
[Lior: …]
With his head lowered, the catboy did not want to look at himself. Akuma realized this. His hand passed through Lior's fringe, clearing a bit of his face. Then he grabbed one cheek, and with the other hand the other. Forcing the boy to look at himself.
[Lior: …]
His head was placed in front of the mirror, but he turned his eyes away. He did not look at the mirror. He did not want to look at that mirror. He did not want to see it, simply no—he did not want to, did not want to. He does not want to look at himself, he does not want to and does not want to and does not want to. He will not look at himself. He cannot, he does not know, he does not understand, he cannot comprehend—he does not want to look at himself. He does not know who is in the reflection, and that is why he does not want to know what it means to look at the mirror. Nor to know that person, nor to see them with his own eyes. He does not want to, because he is not himself, and never will be until he dies. He does not want to look at himself. He does not want to look at himself.
[Akuma: Lior…]
[Lior: …]
In front of the mirror, trembling and with a few tears in his eyes, Lior's desperate insistence in his silent plea began to show. He did not want to look at himself, not now and not ever. Akuma watched him with dull eyes, without the mischievous smile that usually accompanied him. He convinced himself simply to use his object the way it served him; he did not want to damage him either. The boy did not want to look at himself—it's not such a big matter. For him, simply having him accept things was enough. The rest did not matter much. Lior wanted to enjoy himself, and he wanted to enjoy himself—that was the only thing that mattered at that moment.
[Akuma: You just want to enjoy a good night, right? Your dress looks beautiful on you. You are always beautiful. You are beautiful and you know it. You do not need your own judgment, do you? My little kitten… Naughty…]
[Lior: Mhm…]
Akuma massaged the boy's body lustfully. Carefully, touching his soft skin, touching parts that Lior did not like. His privacy had already been broken long ago, but now they had passed another threshold. Akuma was touching his entire body, and the demihuman could feel it.
He stood in front of that mirror, the one he had been pushed against. All the intimacy was already there; that struggle was about to begin. There was nothing left to do. The quiet tears of the catboy began to show in his eyes. Nothing else remained now.
There he was, the catboy, on that very dark night, where the moon was covered by the thick curtains of the room. The constant fire was lit, creating a contrast with the fire of servant and master joining.
There he was, the catboy who would not look at the mirror. He did not look despite standing in front of it. He did not look, and he would not look for the entire moment.
His body was no longer his. He was dirty and disgusting; he could not recognize himself and did not want to understand himself again.
That night…
Was a memory of the filthy boy he is now.
That memory…
Is a contrast to what he is feeling now.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
That mirror in front of him is not the same one, but it looks like it. He is standing, looking at himself, for some reason. He is standing in front of a mirror, one he only looked at without realizing it. That reflection—someone was in the mirror he was looking at. Someone was there, a person who looked very much like him. In front of the mirror he looked, looked at that woman dressed as a servant, wearing a uniform the same as the one he had put on. He looked, lost, lost and questioning, feeling and trying to understand who that girl was. The girl who was on the other side of the mirror.
"..."
She had long hair, a black mane that fell down the back of her shoulders. With a maid's coif and cat ears on her head, in which somehow one ear was drooping while the other stood upright. Her fringe opened in the middle, leaving her forehead half exposed; her hair covered the two sides slightly, but still kept a rounded and aesthetic shape. It did not look very clean, but it did not look bad either. The hair was very well cared for and beautiful no matter where you looked.
Her complexion, her skin. Her skin was pale, her skin was white and contrasted directly with the dense black of her hair. Cared for, soft, smooth—it looked that way. Without marks, except for a small, very small irregularity, as if on her cheek there had once been a mark shaped like an X. It could only be seen against the light; that scar was not noticeable at all. Her face seemed perfect. Nothing about it looked wrong.
She was dressed as a maid, like all the girls in the place. She wore her uniform with a white apron, with floral details on the shoulders. The black dress that covered all of her pale white skin. A very simple uniform, nothing like what he was used to. He looked at her thin and delicate body, like a fragile rose that could break at any moment. Her chest was flat, almost without volume; in fact, that area was exactly the part where the dress was largest on her. It hung loose, it hung slack.
The girl wore a black collar around her neck, with a golden tag in the middle. She did not wear a maid's collar, nor had they placed a maid's collar on her; there was only that collar, which did not sit loosely on her. She was a catgirl with a collar. She was a domesticated catgirl. Lior looked at her from head to toe.
She had many things, to tell the truth. That girl was very beautiful.
Her gaze…
"..."
[Lior: Hah…]
"..."
Her gaze…
Consisted of two blue eyes, with two somewhat distinctive pupils. Two light-blue shapes, like two diamonds in each one, were looking at him at this very moment. With small flashes of light striking their corneas, her eyes shone with some mysterious emotion. Her eyelashes were black, the same dark tone as her hair. A strand from her fringe fell along the left side, covering his view of her right eye. Her eyes held that curious shine, the light reflecting as her eyelids opened wider and wider.
Only that at the same time…
Lior also opened his eyelids more and more, surprised by something he noticed.
[Lior: …]
He looked at that girl. He saw her with his blue eyes. He saw her—but something was wrong.
[Lior: …]
Those features, all of them together. But more than anything that gaze. No one knows it, but he does. He cannot explain it, but he feels it. He can feel it like something coming from his chest right now. A strange feeling he had pushed aside ever since he broke that mirror. He had broken it because of this very pain in his mind. He had broken it because of this very pain in his body. He did not want to feel this because it made him sick, because he recognizes who that person is.
Because…
Those eyes are familiar. He knows whose they are. He knows who those pupils belong to. He knows them very well. He knows it. He knows who that person is. He knows because…
That burning feeling consumed him that day after his abuse. That shitty day he never wanted to remember again, yet remembered always like something ordinary. That dawn of the third day, after Chiyo left and he looked at himself in that shattered mirror. That person he does not recognize and that disgusts him so much to remember.
Only that…
Right now, he was not himself.
But…
[Lior: I am… me…]
It is him…
His hair has grown too much. He does not know since when it became so long, when it became so and so long. His features have changed. He is no longer a boy. He does not have the shape of a boy, and he cannot be called a boy with that appearance. He cannot understand where each different shape fits. Only time had passed.
He is another person.
He is not himself.
But…
He does not know.
What?
Things are missing…
What?
Many things are missing…
What?
He…
Who was he? Who was that person?
He does not know him, he does not know him. He is not that person, but he is not. He is not, he is not, he is not and he does not know who he is.
He is not…
[Lior: A-ah…]
That person is not him, it cannot be him, no one right now should be him. It is not him, no one is him, only he remembers himself.
[Lior: Aaehh…]
He cannot, it does not make sense…
[Lior: Nyo…]
There is no sense, there cannot be sense. He is not a girl, he is a man, he is a boy. No, that woman is not him, that woman…
[Lior: N-nyo…]
What?
[Lior: Nyo…]
Does it make sense? It does not, it does not, right? Yes, it does not, it does not, right?
[Lior: …]
What? How? What?
She is not him… She is not him…
[Lior: …]
That woman, no…
[Lior: …]
She is not him. That catgirl there is not him, never, no, never never. He—he is not that, it cannot be, no, not like this, no. That woman cannot be him. He is a damn boy.
[Lior: W-what…]
It cannot be, it is not, it cannot be him because it makes no sense.
[Lior: N-nyo… Nyo!]
It cannot be that that bitch is him. Who the hell is she!? It cannot be, he is not, he is not—
[Lior: Ah…]
"..."
...
"..."
She's looking at me… she's looking at me…
She's judging me, she's judging me…
She's looking at me…
SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, RIGHT NOW SHE'S LOOKING INTO MY EYES! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, SHE'S TALKING TO ME! SHE'S JUDGING ME! SHE'S SEEING ME!
[Lior: A-yeh.]
S-STOP, NO, DON'T LOOK AT ME!
[Lior: N-nyo.]
SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!
[Lior: Wait…]
SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, SHE'S LOOKING AT ME RIGHT NOW! STOP LOOKING AT ME!
[Lior: I d-don't want you to look at me! Nyo!]
STOP LOOKING AT ME, STOP LOOKING AT ME! DON'T SAY ANYTHING, STOP LOOKING AT ME NOW!
[Lior: Stop looking at me! STOP LOOKING AT ME!]
SHE'S LOOKING AT ME! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME FOR WHAT I AM! SHE CAN'T SEE ME LIKE THIS! SHE CAN'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THIS! SHE'S LOOKING INTO MY EYES! SHE'S LOOKING INTO MY EYES!
[Lior: STOP! STOP!]
SHE'S LOOKING AT ME! SHE CAN'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! SHE DOESN'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!
[Lior: YOU CAN'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, BITCH! YOU CAN'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! YOU CAN'T BE LIOR! YOU AREN'T!]
"..."
!
"..."
[Lior: LIOR!]
"..."
!
"..."
[Lior: HAH!]
"..."
!
"..."
SHE—SHE WAS LOOKING AT ME, I DON'T WANT THIS, I WANT TO LEAVE!
"..."
[Lior: LET ME GO!]
"..."
!
"..."
[Lior: LET ME GO, DAMN IT!]
"..."
!
"..."
[Lior: GYGH… DON'T LOOK AT ME, CAT, YOU BITCH!]
"..."
...
"..."
CHINK!
"..."
...
"..."
[Lior: DON'T LOOK INTO MY EYES! YOU AREN'T LIOR! YOU AREN'T LIOR! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! YOU WILL NYEVER BE LIOR—]
CHINK!
A blow.
[Lior: YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO BE HIM! LIOR ISN'T SOME PROSTITUTE! DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE I AM! DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT WITH THOSE WHORE EYES, YOU SHITTY CAT—]
CHINK!
Another blow…
[Lior: YOU WILL NYEVER BE LIOR! YOU WILL NYEVER BE HIM BECAUSE I AM HIM! DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! DON'T LOOK AT ME WITH PITY! LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU FUCKING BITCH! LEAVE ME—]
CHINK!
Blood has begun to spill.
[Lior: LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME! DON'T LOOK AT ME! LEAVE ME NOW!]
CHINK!
More pieces…
[Lior: YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! STOP LOOKING AT ME, NYA—]
CHINK!
It hurts… It hurts…
[Lior: NYAAHGGG! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME—]
CHINK!
[Lior: LEAVE ME—]
CHINK!
[Lior: DIE—]
CHINK!
[Lior: DISAPPEAR—]
CHINK!
[Lior: I AM NOT LIKE THIS!]
CRACK!
——
___
__
-
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
Hah...
Mgyhm...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Gyhah...
Hah...
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
...
"..."
Hah...
Hah...
"..."
...
"..."
—Lior…
A voice arrived late.
It was heard from somewhere, as if it had been delayed by some hesitation.
"..."
[Lior: Hah… Hyah…]
"..."
[Lior: Hah… Hah…]
"..."
—L-Lior… W-what h-happened?
"..."
[Lior: Hah… nyahg…]
"..."
[Lior: Ghya… Uh?]
A voice echoed in his head.
—N-no… she's alone…
[Lior: Ah?]
"..."
—She was shouting…
—What?
"..."
[Lior: Eh… What…?]
"..."
—Is she talking to herself?
—Crazy…
"..."
[Lior: Ah…]
Voices could be heard.
Whispers…
Murmurs…
[Lior: …]
"..."
People…
"..."
—She's crazy…
"..."
[Lior: W-what? No…]
"..."
Wait…
People.
"..."
—She's bleeding…
"..."
[Lior: They saw me…]
He was not alone.
"..."
[Lior: Aaaahhh…]
There were people around him. They had seen him…
What had he done?
"..."
—That mirror… she broke it…
—The master… what will he think?
"..."
...
"..."
[Lior: My…]
"..."
[Lior: M-Master…]
"..."
[Lior: …]
"..."
...
"..."
He looked ahead—broken glass and a shapeless piece of frame. The curtain was dirty, it was torn. Everything was destroyed, broken, scratched.
[Lior: …]
He looked at the floor. He was stepping on shards of broken crystal. He looked down, but he saw his hands. They had pieces stuck in them, blood running down. He turned around and saw maids and slaves.
[Lior: Hah…]
He looked at Lylia…
At Lylia…
"..."
He looked at Lylia.
He found her…
"..."
He looked at Lylia…
Frightened.
[Lior: H-hahg… n-no…]
"..."
The hall, the dressing room, was dim and shadow covered it from the sun. His clothes were torn at the front, his apron was ripped.
[Lior: Master…]
He looked at his hands, where the blood would not stop falling to the floor. The pain followed close behind, but something else would not let him breathe. His throat was blocked.
[Lior: Master…]
He fell onto his knees, not knowing if it was his balance or inertia. He fell—that was all he felt. He stared at his hands.
[Lior: Ah…]
His dried tears became wet again. His pupils shrank.
[Lior: M-master…]
His hands trembled, they were lacerated. His torn apron was dressing itself in red.
[Lior: N-nyo… No…]
His master.
His dear master.
Lior…
[Lior: Lior didn't want to… n-nyo… master…]
His body belongs to him…
Lior never wanted to…
[Lior: No…]
He never wanted to…
[Lior: N-nyo…]
—
[Lior: No, nyo…]
Master…
[Lior: Master…]
Cheeks wet…
[Lior: Master…]
My hands…
[Lior: Master… Please…]
Please…
[Lior: Gyahg… N-nyamo…]
"..."
[Lior: Master…]
No… Lior didn't…
Want to.
[Lior: Never…]
No.
[Lior: Nyo…]
"..."
[Lior: …]
"..."
...
"..."
Why did I do it?
[Lior: …]
I did it… I am…
[Lior: …]
I was never a good servant…
[Lior: Master… no…]
Sorry…
But…
No… Yes…
[Lior: …]
Lior… to Lior…
[Lior: …]
He did it… I did it…
[Lior: …]
I don't want to…
[Lior: …]
What was I thinking?
[Lior: …]
Could it be…?
[Lior: …]
No…
[Lior: …]
Yes…
[Lior: …]
Abyss.
"..."
...
"..."
[???: …]
"..."
...
"..."
[Lior: W-eh?]
"..."
[Lior: …]
A hand.
"..."
[Lior: M-master?]
[???: …]
"..."
...
"..."
[Lior: M-master…]
"..."
...
"..."
[???: …]
"..."
[???: …]
[Lior: Hah…]
[???: …]
[Lior: Ah…]
"..."
[???: …]
[Lior: Ah…]
H-he touched me…
"..."
...
"..."
What?
"..."
A black space. There is nothing. There is nothing and nothing and no one. There is nothing and nothing can be seen. A darkness that stretches into infinity, into nowhere and never. Where there is nothing, everything equals nothing. Black—there is no color. It is a void, a space with nothing and no need to contain anything. Endless emptiness, endless nothing. There is nothing and nothing is felt. I understand nothing, and understanding does not exist in this place. Something black where there is nothing. Nothing is seen, because there is nothing. Black, darkness. Nothing, nothing.
"..."
But there is someone. Yes, there is someone. There is something, there is someone—another being standing in front of him. In all this darkness that has appeared, where everything is black and there is nothing, there is something that exists within that nothing. A deep black broken by two simple figures, flushed and pale-skinned. Lior sees himself, but he also does not see himself. He does not know who knows and does not understand what he understands; he only knows what he knows and what is happening right now.
In total blackness, in a blackness that is deep. Deep and very deep, where the ground cannot be seen clearly but he is touching it anyway. Where he does not know if what he steps on is wind or a floor. That black which represents him.
The catboy, at this moment, is…
In his void, in his abyss.
[Lior: …]
[Akuma: …]
"..."
Akuma—he is standing in front of the boy. He is holding his shoulder… Lior is looking at his master, at Akuma who looks at him with a smile. He stands in front of the catboy with one hand on his shoulder, someone tall and well-built; Akuma looks down at him from above. Akuma with his blond hair and white suit. Akuma who gave him that black and golden cat collar. Akuma who from above sees how his hands bleed, how he has shattered Helmet's mirror, how he has screamed without stopping.
Lior has destroyed something that was not his. Lior has destroyed someone else's furniture. He has made a bad impression, he has fallen into desperation in front of people. He is no one—he should not do that. Lior causes problems. Lior has only caused problems. His master's teachings and training have had no effect on him. An obsolete rag doll that should never have been used. A cat, a broken object.
Looking at his master proves it. Lior is nothing more than a doll. A man treated as a woman, a man who must be a woman. He fails in his role. He understands it, yet he still fails.
He fails.
Because he has not been taught enough. Every punishment will make him and make him again into a woman. He is not himself, but he is himself, because he is not her and she is not him, because they have nothing to do with each other. Should he even think? Thinking hurts too much, and if he thinks about himself, he feels. Feeling no longer has an explanation. A week without feeling anything has been his peak—did the pain in his arm make him forget what truly matters? No, because this has happened now. Lior is a defective case, one who is not prepared to suffer.
Suffering is the way to live. There is nothing more than that. Pleasure is living, feeling is also pleasure; there is no difference between pleasure and suffering. When they use him, it hurts a lot, but it entertains his master. He feels pleasure from Lior, so Lior should also feel pleasure. Every punishment is becoming more faithful to the pleasure his master grants him, that amusement that only comes from that form of interaction. Akuma likes to have fun. Lior also likes to have fun.
Now he has done something bad. Akuma is kind and always gives him pleasure in moments like these. That is his way of having fun, that is his special punishment that formed a routine throughout the whole year. Punishment after punishment after punishment. Could it be that pleasure…
Also means pain?
[Lior: Hah…]
It hurts… It hurts a lot… When they break Lior… It hurts a lot and a lot and a lot, and his head echoes and feels so much and so much and so much pain. Pain is not beautiful. It is a way of suffering. Lior does not want to suffer. Suffering is the reason he is alive, because dying is more painful than anything in the world. But even so, the pain is too much. He has never gotten used to it. Akuma does not treat him like a human being. Is there any pleasure in sex? That hurts too much. I don't want it, I don't want it and I don't and I don't want it. It hurts too much and it hurts too much.
His punishment, his punishment and his punishment will be that, and that same thing. Could it be that this time he will die? Die and die and die. Pain, pain, pain. None of that has anything beautiful about it. They are what keep him alive, but even so, life itself is the strongest pain. If someone dies, they suffer. If someone lives, they suffer.
What does it matter if he feels pain or goes mad from fear and dread?
It always ends badly, and Akuma enjoys when Lior screams in agony. Lior does not want to feel agony. Lior does not want to twist and writhe again. He is already in another place—he is supposed to leave that behind. I don't want to. I don't want to endure my pain anymore. Not anymore, no more. Akuma is very cruel. Akuma will kill him, and if he kills him, he will still suffer.
That is why that person stands in front of him, eager to have fun. No, I don't want it, I don't want it, I will not want it, I can't, I don't understand and I cannot comprehend. His happy smile comes from my pain.
That man is going to make me suffer… And Lior does not want to, and does not want to, and does not want to again, and does not want to suffer and suffer and suffer. Never. Not anymore. He doesn't want it anymore. I don't want it, I can't, and I can't endure it. Please don't kill me. Living and dying—Akuma kills him and revives him, uses him and burns him, keeps him in ashes. Uses and uses and uses him through nights and nights and nights that are impossible to count. The cycle repeats and repeats and repeats, and the pain returns and returns and returns to its central core, where he feels and where he will suffer. He can't—anything but that again. The cycle had broken. For a week, it had already broken.
I am afraid… but I feel nothing.
A false emotion.
I am afraid of my master…
A real emotion.
I am afraid of my master, and I will never be able to escape that situation.
A reality.
Akuma, the person who is walking around me right now, is surely the person I hate the most. I hate him with all my being. He is the person who has broken me inside and out for an entire year.
Let me go…
He is the person to whom I owe these urges to kill, and the one who taught me that this feeling has no place in this society.
Let me go…
He has been my teacher for a year. The tamer of an animal like me, with cat ears and a cat tail. I am an animal. A doll that breaks after sleeplessness, after forcing and forcing my master's pleasure through an entire night. I am an animal without rights, one that must not feel emotion. I am a male animated object with feminine features.
Go away…
And he is a cruel person raised by the system. My master, my former master Akuma—he has been my greatest source of pain. I do not enjoy that pain. I cannot find pleasure in all that sex. It does stimulate me, but the pain is simply greater than the stimulation. Even if I try to feel good within all the bad, suffering will always prevail.
Disappear…
I have to accept this life, now that I am a catgirl without rights. I have always searched for a way to justify my pain. I have never found one, because this pain is simply like this. It is unstoppable. It will be like this forever.
Die…
I came to this world leaving my family behind. I arrived and then I lay down. I appeared in a dungeon and reincarnated as a demihuman. I can no longer remember my old body. Even though I used it for sixteen years, forgetting the emotion and focusing on what I am now has made me grow used to torture. Sometimes I get up and feel dizzy. My mind—even after being in this body for a year—still spasms when it remembers my old body. There are still times when I dissociate between the past and the future. I cannot distinguish between past and future. I cannot find a way to tell the difference between the past and the future.
Kill yourself…
I want it. I want my end. I no longer understand, and that is what matters to me. I don't know what matters to me, but I know that something matters.
To die and die and die and die.
To die and die—something so simple becomes so difficult. I don't know how to endure, I don't know how to distinguish. I can't see anymore, I can't see you anymore. You hold me, I hold you. I only have to feel that in order to live. Just remember what I have been. I have only been able to survive like this. One year has been tiring. One year has been very tiring.
It's time to enjoy…
Right?
I have stood up to see you more closely. I have stood up now to kiss you. I have stood up to give you my body. I have stood up to give you your desire. I am your simple and sweet doll, who moans and moans without stopping. I have undone everything I am. I am no longer that boy who suffers over foolish things—now I have learned what your love truly means. Entertaining you is my purpose. Entertaining you is what I am. A toy to give love to others, and for others to give love to me.
That is why…
I want you to kill me.
Kill me.
And I will be.
Happy.
"..."
That is why…
Kill me.
And I will find.
"..."
My…
"..."
Amusement.
"..."
…
"..."
Kill me.
And I will see…
"..."
…
"..."
…
"..."
The end.