Chapter Text
Lydia Kreiss. A young woman, lone housewife abandoned by her husband, a newly made mother. She lived a poor life, her lack of formal education or experience preventing her from getting any serious job, she lived off of sweeping the floors of a local pub to stay afloat.
She had to balance a full-time job with looking after her newborn, which she was luckily allowed to bring to work. A bar was no place for a baby, but it was better than leaving him home alone.
Life went by quietly, up until her little boy began to walk, growing ever so curious of the world.
He was naturally curious and friendly, until such nature was chased out of him. He ventured out of his designated corner to watch her work, to which the patrons of the pub never took kindly. They were convinced the child stared at them with something ill caught in his eyes, as if trying to hex them with bad luck. They'd complain, Lydia would get scolded by her manager, then she'd inevitably have to bring her child into work anyway. This introduced him to the townsfolk for the very first time, sparking mutual negative feelings.
Poor Lydia ended up receiving an ultimatum, having to choose between leaving him home or losing her job. The choice was quite obvious, so he just needed to learn to be independent at the ripe age of two.
She'd pet little Andrew on the head, leave out a couple of bread slices to eat at his leisure, then lock the door tightly and leave for the next eight hours.
Andrew despised being left alone. He enjoyed playing with his mother, running his small hands through her long hair, listening to her stories or songs, enjoying the company of his beloved mother. He would often force himself to stay up late in the night, looking at his sleeping mother or at the starry sky to be sufficiently tired to sleep through her shifts during the day.
She attempted to teach him to read, trying to give him anything to do through the day, yet his eyesight proved too blurry to focus on even large font prints. Such ailment apparently came unexpectedly, which baffled the doctors and the poor, worrying mother. She was even threatened with the prophecies of him possibly going blind. They didn't know what affected poor Andrew, or what particularity caused the odd hue of his skin and hair.
He enjoyed drawing, even though the waxy crayons were stiff and barely pigmented. He once ran out of paper, so in his childish naivety turned to coloring in the pages of a book. He showed his art off with eagerness, only to be scolded by his mother. He decided art perhaps isn't for him.
Despite everything, Lydia was raised to be strictly religious, making it her task to raise little Andrew the same way she was. Faith in the Lord was installed in him since he could sit up straight to watch his mother kneel to pray.
She took him to church every sunday. Well, she tried, until the was unpleasantly ushered out by creeped out churchgoers, claiming she was tainting the temple by bringing "that demon" inside. Andrew was promptly unofficially banned from attending mass.
On his fifth birthday, he received a special gift - a bulky pair of glasses, lenses thicker than the walls of a milk bottle. He looked a little silly wearing them, and they weren't custom made to fit his exact eye defect, yet, all in all, they helped.
He often sat on a crate that was laying by their front door, waiting for his mother. He'd run into her arms whenever she returned, until he got an entire egg thrown at him from an unknown direction, which made him shy away even from the windows.
From the lack of any other source of entertainment, he took to reading the Bible while his mother worked. It was the thickest book they owned and its contents were incredibly fascinating to Andrew, as it tackled very outlandish subject matter, often bordering on fantasy. It also helped that whenever his mother saw him read it, she'd praise his passion for his faith. This only further installed his religion in his head. He read about the miracle cures performed by the Lord. Could he also be healed if he prayed hard enough…?
He grew up completely isolated. The townsfolk were creeped out by him whenever he went, the small boy helplessly staring up at them as they spat in his direction and yelled for him to stay away. He never understood what was happening around him at this time, none of the other children seemed to be feared as he was. Likewise, none would ever play with him. If it wasn't for his mother, he'd likely be unable to speak, as he was avoided by a clear distance by absolutely everyone.
His last expedition to the outside world was when a larger child, likely older, shoved him to the ground, tearing the glasses away from his face. Andrew gasped as he watched the bully snap the bridge between the lenses, then bend the hinges outward until they broke, throwing the shattered pieces at Andrew as he ran away laughing. He watched as the child's mother congratulated him on his actions, picking him up and spinning him in the air. Andrew's mother never did that. Did he never make her proud enough?
He gripped the shattered glasses in his fist as he returned home, receiving a rotting tomato to the back of his head on the way, tears streaming down his reddened face. When he returned to his usually controlled and calm mother, she completely broke down at the sight of the broken glasses. She wasn't mad, not at Andrew, yet she cursed the world for being so cruel to an innocent, curious child.
It was around this time his mother began growing sick, mentally and physically. The men at the pub often shoved her, laughing at her and her son, nicknaming her the devil's woman for apparently birthing a demon child. Small little Andrew was clueless to the abuse she received, always running to hug his mother's skirt, even as she gripped a knife and fought herself on whether she should just end him right there and return to how she was before he was born. He'd giggle when she held his head back, exposing his nape to the blade she threatened to dig into it. This is what Lydia considers to be her lowest points in life. Such a thing happened only three times, yet with each one she felt even worse, no better than the people tripping and shoving him on the streets, maybe even worse.
Soon, they received a letter - an unfortunate one. An eviction notice. They were to leave their home, on account of the town's complaints. Lydia didn't react much to the news in front of her son, but he woke up to her desperately howling towards the heavens well into the night. Was he the one to blame…?
They soon abandoned home. Lydia was dedicated to raising her son well, so she didn't look back. The streets were harsh, but ultimately not much would change, if luck allowed them to find makeshift shelter. They did, settling up under a roughed up roof in a thin alley between two brick buildings. This was probably the luckiest they've been since a long time.
She often stared into his beady, red eyes. She has never seen any creature with red eyes. It was certainly unnatural, especially on a human being. Maybe he was actually cursed? Despite this revelation often running through her head, she never rejected her son. Even if he was a demon, he never did anything wrong. He was growing by the Christian vices she had placed in his head and never once hurt anybody. If he was cursed, it was with sheer misfortune at most.
Although Lydia wasn't formally educated, she wasn't stupid. She knew how to read, write, count and discuss. She never had the chance to participate in any sort of intellectually involved event, yet she wouldn't forgive herself if she didn't teach her son anything she could think of, just in case he found himself in a debate. Although it was unlikely as he was dealt bad cards by fate, just as she was.
Andrew was a curious child. He absorbed any knowledge she bestowed on him and he soon knew everything she offered. She'd take him to a library, seat him next to her and read as she told him the stories held in the books on history, botany or science. He was soon not only religiously enlightened, but also well versed in general knowledge at the age of ten. He developed a taste for story books as well, knowing his favorites almost by memory.
At first, when he cried, she would hush and assure him it was all okay. As time went on, she only dared hold him, as if realizing such affirmations were not convincing either of them at this point.
One of the last things Andrew remembered was when she managed to cook him eggs and bacon. She borrowed a pan from someone, by some miracle, yet she had to steal everything else. There were two eggs and three thin slices of bacon, yet he was not one to complain. He shared it evenly between them, even as Lydia urged him to eat the whole dish.
She soon passed right after. It happened suddenly, although he knew it was coming from her consistently weakening state.
Still, nothing can prepare you for the death of your mother and sole friend.
Andrew didn't have the money to bury her at the local cemetery. They offered him a spot, yet under two conditions -
She'd be away from the church. He'd be the one to bury her himself.
He agreed, desperate to give his mother the burial she deserved.
However, through all he's done, this probably got to him the most. He couldn't afford a coffin, and there was no one to drag her into her grave for him, so all of the burial was done by his hands, by his eyes. She didn't even get a priest at her funeral, as none would come.
Andrew was completely lost without her. He was still a child, barely into puberty, so he did the only thing he could think of - thievery. He was never caught, which possibly spurred on his confidence later into his life, but the guilt always caught up.
He applied for a job at the cemetery he buried his mother in. They agreed, yet they didn't pay him for his first few months anyway, as he apparently had a favor to pay back. This was not a condition he agreed on either when burying his mother or starting work.
Thus began his miserable life.