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He cried again. He cries in his dreams. She noticed, she observed. Every night that resulted in tears convinced her more and more. He was too fragile; he couldn't become the heart's vessel. He couldn't live out his purpose. He was worthless, useless, dross. He was sent away. He drowned in a deep sleep within the shrine. He swam in the tears that consumed his dreams. He continued his slumber for years on end, unbothered, unawakened.
He awoke cold, trembling and confused. With the exception of the occasional lightning, it was completely dark. Coupled with the storm was the irregular, harsh clap of thunder that broke the silence. He attempted to lift himself, struggling to carry his own weight. Searing pain rushed through his entire body, head to toe. He winced, almost collapsing. The floor felt like ice on his bare feet. He shivered as he grounded himself, head spinning from the lack of balance. Carefully stepping forward, he takes a shaky breath. He inhales the scent of the damp floorboards, the mold that has been festering for years, the rotting air. He doubles over in a cough. Everything surrounding him was deteriorating. He continues through the ruins, stepping through weeds that had made their way in, through jagged pieces of wood, through the congested air. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he took in everything he was seeing; deciduous trees with beautiful, red maple leaves, old traditional ornaments that were neglected long ago. Disregarding the ruptured state, the mansion was quite captivating.
As his feet began to steady, he tried to think. He didn’t know where he was, who he was, what he was. His thoughts were foggy, almost like a dream, almost as if they weren’t his own. The questions burned in his brain as he wandered through the building. His head pounded, aching, as the thunder boomed overhead once again. He continued through the mansion towards a small light source that was visible in the near distance. Eventually, he reached the door; the gateway to the illumination, the gateway to the world. A tall, heavy door. A door that was not fully closed. A door he doesn't remember entering, but now is faced with exiting. The boy could barely hold his own weight, how would he go about opening a door? He felt a slight breeze of fresh air that pushed through the cracked entryway. He envied it, the freedom that the air possessed. He yearned for it, the fresh, healthy air that he could fill his weak lungs with. He attempted to collect the little strength he contained and pressed on the door.
Soft grass snuck between his toes as he stepped out. He gasped at the invigorating oxygen, letting it consume his lungs. He slowly walked from the futile mansion he had awoken in. Threatening lightning struck and deep thunder rumbled, this time louder and more startling. The sky was an ominous purple shade, littered with dark clouds. Droplets of water danced upon his skin. He held out a hand curiously, watching the rain splash in his palm. He ventured further, admiring a world he'd never seen before. Roaring waves crashed onto the beach. The salty air engulfed him as he peered out into the ocean. His hair, long and untamed, billowed elegantly behind him as the wind whirled with the storm. He shivered, but this time in awe. The world before him was beautiful.
So he continued to wander the mortal realm, endlessly and eternally.
But he awoke. He broke the deep sleep that was casted upon his fate. He broke his destiny, but of course, to create a new one. A destiny constructed by his own hands, his own body, his own brain, his own heart. A heart that he did not have. After wandering boundlessly, he had experienced many hearts; good hearts, upright hearts, strong hearts, gentle hearts. He watched. He observed. He desired a heart. And eventually, he had obtained one. But it was not blessed upon him. He sacrificed himself to selfishness, hypocrisy, cunning and curses. This he did not desire. He wanted a true heart, he wanted a true purpose. But to wrench out his sacrificed heart would only subject him to apathy.
Perhaps he wasn't meant to feel. Perhaps he wasn't deserving of a heart. Perhaps he truly was a worthless, hollow puppet.