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in the mirror, tiago takes in his own face. it was always rounder- a bit softer than the rest of his family’s. with eyes downturned, scars ripping down his face, an inhuman luminescence lingering just beneath his skin, tiago was tiago. he slowly turns his face to the left, then to the right, as if he needs to figure out how the face across from him could be his. its completely expressionless, his emotions reigned back down and settling just beneath the surface- he needed to be picture perfect for today, they'd said. their voices had been stern. they definitely meant it this time, his father's hand gripping his shoulder so hard it had almost hurt. today was crucial- he had to keep it up for his family, and for… them. well its only to be expected, he supposes. only fair, even. he had grown up with expectations to suppress all emotional breaks- all emotions stronger than a twitch of the eyelid, a tug of the lips. a polite smile was all fair and well, but an uproar of laughter was inappropriate. a light grimace was acceptable (though discouraged), and a raised voice was a crime.
… recently, he sure had done more than grimace. typically, the unspoken arrangement in his family was “if you outburst, at least be sure to get yourself contained by the next day”. if he complied, they could move on as if nothing had ever happened. his breakdowns, his outbursts, his crying and screaming could become more palatable. he could redeem himself.
now being in a perpetual bout of anger definitely wasn’t nearly as palatable, and that was exactly what he was in.
see, tiago's family had been tense with the morvant's for as long as he could remember. which isnt great, as they are royalty. his parents had finally decided to speak up about the injustice that was forcing them- a family long in lineage of knights and warriors- to send out their men only to be promptly killed. it was a final straw, a spit of words not thought over before voiced.
… well, the morvants sure responded. and they definitely conveyed their message. eligio, tiago’s older brother, was promptly found dead. their star child, their shining example. their favourite. the heir to take father’s place, a true valiente. gone in an instant, blood spilt like ink. it was writing without writing, the message clear.
it was ironic. “no outbursts”, huh? his father sure spoke without thinking- now look.
and it only gets worse- of course it does. even in their grieving, tiago was pushed aside. he felt their hatred, their disgust. they hated looking at him, the younger son who had been left behind. if the death of eligio was a clear message, this message was even clearer. “they took the wrong son”. tiago would laugh if it didnt sting so deeply. if he didnt find himself now, staring into his own burning eyes with a hatred reserved only for his own privacy. i hate you. he wants to spit, and he doesnt know whether its directed to his parents or himself. all he knows is he feels hate and he wishes someone would answer to it. just for once. he continues to glare into his own eyes, hands gripping the basin.
because having one son left was too much, supposedly. a vile reminder of what they had lost. the hair of the son they loved, the hands. tiago was a doppelgänger, a poor replica, like a sculpture in a wax museum. he was not eligio. he was wrong. so, of course, his parents thought they’d kill two birds with one stone.
they’d offer him up to the morvants as a bodyguard for their prince. they spoke words of praise to the royals- about their talented son. their worthy son. their diligent son, with a resolution like steel and fists even stronger. take him. was what hid beneath their words. take him, please. take one, take both. leave us eligio or leave us with nothing. make this loss two, itll lessen our burden.
of course, tiago’s explosion was violent. unexpectedly so, he assumes. the moment they spoke the words “you are to bodyguard the morvant prince”, his throat was already ripping with screams, fists tearing at his own hair, hands ripping down cabinets and toppling tables. he wanted to hurt. he wanted to grab at his father’s shirt and haul him against the wall- he wanted to rip at his hair, rather than his own. he wanted to HURT. it lasted weeks at least. his parents couldnt calm down the anger of a silent lifetime. they couldnt hide from it either. he refused to sleep in the house, escaping out as far as he could until he passed out from exertion, then dragging himself back home to begin the cycle again. smashing down what they repaired, what they had left, what they replaced. he would ruin their house, he would ruin their belongings, he would tear their structures to the ground. they wanted to dispose of their son disguised like gift, huh? guarantee themselves safety at the jeopardy of his? throw him to the side like an unwanted toy- an object? well, with this object follows the rest. hes destroying them, taking the rest with him. they will have nothing if they wont have him.
removing his shaking hands from the basin, he moves to grasp the white cloth at his side, tying the caveat around his neck silently. he wishes halfheartedly that it was long enough to noose him, as his thoughts only keep returning to who he is dressing up for. the damn morvant prince. his lip twitches in thinly veiled anger, loosely pulling a humble red cape around his shoulders. adonis morvant, reknowned brat prince- in the eyes of his parents at least. whiny and annoying, entitled and insufferable. that is who he was to spend the rest of his life with. that.
thats not even to mention the fact that this man has say over his life. dont do well enough? upset him? make a mistake? for all tiago knows, that could spell his execution.
the worst part is that he must force himself back into a life of silence. he must hide behind polite smiles, strong glances- he must be only a strong body. not much will change, he will just be further dejected. there is no love in this place, but god knows there will be less with the morvants. all of his anger will end today. his final scream, his final exclamation of anguish. today will begin his continued life of silence- permanently, this time.
his hands continue to shake as he pushes his hair back from his face. this time not in anger- this time in something like fear. despair, maybe. maybe the tears welling in his eyes indicate something, but he instead wipes the growing beads with his fingers, stamping them out like a cigarette end. he swallows thickly, and once again he takes in his own face.
today is the end.