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The sun shone on Leyndell, a small town in New York. Specifically, it shone into the window of a large manor. The sun poked its way through a shaded window, prancing along a wooden desk laid strewn with drawings and writings alike. A bulletin board was just above it, numerous pictures of places across America, all labeled with pros and cons of potentially living there. Within the reflections of one of the photos- New York City itself- came the groans of a young boy.
The sixteen year old pulled himself up. He had pale, white skin with unnaturally silver hair; loose and frail along his weak skin on the left side of his head. The other right was covered in horns, which seemed to protrude out of the boy’s head like that of a goat, only more plentiful and dull. Without much warning, the knocking on his door grew louder.
“Brother. Mother demands we sweep the floors.”
Morgott pulled himself out of his bed, his cloak still on from the night before. He wore a white T-shirt, ragged with a few holes, along with grey sweatpants. The shoddy cloak around his neck and shoulders draped down past his legs as Morgott stood still for a second.
Without much warning, Mohg intruded. Mohg, twin brother of Morgott, had a slightly different style. He wore a leather black jacket, with jeans on and a general slicker style. However, he bore the same horns that Morgott had, only with a black hue to match his similarly colored hair. The blood omen- as per his street name- had a sickly smile as he saw Morgott, then quickly fading away as Mohg sat down on his bed. Morgott followed, sitting down on his own.
A desk separated the two’s twin beds, with two windows each. No posters covered Morgott’s side, with plenty of metal posters plastered over Mohg’s. The two seemed to engage in similar activities, regarding preparing for the day. Mohg was pulling up his socks, adjusting his jacket while Morgott reached under his bed, weaving his hand through the empty bottles of Jack Daniels as he grabbed a grey, cane-like stick. Coincidentally, he used it as such. Morgott pulled himself up with his cane, letting out a grunt as he keeled over it. He took a deep breath, and adjusted it as he took a few steps towards the door.
“Mother also wished your presence, once we’re done with the floors.”
Mohg commented just before Morgott left the room.
-
Morgott pressed through the halls, telling the carpet underneath his bare feet as he took slow, yet sure steps. Morgott had been born with a rather crushing blood disease, tainting his very being and heart, and affecting his bones as well. He hated it. He hated every second of it, and he felt shame for it. It wasn’t his fault for feeling such a way, however.
Morgott approached the door of his Mother’s bedchamber, where he inhaled deeply and held up his cane, banging on the wooden door.
“Mother, my audience has been requested.”
Morgott finally spoke. He had a rugged accent, filled with both understanding yet resentment. To him, there was a lot to feel shitty about, and not much to feel great about. It was whatever.
“Enter.”
Instead of his mother’s voice, he was instead greeted to that of a man. Morgott huffed as he opened the door, a less than bulky frame pushing through while he stared at the figure standing just beside of the large, circular bed. With long, luscious flowing red locks, and a beautiful golden tattoo upon his back, Morgott closed his eyes.
“Radagon-“
“Your mother will be absent for the day, Morgott. Simply a day taken off, not to worry. But I still carry her word. You are to be relieved of your chores around the house, if thy preparations for dinner are fit.”
Radagon spoke with haste, a gentleness in his voice that Morgott’s mother did not have. He swiftly turned around, revealing that he wore very little underneath the tattered robe around his waste. Morgott adverted his eyes, and simply nodded.
“Yes, Lord Radagon.”
“Be grateful, Omen. Your father still seems to care for you.”
Radagon teased, tilting his head. His golden eyes seemed to pierce through Morgott’s dead gaze. Morgott held up his non-dominant hand, wiping his forehead of the sweat given by the horns.
“Thank you, Lord Radagon.”
Morgott turned around swiftly, leaving the bedroom.
-
Later that day, Morgott sat by the curb. The sun bested him once more, his grip holding tightly to the cane his right hand wrapped around. He took a deep inhale, smelling the burnt asphalt combined with the solemn smell of a barbecue nearby. Beside Morgott, a young man, just a few years younger than Morgott chuckled.
“Ah, the Omen King himself.”
A familiar voice rang out, and Morgott turned to his side, seeing a blonde man walking towards him. The man wore a white Grey T-shirt and track pants. His blonde eyes seemed to twinkle as he sat down next to Morgott. His blonde, luscious hair draped down to his pelvis.
“You flatter me, Godwyn.”
Godwyn gave a small burst of laughter, his relaxed demeanor contrasting Morgott’s. Godwyn let out a sign as he looked at Morgott with a charming smile. Morgott couldn’t help but smile in response. Godwyn had a certain aura around him that no one person could entertain. As soon as he’d enter a party or a gathering, you could feel the tension drop. He was an incredibly likable figure, with no bad reputation to precede him.
Morgott and Godwyn seemed to talk for what felt like hours, until day turned to night and Morgott traveled him.
-
When he reached the door, he entered the main living room. A smile once on his face from a good day quickly faded.
“Ah. Mother.”
Morgott commented. The living room was exquisite, with a large grandfather clock as a side piece, and red carpeting laying the wooden floor. A coffee table sat in front of a comfortable couch and recliner, where a dog and cat laid respectfully. Both of which seemed to quiet as they looked up, joining Morgott’s mother in staring him down. Morgott’s mother, Marika, was a stern woman. She seemed rather upset, a disappointed look on her face. It took Morgott a second to find out why she was upset.
“And who told you that thy business was outside, foul omen?”
Marika’s words phases through Morgott as he simply pushed forwards with his cane. He looked up towards the staircase in the corner of his eye. He spotted three fiends, all of which a year older than him. Two were twins, one blonde and one with red hair. They seemed interested with what was going on. The boy had a smaller build, much more childlike in nature. Before Morgott could look at the third child, Marika snapped her fingers, demanding his attention.
“You are to stay in your room, without food. If you are not sleeping by eve, I shall use your horns as cooking utensils.”
Marika spoke with anger and hostility towards Morgott, who walked past the three figures, and into his room.
-
“Ay, brother. What’ve you thought of doing?”
Mohg broke the silence, and a half naked Morgott replied slowly, a bottle in his hands. He still seemed sober enough.
“I do not know. Hopefully, I will get Mother’s grace.”
Mohg laughed at Morgott’s respond, viewing it as impractical. Marika hates Omens, nearly killing both of the twins at birth. Morgott sighed, and Mohg grinned.
“I’ll tell you what, Morgott. As soon as I’m 18, I’m kissing Leyndell goodbye. Plenty of massive cities in the world, Y’know?”
Morgott nodded to Mohg’s comment, guilt building up while he reminisced. Morgott closed his eyes, and drifted off.
What a long day.