Work Text:
There was an image in a mind, one of drowning endlessly in an ocean of red. Completely alone he sunk to the bottom, pulled by the weight of memories, guilt, and self-hatred. It pulled with such a strength that there was no escape.
Until Veruckt snapped back into reality, blinking as he realized that he’d been staring into a half-full wine glass. His fifth one that night. He’d been in his office most of the day, and his thoughts were the same as always, crippling. There were so many hidden wine bottles from how much he drank on a daily basis. All of it was a weak effort to distort thoughts of self-hatred and guilt. They never truly went away, as evident by his daydreams.
His desk was littered with shaky scratches. He pulled back his hand from the desk and realized there were new ones, even shakier than the last ones. The desk looked like a scratching post for a cat because of how much he absentmindedly damaged it.
He felt somewhat numb, the thought of drowning lingering in his mind as he moved his hands to look at them. They shook, always. They never stopped shaking. Beneath black fingerless gloves were old scars from frostbite. A memory he hated, that led to a hatred for the cold and a memory he would never describe to anyone. In reality, it still led to some ice in his corrupt heart.
For some reason, his eyes narrowed a little and he sighed, rolling up one of his sleeves. Wrapped poorly with bandages that were spotted with blood, his forearms had plenty of old and new cuts. A mark of his discontent with himself. His breathing got shaky when he looked at them, and he rolled his sleeve back down.
In seeing his reflection within the glass when he looked back up, Veruckt realized he didn’t know who he was looking at sometimes. He was much different as a teenager, though he forced upon himself a drastic change.
A change meant to burn any relation to a man he hated. Something meant to reassure himself that he wasn’t the same. That he never would be.
But ironically, he was similar. Abusive and cruel, short tempered, a hypocrite and tyrant.
So he didn’t know himself.
He blinked back tears he didn’t even know were there and buried his head in his hands, trembling with internal conflict. He didn’t understand much anymore. There was never that much light in his life, especially now, and he felt utterly alone. His head ached, from the wine or the thoughts he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.
Eventually he pulled one hand back, and his gaze went to a picture on his desk. A picture of a student, the only person he really felt cared for him. Maybe his brother did too, but he felt too much envy of him to really accept it.
She was a small light. A hope he at least wouldn’t die alone and forgotten. A chance that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought. It was something he thought was stupid, but it gave hope. A foreign feeling to him.
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He looked at himself in the glass again. Seeing a softer expression in his reflection, it made him feel more like he was looking at himself. Even if he wasn’t the same in appearance and he was broken and warped…his heart didn’t change. Not deep down.
It gave way to a feel of contentment, one that caused him to empty the glass rather than finish it and toss the bottle. Just for the night, he didn’t need any more.
He was Veruckt, broken, but not the monster he made himself out to be.
He is Eshrin.