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Summary
He is not innocent. But he was put in the bath the night he was saved and brought to the Palazzo, the filth of the brothel scrubbed from his skin by sweet soaps and the Master’s hands. His clothes are beautiful, and his hair is as neat as the curls will allow it to be, and if he sees the slightest hint of dirt on him, he will rush to wash it off. He thought, perhaps, he was clean. As clean as he could be, at least, considering the men with paint and turpentine on their hands who rub roughly at his skin as if they expect the color to come off. With him asking, foolishly, why he is never painted as he is, and hearing, “It looks cleaner this way, Amadeo.”
But he will be as clean as he can. He will drink neatly. He will keep his clothes and hair pristine. He will not lie with anyone he is not permitted to again…not after last time.
He will be clean.
Or: For over two hundred years, Armand ponders the meaning of cleanliness, and its absence.
Series
- Part 1 of vc microfic may fics