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Satoru's eyes peel open slowly, and almost immediately close again as he lets out a gurgle of irritation.
It's just too bright.
This had become a regular occurence over the past few weeks as the days grew hotter and the sun burned brighter in summer.
Unfortunately for him his crib had been placed directly in front of the window, giving him an unabashed view of the sun and allowing the glowing rays of sunlight a direct route to his eyes as if they didn't hurt enough already.
And nobody ever helped with them. It was always too much at once and no matter how loud he cried they never did anything to help.
They'd change his diaper three times in a row without even checking his eyes despite the fact that it was their fault it hurt so bad.
He dislikes his caretakers for this, among other reasons. Not a single one brought him joy.
His eyes open again against his will and he screams before twisting onto his side, away from the light, accidentally flipping onto his stomach.
He pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, crawling towards the end of his crib, pulling himself up with the long wooden bars.
His face presses forward into them and his eyes peek through the gaps in the wood. He stares at the plushies arranged neatly on the shelves across the room, but his eyes flick over to a shoddy looking one in the corner, sickly green with a leathery-looking coat, a misshapen mouth, holes where its eyes should be, a short stout body and long spindly arms that touched the floor.
He stared at it until his eyes began to tear up from the unobstructed exposure and he shut them reflexively in response for a reprieve from the stimulation.
When he opens his eyes again it's almost right in front of him and he stares at it open-mouthed as it draws closer without seeming to move at all.
It is only about a foot or so away from the crib when it reaches out to him with is spindly hand, claws spread out as if to grab him, almost static in its place and it is at that moment Satoru finally decides to scream, letting loose a piercing shriek from his throat, falling back in his crib with the force of his cries.
A servant bursts into his room in response to his cries and approaches his crib to examine him, lifting him into their arms and turning him over.
He squirms in their hands at first, uncomfortable in the presence of the new person. There seemed to be a revolving door of people who attended to him and he didn't like any of them much, except for the woman who fed him.
She would hold him close to her bosom, allowing her warmth to seep into his skin but after every meal she would leave and always seemed sad to do so.
Though they are not the woman, he quietens in the servant's hands, his chest heaving with relief at the presence of another person, someone who could handle the thing in his room. Once they are satisfied with his state they take a step back but place him down in the crib before moving away.
They do not do it as gently as the woman does. When she puts him back she always cradles him so carefully and lowers him so slowly like it physically hurt for her to do.
The servant in his room glances over it before their eyes stop on the flyhead curse on his shelf. Satoru gurgles in his crib, flailing his arms around as if to point at the creature. The servant tears their gaze from the flyhead, turning to look at Satoru.
"Is this what made you cry?"
He gurgles louder at that but they don't seem to understand him. Feeling frustrated, he pulls himself to his feet once again using the crib's wooden bars for assistance. He wraps one chubby hand firmly around the top of a bar, releasing his other hand from its grip, reaching out to grab a fistful of the servant's hair for emphasis of his earlier words, encouraging them to take it out, blinking rapidly as his eyes flicker between the creature and the servant.
But once again they do not understand him, though perhaps the truth is they do not care. The servant wrenched their hair from his grasp with a grimace directed at the strands that came off in the clutch of Satoru's fingers.
"It's only a flyhead and the sorcerers are too busy to handle it, you'll be fine." they cooed at him, their voice taking on those syrupy tones people always used when they were trying to get him to do something.
The servant smooths down the part of their hair rumpled by Satoru's grasp and turns to exit his room, leaving him alone with the flyhead as they shut the door.
Satoru let go of the bars on his crib, turning away from he view of his shelf, curling into himself, staring at the strands of black hair in his grasp.
The color looks odd against his skin, unnatural. Usually the hair was always white.
Every time after he ate and the woman put him back down he'd pull at her hair, feeling the need to keep her with him though he did not know why. And always her face would crease sadly, her eyes would go shiny and she would carefully pry his little fingers from her hair.
He stares at the black strands in his grasp and wonders if she would have dealt with the creature for him. He feels like she would.