[attr="class","apptraitscont"]

[attr="class","appbody"]

[attr="id","cerberuscol"]dawnchaser

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You touch your hands to your face. You feel your creases, your curves, your edges. What looks back at you from the mirror you tirelessly peer into is a man unsure, uncertain; stumbling through, attempting to do better but not yet knowing who he wishes to improve for. You comb through your mind for the answers, but find they are elusive. They are hiding. They tease, fleeting, never-staying. Amber eyes glitter and gleam a sadness incomprehensible — no, this is unbecoming. You stand straighter.[break][break]

( You roll your shoulders back, lift your head, sweep your hair back and tuck it behind your ears. The look serves you well. )[break][break]

But your heart trembles in its ivory confines. You glance to the side, distracted.[break]

You remember your duties. You're an heir, first and foremost — you should act like it. Don the mask of opaline and gold, smother who you are underneath. Pull your collar close to your throat; expose it just enough, and the sting of red will leave you breathless. You shift uncomfortably in your chains, yet you drag them along behind you anyway.[break][break]

You were close to your mother. As the child, one ought to foster a good relationship with their mothers, but your bond was special. No one could tell you otherwise, ever, lest they find your strangling fingers wrapped tight around their neck. Your mother wasn't perfect, of course. She was a bit rough-and-tumble, but she was good. When you caught onto your magic, she was the first to tell you that it would be okay. Her voice was so wise, gentle only for you. She encouraged you to get better, to get stronger — you were more than happy to step up to the plate, then. ( What happened? )[break][break]

Your father loved her fiercely, did anything and everything he could — his everything wasn't enough for sudden illness, however. You've lost once, and you don't want to lose again. But you know, deep within, that to wish for such a thing is foolish and childish. You can only hope, quietly, clutching your heart tight.