[The Unlucky Game Master]

Arc 8.4 End

A boy of eleven or twelve sits on the stool, observing the freshly painted drawing.

With white hair and inquisitive ice blue eyes, five snow colored tails sway behind him uninhibited.

He looks up at the man frozen at the archway, behind the easel.

"This is nice, is there a name?" He smiles, before looking back down.

The mans long been suspicious of him, besides isn't he lonely?

He already has his heart, even if the man is unaware.

"Fox?" The man watches him coldly as his long black hair drapes his shoulders.

The black hair pleasingly contrasts with his pale skin.

No matter how coldly he stares, he can only think of it as amusing.

He glances behind him at his obviously swaying tails and smiles at the man before continuing to appreciate the art.

At first glance it would seem off putting, but it's the most impressive in the whole cottage.

It was painted as soon as the man woke up, barely just leaving to wash himself.

This is the second time the man asks the same question, but the connotations entail differently.

The man swallows as he looks at the boy and his adams apple bobs lightly, but he still looks icily.

"Are the changes your doing?"

He pauses, before looking at the man.

"Which?" He says while looking in inquiry away from the easel at the mans eyes, as his white hair falls lightly.

This would be the first time for the man to meet another "person" in twenty years since he was banished at the age of six.

The cottage has a wide array of books, but not the answers he seeks.

He can only rely on his own assumptions and thoughts.

The man stares with hidden agitation in his eyes, before they soften minutely.

"My body?" He questions lightly in a whisper.He dismisses the idea of him being the cause of the village.

He pushes down the paranoid thoughts and forces himself to focus on cold logic.

"Yes, but it can only alleviate your symptoms and the body will never truly be cured." He nods gently, and states without ambiguity while still looking at the man.

No matter how odd it was at first, it will inevitably form a pattern.

He's no longer surprised from the mans reactions that differ from the previous.

In the bright room with burned candle stubs placed around, the boy sits on the stool surrounded by canvases and patiently answers the mans questions.

The man leans against the wooden archway never tirng and relaxes with a smile on his lips.

*********************************

When night arrives, he watches the man fast asleep, before leaving to sit back on the stool in front of the entrance.

These canvases only give a sense of unease as he turns his back to face the door instead of the easel.

Purified, but their essence will never truly be changed.

Only silence accompanies him, as his tails sway behind him.

He uses purple fire to light the already flickering candles, still with a faint smile on his lips.

Even though he was a prince of his tribe, but was killed in such a gruesome manner.

Status, rank, talent, none mattered.

He's strong for his age, but still too weak.

How can such a young child possibly win?

"You still want to play games?" He says when the door stays closed, only leaving a forced sense of foreboding.

Animal or human, it makes no difference.

A noise grates against his ears and mind as a small black bird rests inside against the window.

Fires burn as he lightly furrows his brows momentarily, an allusion?

Well, as expected.

He smiles after a moment of watching.

He was killed too easily and has no memories of its abilities.

What a pity.

"Do you want me to kill you, or will you give me the man?" He smiles while fires wreak the house.

No damage can be dealt on things outside the existence it effects.

The cottage filled with past sacrifices restrains it partially or he wouldn't want to risk damaging the canvases.

His soul enhances his fires, but it's lacking.

He doesn't care what it does, but the man is his.

Gagging, he breathes on his hands and knees next to the knocked over easel.

He covers his mouth with one hand and closes his eyes while pursing his lips.

Ugh....

Too many......

He organizes the forced chaotic images, before coughing into his hand with blood staining his snow white tails.

The inside of the cottage ended up in disarray, he glances at the torn canvas on the easel in mild regret.

He doesn't have enough energy to warm the cottage and the wood needs to be replaced, he staggers to stand with blood dripping on the floor.

He crudely lets his blood purify the wood before throwing it into the fireplace with a spark.

His ice blue eyes glance at the shivering man and his five tails sway lightly in the air.

Masa, the beloved child of his parents.

He doesn't know how they reacted towards his death, but he removes a golden paper from his space and tears it, watching it dissipate.

It was never able to be of use, then or now.

They would've noticed the difference in souls.

The lingering contamination will be purified by tomorrow morning.

He leans against the cottage wall with his weary body and doesn't glance at the man again.

His long white eyelashes cover his closed eyes as he rests his fatigue.

The man wakes up feeling an odd warmth.

He sits up with his long hair draping his shoulders seeing the disorganized cottage.

With a cold expression he watches the torn canvas on the easel.

He's a light sleeper, without thinking he knows the fox did something.

Thoughts invade his mind, from the information he aquired the day before, as he bends to realign everything meticulously.

He exits the cottage, seeing the mud on the ground with fresh rain and picks fruits.

Closing the door, he grinds the fruit into paint and fills separate containers.

Sitting in front of the easel, he calmly paints.

Habitually moving a hand to his lap, before pausing and continuing.

Days pass, months, years.

Only an old man is left sitting in front of an easel, calmly painting.

An old torn canvas is set aside next to the many canvases beside the easel.

The villagers only laughed in joy without guilt, further sickening him.

He never could love or feel anything for another person before his death.