Forgiveness: [Jay X Reader]

One.

I gripped my sword in my hand, the handle worn and stained with use. It fit perfectly into my hand, something brought about by repeated use and wear. It felt comforting, in a way. To have something fit so perfectly with a part of you. Like it was made to be. Yet of course, it was a sword and nothing more. A tool used in the act of maiming and killing. Something simple and yet had the possibility of danger. My face was adorned with a simple mask covering my mouth and nose, almost a muzzle. Not only did it restrict my speaking, thus not allowing me to call for help if I so deemed necessary, but also restricting my breathing. It coddled my face, a symbol of something more than hiding my identity. It held more importance than that. It was a muzzle, holding back my bark. Really, that's all I was to them.

A dog.

Something that had no say.

Go figure.

Of course, I had grown used to it. All my life I had been trained like an animal told to sit and stay and kill. I was raised and taught to kill and maim. It had been ingrained into my DNA and head since I could walk or really remember. As a child, you remember and cherish your first toy or first playtime. I had learned to cherish my first kill. Most children learn to walk and talk and write and read whereas I learned how best to disable your victims or how to best invade a place undetected and leave no trace for the authorities to find. No trace, no way to find me. No way to find the people who had made me into the beast I was today.

Now, don't jump to conclusions. I'm sure if I had been raised by a normal family and lived a normal life, I wouldn't have an insatiable thirst for bloodshed. If anything, know this: I was not to blame for what I was. I would learn this, eventually. It would take years on end, but eventually, I would learn. 

My feet balanced on the tip of the Destiny's Bounty, and my hair flew behind me as the ship flew. The night sky bathed the world in a dark deep blackness, stars peeking through the great abyss above my head. All was calm and peaceful, as it should be on a night like this. Yet, here I was, the harbinger of the worst. No moon shone to provide the much needed light, but I could see well enough in the dark. Training had made sure of that. I was used to being locked in pitch black, expected and commanded to escape from the deep black prison, not an easy feat by any means. Beneath my toes, I could hear those stupid ninja hollering and carrying on as if they had just conquered the world. They probably had. I was out to stop them.

I slunk over to the window that was propped open with a book, wind whistling inside the ship. Lazy ninja. I imagine they would come to regret the gesture of leaving the window open on a early summer night. Bugs could find a way in. Not only that, but also assassins looking to prey on innocent ninja. A soft pop, and I pushed the book out from its place and slid into the kitchen, landing on my toes, silent. It was warm and welcoming, and if I wasn't here to kill, I might have felt the slightest bit of happiness. A gentle light poured from a room far down the hallway, illuminating my path. Around me, the ship creaked as the wind whipped around her. The still, quiet air sent shivers down my spine despite the warm temperature of the air surrounding me.

What is happiness? What is it a result from? Happiness and joy are foreign to me. Never have I felt the rush of joy or the adrenaline rush from something sweet and happy. The only rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins happened all those times I was forced to fight those of higher ranking. Each time, my heart beat in my throat and I thoroughly expected to be welcomed into death's arms. Yet still, I was always nursed back to health because of my promise of one day being of use to them.

 My lips have never curled into a smile from a gift given to me or an act of kindness.

No matter.