(#BBBXCOVID1920) The Final Sadist

8 || How Could She Trust Me?

BoBoiBoy's room is also white, not like Yaya's room painted in pink and hearts. He's an obvious minimalist, with only a circular bed adorned in the very middle of the room. But at the luminance of the color, it's still dark. Barely only a candle is lit, waxed over a single iron stand. There are also no windows.

It's a lonely sight for a lonely man.

It isn't even apparent that it is the next morning. It is noon, but BoBoiBoy stays in his room for his daily routine.

His room is macabre. There are tiny vials of clear fluid scattered over the fluffy bed he sits on, labeled differently with parchment. All of them are emptied bit by bit as, one after the other, BoBoiBoy takes them with his boney fingers. In the dark, he breathes aloud as automated voices speak through the shadows.

"Shots administered."

He sits, forcing a senseless face, scratching his neck. He wears a collar.

"Shots administered."

He's always been like this. For almost all the years of his life. Every single day, he lives through a life of false faces and facades. Earlier, he put on a sad face. A face he isn't used to making. It is a face of weakness, a face of guilt, grief. A face of pain. And the day before, he put on a menacing face. A face he has never done in a long time, a face he is now supposed to be used to from now on.

"Shots administered."

When in reality, he is only a hollow shell. An empty canister raised without any content. What he feels is only the outer rim of his body. Everything else is fake.

The vials keep him that way.

"Shots administered."

Still, he knows to himself. He won't stay like this for long. He won't be finishing a century exploring only the inner walls of his vacant self.

"Shots administered. All vials inoculated."

His hands reach for a shelf under his bed, grabbing a woven rattan box and dumping all his vials there. He reaches low again, grabbing on a parcel, wrapped in papyrus and tied in a ribbon of fiber. Slid within are Orange Pansies and Dahlias.

BoBoiBoy grabs a bottle from a separate shelf, sprinkling a fair drizzle of the potion into the flower ornaments.

"Abah."

At his voice, another ragdoll servant comes to view, one dressed well enough to be called a butler. He's older than most of the other servants, still, he serves his master with pride, bowing in front of him.

"Send this parcel to Yaya's room, please. I have no time to meet up with her at this hour. But do get her ready. We'll be heading out today."

※

The lawn is free of snow, with servants lumbering to and fro with heavy shovels. Pits emerge from the side channels of the yard, opening up to plumbing tubes. Every snowfall, BoBoiBoy has the snow sent to the water systems, turning it into water once it melts.

Okay, but that's very innovative.

BoBoiBoy is already waiting by the main hall with his same outfit. And Yaya emerges with a different regalia.

She had her servants sent away, she is an independent woman after all. She ditches the dollish look, clad in a knitted turtleneck with a denim jacket. She probably found these on the other side of the closet. No more petticoat on her, either, for she's now wearing a short pencil skirt. It's still white, but it's a whole new structured look. She has her curled locks kept in the ponytail. Her heels click on the floor as she approaches.