Makings of a Monster

- "Little boy, what are you doing sleeping here in the stables? Aren't you cold?"
Sarevok was, indeed. He had a stolen, dirty blanket wrapped around him, and he was lying on the hay, but that wasn't enough to keep the bitter cold away. It would be enough to prevent him from dying, though. He had already figured out that freezing was not a problem as long as it was unpleasant. If you didn't freeze anymore, it meant you were giving in to the cold. Dead things were cold. Not right away though, the warmth left them gradually. Sarevok knew, he had killed a few rabbits. So no way he was going to let his warmth leave him. If it threatened to come to that, he would move on. The blanket gave him an opportunity to sleep more often.

The stranger was fat man in thick, glossy furs. He had thick, swollen fingers with heavy jeweled rings. His words were not alarming, but Sarevok didn't like his mouth. It was loose and budgy, and his lower lip was a lot bigger than the upper one.
- "This is no place for little boys like yourself! Why don't you come to the inn with me and I buy you a dinner!" What was it with the voice? It was as if he tried to sound friendly and not just sounded that because he was. But a dinner... real dinner, in the inn, in front of a fireplace! Sarevok got tempted enough to ask the obvious question.
- "Why would you do that, mister?"
- "Why, boy, out of the kindness of my hear, of course. It just won't do to leave beautiful little boys like yourself freezing out in a night like this."

Kindness? The word didn't have any meaning to Sarevok. He had heard it before, but he didn't understand what people were trying to describe with it. In this case.. giving something to him, for no reason? Perhaps by following the man he would understand more of this kindness. And get the meal, of course. An opportunity leaped into his mind.
- "Mister? Do you have a room in the inn?"
- "Sure. I'm a travelling merchant. What of it? Want to sleep there with me?"
- "Well... I was more like thinking if you wouldn't mind me washing my clothes. And myself." Sarevok HATED being dirty and wearing rags. He understood well enough the expressions of well-dressed, confident people, when they looked at dirty and disheveled ones. He didn't want to be looked at like that.
- "Oh, certainly, little boy. I'm SURE I can help you with that!"
This merchant obviously was rich. The jewels, beautiful furs, and shiny boots told Sarevok that. Usually rich people didn't much notice him, or if they did, they gave him a look he didn't much care for. One of pity, or one of disdain. Both based on the conviction that he was inherently below them, because he didn't have beautiful, clean clothes. Why this man gave him attention when he obviously didn't have anything to take was beyond him. But he had heard enough.

- "All right, mister."
- "Excellent!" The man had a beautiful horse, silken dark brown, graceful animal. Sarevok followed him and tried to hold on to his dignity. He didn't want to seem too pleading or eager, or shiver overmuch. At the inn the warm glow of the fireplace greeted them, a few indifferent glances from crouched travelers, a short pause in the murmur from the tables.
- "You little urchin, didn't I tell you you can sleep in the stables! I'm not running a charity here, you should be grateful for..." started the innkeep.
- "Quit it, man. This boy is my guest!" bellowed the fat stranger. "And bring us some roast chicken, mashed potatoes with lot of butter, and vegetables. Oh, and a bottle of your best wine."
- "My apologies, sir. Coming right away, sir."
Sarevok wondered what he would have to do in order to be treated like that. He shouted, and they cowered. What would make the difference?

They sat at the table, Sarevok feeling his toes prickle when the cold started to retreat. His fingers felt more nimble, his face more animated. The stranger kept looking at him very closely. His eyes were gleaming in an odd way. The look did seem appreciating, but something about it unnerved Sarevok.
- "You are really a beautiful little boy. You do know that, do you? Like a little prince with your feline grace."
- "If you say so, mister."
He didn't understand what the man was going on about. Sunsets were beautiful, and paintings and expensive garments. Little homeless children were not. Sarevok ate with a gusto, willing himself not to rip and grunt like a beast tearing its prey.

The man motioned to the innkeep.
- "My guest needs a tub for bathing and a bucket of warm water to wash his clothes. Will you see to it."
Sarevok couldn't help uttering a longing sigh.
- "Take some wine, my dear."
The liquid in the glass was odd. It tasted bitter and sweet at the same time, and there was a warmth to it which also warmed his fingers and cheeks. He felt a relaxation, a hazy pleasure. The man poured him some more and he drank it, never having felt so good.
- "So what's your name, my beautiful little dear?"
- "My name is Sarevok."
- "Oh! Sarevok what? "
- "Just Sarevok. I saw it in a dream. It is my... soul name. I don't know what it means but it is my name. I remembered when I woke up."
Suddenly Sarevok felt an unpleasant flash of nausea. What was he doing telling his secrets to this fat, strange-talking man who gave him a somewhat alarming feeling?

- "I will go to the bath now, sir."
- "By all means, little Sarevok."
He walked the stairs and went to the room the man had described. His feet felt funny and his head didn't seem to function properly. He didn't see things as they were, but through a hazy and shaky distortion. He usually took pride in and confided into his swift, determined gait and agile movements, but they, too, seemed to fail him now. But sure enough, there was the hot bath. And scented foam, no less! He undressed himself and put the clothes into the bucket, then slid into the bath. He rubbed himself, washing his hair thoroughly. He forgot to worry about his condition and enjoyed himself immensely. His head started to loll. It was so warm, so pleasant.

Suddenly Sarevok woke up feeling cramped and alarmed. There had been some darkness and he had no idea how he had ended up lying naked on the towel spread on the bed. However, now he had no time to ponder that. The candle flashed on the nightstand and it made the fat merchant look hideous, like an ogre. He had no clothes on, and his eyes gleamed in a malevolent and grazed way. His breath was heavy and short and he was grunting. His right hand was making a sickening, fast motion somewhere in his thighs, and the other hand was fumbling Sarevok, pawing him, squeezing his buttocks.

It hurt a little, but that was not what caused the claustrophobic dread rise in Sarevok's throat. He didn't understand what the man was doing, but he did understand that it was something bad, and that he was the merchant's target, and that he would force himself on an area of Sarevok which belonged only to him. An inexplicable shame also overcome him. A shame of lying there, at the fat man's mercy, providing to some evil need of his.

- "Let me go!" he urged.
- "All in good time, boy," said the merchant. He didn't pretend to be friendly anymore.
- "You ogre! Let me go or I'll shout."
- "Go ahead and shout, little whore-boy. Who do you think cares what happens to you?"
He had a point. Sarevok tried to stand up, but the merchant grabbed him and tossed him on the bed, delivering a hard slap on his cheek.
- "You would eat my food and use my bath and then go your merry way!? Oh no, little whore-boy, now you are gonna pay. I'm going to take what I want and you are going to give it to me with no trouble!" He was very big and heavy, and he was pulling Sarevok to him, his hands hurting, his heavy breath smelling bad. Sarevok was frantic, fumbling towards the nightstand. He knocked the candle down and the fire went out, leaving the room dark. Suddenly Sarevok felt another presence entering him, a violent rage, a insatiable lust for destruction, a hate so strong that it would give him strength long after his natural reserves would be used. He shot his arms upwards and grabbed the man's hair. He banged the head against the wall, and the thud made the man let his grip go. Now free to move Sarevok sank his teeth to the thick neck and bit as hard as he could and he could taste the blood, the rich, steel-flavored, crimson blood. He loved the taste and jumped down the floor, his natural grace and agility regained. He reached for his dagger he had left on the table, grabbed it and proceeded to the bed, where the fat man was trying to recover. Sarevok grabbed the hair again, his eyes already accustomed to the dark, and brought the dagger to the man's throat. He liked what he was seeing, dread in the man's eyes. He smiled like a wolf, blood coming out of his tiny mouth.
- "... you... you.. a demon-child..." croaked the man.
Never hesitating, Sarevok slit his throat. He smelled the blood and it made him giddy, happy, powerful. Suddenly he relived the shame and the dread. The man had thought to use him as a tool to something unspeakable, dirty. With all his might he plunged the dagger into the heavy chest, then hacking, hacking, hacking away, weeping and gasping like an animated construct, until the blade of the dagger broke and he suddenly felt completely drained, empty, emotionless.

I killed a man. He is dead. There is a lot of blood. I killed a man... and I loved it. It was best to climb out of the window. They wouldn't find the man in a while, but they would know who had killed him. Best to move far away, and quickly. Sarevok had heard people talking about cities. That was what he would have to do. He would have to find a city.

Later on, little Sarevok made a break on his trek, sat a while and contemplated what had happened. Something had been called to him, just at the right moment. But what was it? And what was its price?
That was another lesson. What had the fat man said? "Out of the kindness of my heart." So that's what it is, then. Sarevok had never heard the word "cynicism", but if he had, he'd known he just had had his first dose of it.