No one seemed to understand him. He was the strangest mixture of his parents, and those of simple minds would only see his pursuit of perfection as vanity. It was a baseless accusation, meant to disparage his beliefs, his mission. Xerxes hated the idea that everything was equal, in fact, he scorned it. Some had a natural advantage to be better and smarter than those around them. And he was one of them. The boy had taken to his father's path of healing, although it was less of a calling and more just something to do. Perhaps one day he would find his place elsewhere, although he doubted that he would ever really be sure of what he wanted to do until he had found perfection both in himself and in the world around him.
Xerxes wanted to take the world, to shape it and mold it like moist clay in his paws, he had a vision that no one else seemed to be able to muster. Perhaps it was simple childish naivety that led him to think that he alone could create a perfect world, but so far, the thought of it being whimsy had not crossed his mind. There was no one to encourage him but his head was an echo chamber in his own right. His siblings were not like him, his father too passive, his mother pursued perfection in her own way but as time wore on the boy was convinced that she was simply vain. The world around him seemed to spin for a moment, because he was truly and completely alone. There was nobody here to understand him, no one he could talk to outside of his father who always tended to encourage him to follow a different path.
His pale eyes looked out across the fields, although he would grow to be tall the grasses still brushed against his shoulders. Sometimes he wished that such a responsibility had not been placed on him- certainly it would be more enjoyable to live as normal without the oppressive concept hanging over his head. Viserys had warned him, quietly, that instinct was always more compelling than one's beliefs, that he should never hang so heavily onto something that one day might be undone. But Xerxes knew that the world was nothing without perfection. He was nothing without perfection.
Try as he might, though, Xerxes still couldn't get past the fact that he would always, in some regard, be alone. Perhaps that was what his father had meant.
| XERXES
asteraia | zero | viserys x ankh | |