Christopher sat in the velvet chair placed in front of the large mirror, the most expensive make-up perfectly blushed onto his face. He studied his own reflection. Something he rarely had time for. His eyes were the deepest of sapphire, but sincerely devoid and empty of any emotions or life. His eyelashes were coated in a light mascara, the dark liquid masking the dull sparkle of his gaze. His cheekbones were pronounced, their natural beauty covered by the fine powder a servant applied every single morning. His lips were smeared in a light gloss, their usual shine and luster manipulated by the transparent lipstick. His entire face was covered in a mask. A mask of deception, greed, and cruel lust.
Glancing down, the blonde couldn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed a single thing about his life. Besides ruining Monsieur Hardy’s entire existence, as well as Monsieur Jeffrey Nero’s, he really didn’t take pride in his latest achievement. The two men died. Which he so joyously laughed at. Of course. But when Adam did run away with Christian, the realization that he had absolutely no one began to take its toll.
Strolling the streets earlier, the glares and whispers he ignited from the most prestigious of town citizens, crushed his ego. The people all hated him. His entire structure was torn down, revealing his most personal secrets around the town. The news of his evil escapades soon spread around the countryside, and left him a complete outcast. All he had worked on from the tender age of 15, was gone.
He had built his reputation as the most beautiful man in the entire town, and his presence was simply more than acknowledged. He was so extremely well-known that it became a simple habit for him to take a more rambunctious hobby than just sitting around drinking tea. His craft was manipulation, and he knew the craft well. Extremely well. But apparently, the entire facade he had meticulously incorporated swiftly became utterly exposed.
Sighing, the blonde reached down to brush his fingertips against the soft, cotton cloth he used to remove his make-up every night. He dabbed it against his face, letting the material scrape against his cheek as he slowly removed the thick powder. Deeply gazing into his own eyes, he allowed a shameful tear to slip down his cheek, the wet droplet running down his face. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore. And neither did anyone else. Now, he was just a nobody, a piss-on. Forced to live his life as a stranger to everyone.
Jericho let his eyelids slide closed. All he had built was departed. Gone. Vanished. And deep down, he truly hated only himself..
the end.