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It wasn't until the door closed behind his feet that Ralsei took a deep breath, and completely lost it.
It was a blur of raw and ugly rage whose victim was the only object in his room: the "Ice-E” pillow. For the first time in his short existence, Ralsei felt an incomparable burning in his gut, one that demanded he destroyed in order to be extinguished. All the self-loathing in his chest ignited and came out in the form of feral roaring as he slammed the harmless object over and over, again and again, against the walls black as a cave’s mouth. But it wasn't enough; the fire wouldn't go out.
In a final act of violence, he unsheathed his claws to tear the plush apart before giving it a good bite, as if he had hunted dinner. Only then did he feel his energy drain, on his knees in the middle of a dark, empty room, his mouth full of wadding and a dull ache in his gums from clenching his teeth too hard.
On the cold floor, he tried to process his own actions. The disfigured world slowly regained its shape as he watched the curtains flap from left to right, and Ralsei only managed to open his jaw and spit out the pillow stuffing. Then he brought a sleeve to his mouth to rub his tongue, trying to get rid of the taste of burnt plastic. Then he sheathed his other hand's claws to free the poor, murdered Ice-E. Then he continued rubbing the rest of his face with both hands, pushing his glasses up to his horns, because at some point tears started falling off.
Kris's voice echoed off the empty walls.
Good, keep smiling.
He was convinced that person hated him. No, not Kris, probably... but someone much worse. All he wanted was its approval, but...
He sobbed so hard he startled himself. All he wanted was to get out there, help the darkners settle in, distract himself from the thoughts with a little bit of company, even if it was fake people like him. But he couldn't just show like this.
He wasn't supposed to even be like this. He wasn't supposed to be capable of the blind violence from a minute ago. He wasn't angry, he couldn't be angry.
All he wanted was to be a good friend. He tried to be so nice, to help, to comfort. He was soft, and sweet. He knew he was sweet. Then what? What did he do wrong? Why did the Angel hate him?
Ignoring him, keeping silence, shutting him down, all those mean words. It wasn't like this with Susie…
He brought a hand to his chest, barely keeping himself from tearing at his dress. Why?
The previous stillness began to fade, and Ralsei worried, panicking, that the fire was rekindling. He wasn't angry, he wasn't angry.
All of that hadn't been good enough, he came to understand. He had to smile more, maintain his composure for the Angel! He shouldn't have dared to... to show even an ounce of his suffering to it. He shouldn’t have been so selfish. He shouldn't get angry!
No, he wasn't angry, because if he were angry, that would mean… that would mean that he thought he had the right to be. He panted, his breath heating up like a dragon's. He wasn't angry because then, then Kris's treatment of him would be unfair!
There was nothing unfair. He panted even harder, trying to contain the renewed energy in his arms, begging him to hit, to break.
He wasn't real. He was nothing more than fleeting entertainment, destined to fade sooner rather than later. A fantasy made to serve the heroes, as fake as the plush he'd just sliced, he might as well have been made of polyester and could just as easily be used as a vent. He didn't matter. There was no concept of fairness for a Darkner.
He couldn't get angry.
So why...?
Why was he resenting them?
He exhaled and laid on his side, his claws trying to penetrate a stone tile. It was getting darker, yet darker.