12th Corbet 1104, Alday.
A boy stood leant up against a wall, tears drying on his cheeks. The world had fallen apart, and his head was beating like a war-drum at march. The hall he stood in was unusually cold, the part of his back that had touched the wall was the warmest spot he'd find currently. Clenched in a fist of his, was a piece of torn paper.
"I, I don't understand. I just wanted to remember it, like they told me to." He cried, as murmurs not far from him whispered tales of him. His hands shook and shimmered, afraid of what awaited. He had no clear picture of what it could be, and that terrified him even more. Any movement he would dare take in this moment could spell doom, so he held strong and barricaded himself away in between his hands.
The cold wall he was leant up against, whispered the tales back to him. "Difficult, erratic, disturbing, lonely." Were words spoken, and none carried comfort. Nonetheless he sat with them, like they were friends at a gathering. Discussing what each of them meant for him, a difficult, erratic, disturbing and lonely child. Each one sang a little tune for him, jubilating over their triumphs despite it all. Whilst the child spoke with himself, a certain warmth lit within him, a strange relation of his self with these words and labels formed. He knew they weren't of positive affirmation, but they gave him an identity, an identity he could use to shield himself from the outside world that mocked him.
Not long after he'd finally gained warmth, a door swung open, sending a wave of cold air towards the boy. His small sparkle dimmed as he gazed up on the towering, familiar yet so strange figures standing above him.
"I hope you'll have a stern talk with him. Our sanctuary is understanding of delinquency, but to tear a tome apart is unacceptable." A soft spoken man said. His voice was smooth yet tattered with a spiked field of confusion and betrayal.
"We will. But please be gentle with him. With his condition and… our lack of presence, we can't put too much blame in his way." A gray haired woman spoke, her hair was littered with images of feathers forming shields.
"I'm aware. But you must discipline him, otherwise his life will be in an even grander level of difficulty than it already is." The door was shut, and the now lone figure stood, filled with seemingly a hole in her stomach. The boy clenched his fist, the piece of paper crumbling.
"I know you didn't mean to cause harm, little star. But you did nonetheless." The woman dragged the boy away, the paper he held fell out of his hand, it reading. 'Keep living for those who fell'.