"Why did god give us such a mistake for a son!" A vulgar woman spat in the face of a clueless 14 year-old boy, whose ribs could be seen through his torn shirt.

The environment surrounding the boy was a cold, damp, stone room. The rough and grainy texture of the stone floor made him very uneasy. He let out a few cries occasionally, causing the well-dressed, yet vulgar, woman to smack him across the face. Although he has long since learned that succumbing to the tight feeling in his chest would cause him more pain, he still struggled to withstand it. After all, he is just a boy.

"Now, now, don't bruise him dear. The press already feeds on how little he seems to be fed, a bruised face would do us no good." A similarly well-dressed man criticized the woman. The scowl on the man's face seemed to show that his malicious intent wasn't aimed towards the young boy.

Color seemed to drain from the woman's face as she panicked to make amends, "Ah... of course. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly honey, please forgive me." The woman hung her head for a moment before spinning around to a corner of the room where a person with far more gentle features than her and the man was standing. Spit slipped from her lips as she yelled an order to the gentle-looking person, "Take him to his room now! Hm... and make sure the stupid fucking cat is still in there, it'll keep him from crying."

The gentle person in the corner mumbled a few words, earning her a glare from the woman, before they bowed their head and lifted the boy's hand. Used to this string of events, the boy stood up without the need for the ability to see a signal or hear an explanation, only proceeding based off of the soft touch of the gentle person. He calmly allowed the gentle person to guide him up the creaking stairs that led into the kitchen's cupboard. Before opening the door, the gentle person lovingly rustled the boy's white hair, causing him to open his dull pink eyes, but he soon closed them once more.

The gentle person then touched the cold door knob, which made them reel their hand back for just a moment before they actually turned the knob and walked out into the kitchen. They guided the boy past the living-room, where a few small girl's looked at him with a trained hate in their eyes, then finally reached the boys room. In his room was the sound of water from a running aquarium, a cat lounging on a table next to his favorite rocking chair, and a simple bed with mounds of fluffy blankets.

After seating the boy in his rocking chair, the gentle person seem to shine with an almost angelic aura as they mumbled a few words laced with pity and endearment, "What a pitiful creature."