The boy watched the strands of ebony fall before his eyes, wisps of what he wanted to keep being taken from him once again.

“Raz,” his little voice called out. “Can I have long hair like you?”

The angel looked down at the small boy. He was still so little, but every day he moved further away from being that vulnerable infant and impulsive toddler and closer to a child with a real personality and will of his own. His speech had begun to take off, and at four-years-old, he was constantly full of stories and questions. Always wanting to know more. Always pushing his limits. Growing smarter and larger and stronger by the day.

“No,” the man grumbled, unwilling to give the boy what he wanted.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a Fallen One, and you’re not beholden to The Kingdom and its ridiculous customs. They have no power over you, and you will not concede to their standards.”

Ren was quiet for a moment, his fingers picking at the snipped clumps of curls on his lap. “What does that mean?”

“It means fuck The Kingdom,” Raz informed with no emotion as he turned his attention back to shortening the boy's dark locks. “You need to understand that the heavens have turned their backs on you. There is no angel other than me who will ever accept you. They will always look down on you. So you’ll do the same to them. You will reject them, the way they’ve rejected you.”

If the boy was old enough to ask, then he was old enough to know the truth.

Even if he was still unable to fully grasp it.

“But I like yours,” Ren argued carefully, testing the boundaries of his uncle’s patience. “I want it long. All the way down my back like you have it. I want to be like you.”

That was the last thing the man would ever wish for the boy.

“It’ll stay short.”

But it wasn’t really. There were boys whose hair was kept close to their scalp, barely anything there to even pinch at. Or cut with a little length, just enough to swish around when they moved. But Raz couldn’t do that to hair like the boy had. It hung in big, loose curls and waves, wild and messy and carefree.

Like Ren’s father’s had been.

He allowed it to grow but only around his ears and down the back of his neck, any longer and he’d sit the boy down and trim it back.

“Okay,” his sweet voice full of disappointment but he wouldn’t argue any further.

The boy had learned quick to accept the things he couldn’t change, and he gave little push back most of the time. Raz had seen other children his age who whined and cried and threw fits at every small misgiving.

But not the boy.

He just watched.

Waited.

He always had.

Even as an infant, those eyes would take in everything around him.

Quietly.

Raz had been told that babies, especially in the beginning when there was no other way for them to communicate their wants and needs, cried and did so a lot.

But the boy rarely did. And what could be considered a cry, never really was much of one at all. More so a temporary disgruntled protest of circumstance, a tiny groan of disapproval.

He had been told that he was lucky to have been blessed with such a well-tempered baby. That he would grow into an obedient child. A humble man.

Raz wasn’t so sure.

There are those who would say that a child cannot manipulate. That they don’t have the mental fortitude to navigate around the emotions of others. To intentionally make them feel the way the child wants them to. To influence their actions without them being any the wiser.

But no one watched the boy the same way that he did.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Isn’t he the most precious thing,” the women in the village would sigh, wiggling their fingers in his tiny, clenched fist. “He’s an absolute dream.”

Raz would see the boy smile, listen to his sweet coos, watch the completely smitten women melt under his bright gaze.

And carefully observe the shadow that overcast the blue for only ever a moment.

The uncertainty lingering like whispers in the man’s ear.

Was the boy really a dream?

Or was he a nightmare?

Raz clipped the dark hair slowly, taking his time, making sure the sides were even.

“Raz?”

“Hm?”

“Are you my papa?”

The man stopped and looked down at the boy, his big blue eyes looking up at him curiously.

Waiting.

“Where did you hear that?” the man asked, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“In the village. A boy called the man papa and the lady mama. Are you my papa?”

“No. I’m your uncle.” The boy had never asked, so Raz had never told. “I’m your mother’s brother. We had the same parents. The same mama and papa.”

“Where are my mama and papa?”

Always so many questions.

If he was old enough to ask.

“They’re dead.”

He was old enough to know the truth.

“Like the chicken?”

Raz nodded, his eyes shifting away from the boy. “Like the chicken.”

Ren thought about it, pinching the discarded hair and dropping it on the floor, one curl after the next. “Did I make them dead, too?”

So many questions.

“You did, in a way. But it wasn’t your fault. It was theirs.”

“How?”

“Because they weren’t supposed to have you, but they did.”

“I don’t remember making them dead.”

“You wouldn’t. Your father died before you were born, and your mother right after.”

“How?”

“The Guard killed your father.”

“What about mama?”

If he was old enough to ask.

“She killed herself.”

He was old enough to know the truth.

“Did they not want me?”

Watching.

The boy’s eyes so blue.

Waiting.

“They did want you. That’s why you’re here with me. Because they wanted you to live. And I wanted you to live. That’s why I have these scars and only one eye. It was my sacrifice for your life.”

A little hand reached up, a slender finger running down the scar tenderly. “Why wasn’t I supposed to live?”

Because you’re evil.

“Because fools only ever blindly believe what they’re told. They never question. Don’t ever be a fool. Come on now.” Raz brushed the hair from the boy’s bare shoulders and helped him down from the counter and into his shirt. “I want you to go gather the eggs,” he told the boy.

“Okay.”

He followed the boy as he ran to the door and opened it.

“Be gentle with them,” he reminded him.

“I will,” the boy promised before hurrying outside to the coop.

Raz watched him as he entered the coop, some chickens scurrying away while others came up to the boy. He placed his hands on their heads and ran it down their necks. This time, his hand made it to their backs before he took it away.

The chicken the other day hadn’t been so lucky. The boy’s hand had closed around its neck and hadn’t let go. The boy brought it to Raz, holding it up to the man.

An offering to the one who had spared his life.

Blue eyes so dark.

Watching.

Waiting.

Raz knew that it wasn’t uncommon for small children to lack the foresight of how their actions may affect others. They were inherently selfish creatures, having had their every need met without haste from the time they left the comfort of their mother’s womb. Of course, it would take time for them to learn how to consider others when they had only ever considered themselves. The boy wasn’t the first to naively kill a vulnerable animal, and he wouldn’t be the last. It was normal, it happened all the time. A situation easily remedied by explaining to the child the difference between right and wrong. By teaching them empathy.

There was no reason to worry.

He was too young.

Raz would continue to watch.

He would continue to wait.

The Kingdom wouldn’t decide who or what the boy was to become.

The boy would do that himself.

And Raz would do his best to guide him.

The boy ran up, cradling eggs in his arms, his smile so proud.

So beautiful.

So innocent.

So deceiving.

“I was gentle, Raz!”

“You were very gentle.” He put his hand on the boy’s head and tussled his freshly cut hair, the boy’s eyes as bright as his smile. “You did well. Put them in the basket. We’re going to the village.”

The boy did as he was told and returned to the man, following him to the trees.

“Can I play with the other children today?”

The man looked down into blue.

As deep as the ocean.

Watching.

Waiting.

Raz would never say it out loud, the truth being released into the world too much for him to handle, but he couldn’t hush his thoughts that asked if he had done the right thing.

Should he have saved the boy?

Or left him to die?

Snuff out his short life before it even had the chance to begin?

Or allow him to struggle against the tide, attempting not to drown?

“Please, Raz?”

He thought of the chicken. Of it’s limp body. It’s empty eyes.

He thought of the boy. Of the darkness that had been in his.

And how, despite it all, the man couldn’t help but look past it.

Couldn’t help but love the boy more than he could have ever thought possible.

How he would do anything to keep him near.

Keep the boy looking up at him, those ocean eyes now so bright.

So hopeful.

Only the hint of a shadow lingering in their depths.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Not today, Ren.”