（Tried to write an essay.）
Disclaimer: This contains a large amount of OOC elements, a work created when brain cells weren't firing on all cylinders. Just take it as a bit of fun.
You are the treasure that belongs to me, proof of my worth.
"Nobility" is the facade presented to the other, while "materialization" is the psychology of the possessor. When this psychology takes over, expressions of love can transform into a gentle declaration of power.
Pierrot practiced this sentence in front of the mirror.
The ruff choked his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head up slightly—a posture that looked devout enough. The bells chimed softly with his movements; he frowned and reached up to still them.
No other outsiders were present now. The chandelier's light was only enough to illuminate his face alone. So he allowed himself to speak, his voice low and hoarse, like an old instrument long unused:
The years he had lived were too numerous to count, yet these two days felt heavier than all of them. So heavy that he instinctively lightened his steps when walking, afraid of disturbing something. So heavy that the very rhythm of his heartbeat had changed, into a strange, dull ache.
That human worked in a café. When he was being cursed and shoved, that human had stepped forward, standing between him and the crowd.
That human's hand was very warm—this was the earliest memory he had, and also the clearest feeling he retained about the other.
He lowered his head, looking at his own hands. These hands had torn apart prey. These hands had been stained with blood. These hands, when gently held that day, had trembled slightly.
"My lady," he said again.
This time, the tone was different.
He dissected the word, grinding it carefully on his tongue. "My"—belonging to me. These words made his throat tighten. "lady"—noble, worthy of admiration. These words softened a place in his heart, yet also hardened it.
It softened because that human deserved it.
He remembered Jester's words. The other sat in the shadows, tone as calm as if commenting on the weather: "You've been off lately."
He couldn't answer, just shook his head.
"Whatever it is," Jester said, "keep it locked away."
He understood the meaning of those words. They were monsters. They ate people. They lived in the cracks of this world, hated, feared, driven away. That human was light, but light burns things that have lived too long in darkness.
But he could no longer lock it away.
That human had walked into his eyes, into his mind, into that place in his chest that had been still for so many years. It couldn't be taken back.
The golden eyes in the mirror dimmed for a moment.
He spoke again, this time his voice even lower, carrying a dangerous tenderness he himself hadn't noticed:
"The treasure that proves my worth."
The moment he said it, he suddenly understood what he was doing.
He was turning that human into an object.
A noble object. A shining object. An object that could prove "I am not entirely useless," "I too can be treated kindly," "I am worthy of love."
The thought sent a chill down his spine, yet it oddly excited him.
Because this meant—if that human was his medal, his trophy, then that human could never leave. Medals don't walk away. Trophies don't escape. Things that are possessed remain, forever and ever.
The bells chimed again. He raised a hand to press against his chest, where it beat rapidly. He thought, so this is what humans call "love."
So this is what love is like.
It's wanting to place the other on a pedestal, yet quietly building high walls around that pedestal. It's wanting to kneel and kiss the other's feet, yet also wanting to wrap chains around their ankles.
It's "you are free," and "but you won't leave," existing simultaneously.
He didn't know how long he stood there.
The light flickered. Pierrot took one last look in the mirror. His long hair hung down, half-hiding his face, revealing only one golden eye.
Something was burning in that eye.
On the first day he saw that human, Pierrot stood outside the café window, watching that human's busy figure. He would memorize the curve of that human's smile, the way they walked, the habitual gestures they made when talking.
Speaking... he wasn't allowed to, but he could break this rule for this person.
That human would never know the weight behind these words.
Would never know that these words were a gentle hunt, a meticulously woven chain, the expression closest to "love" that a monster could conceive.
Pierrot leaned against the wall beside the mirror, closing his eyes.
That human's attitude, he hadn't asked yet.
What mattered was, that human already belonged to him. It was only a matter of time, even if the other didn't know it yet.
In the darkness, a bell chimed softly.
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