Δѕylυм : ѕoonĸyυ • тaəмιn
A thin frame sat hunched over a thick set, slick, mahogany table, the figure letting out short, weak breaths. The poster boy for the double-edged sword deemed unhealthy found his fingers curling around nothing in particular, trying to satiate the pain that he was feeling. It was almost as if a clawed hand were scraping against the contours of his stomach, destroying the serenity of his insides until all he could do was whimper ever so slightly as the second ticked by. Closing his eyes, he pressed his cheek against the cold wood, wanting nothing more than to reach inside of himself in a feeble attempt of ridding the intensity of the pain. No one noticed when his eating patterns tarnished within the intangible flames of disappointment. But then, that was all he was— a disappointment.
At least, those were the words that the voices in his head decided to throw at him.
"Dis…appointment…" He murmured out weakly, somehow the only word in his vocabulary to have ever had a significant impact on his mindset; the one what was hardly in his control anymore. There was no control when it came to the young male unless it pertained to his eating patterns. The voices could control everything else— sometimes he couldn’t tell if the beings who appeared into his distinct line of sight were real or not, the whisper of feathers brushing against nothing but air sounding into the depths of his mind.
"You’re an Angel, Arariel."
That was a straight out lie; Angels didn’t exist. God didn’t exist. Religion was a perception that touched upon the morality basis that humans seemed to crave for. He was not at all religious, the boy, but even so— if Angels did exist, then why were they calling him Arariel? What on Earth was an Arariel— it sounded like an STD. Though hardly the one to be promiscuous, he knew and believed firmly that he was not named after a sexually transmitted disease. “My name… Lee Taemin… I’m Taemin.” He slurred to no one in particular, resembling his insanity plead to the eyes that lingered over his trembling frame. Shaking out of sheer frustration, the youth tried his damnedest to keep a dam of tears from cracking—
But he was cracking. After losing count of the incredible amount of years he’d spent being tortured by smug casualties, one would be able to see his soul splitting behind the emotions pouring out of a shining pair of eyes. “Don’t break me,” he chanted anxiously, tender touches of fear ringing into his whisper. “Don’t— leave me alone… Please—”