Muse Stratos D9 (Done)

They don't tell him when they'll be back. Empty eyes and forgotten youth, they live to take back what they had lost, but it was gone forever. Either way, he didn't care. Solitude and silence were his oasis of beauty and productivity. Walls and walls line with gorgeous paintings that he had created with his natural born skills and the dreams that come to his mind. Storms that rage on in a new form of pale blues and grays upon a canvas. Dried paints that show up perfectly within the sun's rays through the window. Storms line the walls like his own mind, raging on with the sorrows and loneliness that his soul felt every moment of his life. They wouldn't come back, not even once to check to see he was alive. He didn't care. He couldn't care. As long as his heart hangs from the walls and he was left to his own work, he'd live.

Their bags packed for a trip somewhere else in the district, away from him and his heart. Their words nothing more than the coins that buy them the luxury, "Keep the house tidy, I want no dust on anything, the maid will help." As they move to leave, the woman who supposedly had birthed him speaks again, "Get to work Muse." Her eyes stare at him, until they vanish with the door as it closes. It hurts him every time, even if he was used to it. The loneliness comes in waves, crashing and weighing him down like an anchor upon a boat. It eats away at his soul, until he's numb. Numb from loneliness and lack of anyone to lean on. There was no family for him, only luxury and loneliness. As his parents leave for good, all he can do is feel his insides heave, his hand shakes, until the one person there for him embraces him.

The maid that his mother never liked, Mrs. Emberson, embraces him. The one woman he considered to be his motherly figure in his life. This was the reason his real mother didn't care for her. This was a monthly occurrence in his life, the loneliness and breakdown of his own form as his true blood family leaves him to fend for himself. After she lets him go, her voice squeaks out in comfort, "Muse, sweetie, go paint your soul out. Use these feelings to show your pain within art. I'll clean the house, if you need me, just shout. Save those tears, there will be many more, you'll be strong one day." Her heels click away as she goes to clean the large house full of art and sorrows. He'd live like he always did. Heart upon the walls, paint upon his outfit, emotions within the colors. The art was his escape from the reality of it all. The reality that he wasn't okay.

Blank canvases of different sizes pile up in a corner, paint bottles and brushes sit comfortably upon the desk next to the window. An easel seems to silently stare as it sits in the middle of the room, a statue within it's perfect spot. A mirror lines the walk, reflecting the image back to the entirety of the room. Hands grabs a canvas placing it on the stand like he's done time and time again. A paintbrush and paints in hand, he prepares to paint the emotions that tug within his body. The brush connects to the paint, eyes begin to form upon the canvas, brown and dark with no hope inside. A oval shaped face, starts to appear upon the canvas, the brush stroke a quiet and pleasing sound to his ears. A brush stroke to outline what his nose looks like, an average body part to his mind. Eyebrows, thin and brown like the color of his medium length hair appear upon his face. Hair styled back as hair won't get into his paints, as he strokes the brown to the canvas. A small color a little darker than the color he used for the skin upon his painting, lighting he creates the line in his chin, that his mother had called cute, when he was little.

Paints fuse together to form his body, average and evidence of some muscle to the arms, legs, chest, and stomach. Hands, soft from being a painter and richer than most of the people who live within the district. An average height for a rather average man who only paints, dreams, and explores. The pale color of the skin is shown, smooth to touch. The man was painted into the art, but only smaller than people would have expected. Grays and pale blues are drawn in a swirl, creating the storm. The storm that savaged the man below with emotions that shatter his soul. Loneliness strikes through the painting with the pale colors that strike the attention forcing someone to focus upon how he truly feels in the home of riches, all to himself. No siblings, no parents, only a maid and himself to survive within the home.

Beauty was in every single thing that surrounds them. Nature, people, life, dreams, wishes, loneliness, even suffering was a form of beauty in a dark way. Every single scene that his eyes had endured and seen have had a different form of beauty surrounding it. Beauty was in everything that he could find and all he wanted was to see it all and put it down upon canvas or paper. Eyes capturing every single thing within his gaze. That's how the beauty of his loneliness was captured upon the canvas. Brushstroke after brushstroke, he would capture moments of feeling lost, only to make him feel less alone.

This was his life of loneliness that his parents had created with their greed filled hands. Living with two younger parents who didn't want to let go of their youth created a rough life where he had to grow up too soon in order to survive. Everytime he saw them and their horrid attitudes about life, all he can do is turn up his nose in disgust and focus upon his own life. They never had truly been his parents, even when he was a small child. They were apart of two rich families that had been forced to marry and bring forth a child to the world. They truly didn't care about him, all they wanted was to be young. Muse learned this the hard way as he grew up.

A younger version of Muse sits in a corner drawing upon a sketch pad, pictures of animals and dreams that the imaginative boy had filled the paper in various colors. His mother and father gone away to a party as he was left with the maid. A nice woman who treated him like her own child, even though she had her own kids back at home. Everyday it would just be the two of them, until late into the night when she would leave for her own home. Left alone on his own, Muse would draw, paint, color, anything artistic, until the maid came back and took care of him for the day. A young Muse grew up alone, facing terrors on his own with no friends. His parents fought for so long about his education, but neither really cared about forcing him to go. Muse prefered to stay home and paint to his own desires, exploring the district and seeing all that he can. The beauty that he can find within everything that he could see and think of.

The boy lays on his stomach, coloring away at a picture as his mother and father arrive home, arguing like they always did. His ears perk at the words his mother speaks, "I never asked to be married to you. I never asked to have a child with you. L-Leave me alone." At the young Muse was, he never truly knew what it meant. Assumptions filled the young boy's mind as he interpreted the words for the fact that his mother never wanted him. She didn't want a child. His heart shattered into pieces that night. The first night that Muse drew storms that keeps him sane.

Once he grew older, Muse Stratos learned the truth behind his parents. They were forced to marry by their own parents. It had come out at a family dinner, the ones that Muse had to dress in his best outfits for to impress his grandparents, who were richer than most. His parents had been prodigies and everything in their life had been paid for, but it didn't stop the families from forcing their children to marry and have a child, especially one that they truly didn't like. His grandfather's words always seemed to echo within his mind as every time they came, he trashed Muse's heart with venomous words. "Don't you think he's too old to be doing art? It's not even lovely like other artists within the district. Dark natured pieces of crap that hang on your wall." The words always were the same. It was too dark, too evil, too sinful, and so many other words. A young Muse had learned the hard way to never try to impress his grandfather as it never worked. Art was a sin to them. They didn't understand it like Muse did.

As nights grew longer and he grew taller, life was forced into his own hands. The boy who was fed by the silver spoon, taught how to be rich, but all he wanted was to be creative and prove that it was a logical thing to pursue, but his parents forced him to learn the business that they did. A business of running factories and managing their products. Profiting from making them. Muse was forced to throw art away for long periods of time, but every time he fell back into his artistic outlet of emotions and feelings. They didn't care about him and he didn't care about them. Soon enough, his parents ignored him and treated him like the Mrs. Emberson. A useless tool that could be used to benefit their life, but all he could be was an eyesore of the lost times of youth.

Now, the artistic soul brushes a new painting. A future that he can see within his grasps. A storm vanishing overhead. Green grass, a average house, with a man upon the porch painting to his heart's content. Children running around as smoke flows out of the roof, signaling dinner. A gentle breeze brushing the man's cheeks, this was a dream world for Muse. A dream that he would one day reach, but that was his fantasy. A fantasy that wouldn't come true. There was no escape from the Stratos. Their name marked him like he was branded to be rich, but no one knew him. He preferred it that way. The brush touches different colors as he splashes color after color, hiding the scene of peace before him. The house vanishing behind a dark green. The fields turning into a brown as a red color is added. The man turning into a black spot of horror as paint begins to coat the entire canvas. A sigh echoes from his body as he drops the brush. The words of Mrs. Emberson hits his ears and he knows it's time to finish up for the day. There was no escape from his reality, but the art helped ease the reality of this situation. As he stares back at the darkened canvas, he tosses it to the side and lets out a breath. Fantasies were unachievable, but he could learn how to live a life with his heart upon the walls and happiness finding it's way into his veins.

Hands push through his hair as he lets out another sigh of gentleness. He would show them what beauty was out there, even if it took him his entire life. His parents would learn that the world was beautiful, even with struggles and that they won't be able to achieve their past, but they could find their present and future. Muse didn't like them, he could care less about them, but he still wanted them to see what he can see. They wouldn't listen like Mrs. Emberson does. Muse Stratos could see the beauty in everything and one day he would feel that beauty swallowing him whole, happiness flowing through him, but that wasn't the day. Muse was still going to live in his loneliness and wallow in the tears that his parents create through their ignorance of him. Muse was stuck in a loops of sorrows and couldn't find his escape. The only escape was through his art, the pieces that carry the shattered shards of his heart. They hang upon the walls. As he sits down with Mrs. Emberson, his heart beats in tune with the walls that are empty. As she exits the home, he closes his eyes and dreams of the things that he could create. The loop starts over, again and again. Tornadoes, hurricanes, blizzards, eruptions, and so many more disasters fill his head, but in the end, all he wanted was the calm scene that he created, but in a world full of storms, there weren't any eye of the storms of relief from their power, but he still pushes on fighting it for his own reality. This was his life, a constant struggle of storm after storm that he has to brave and he'd do it every day if it meant that he can feel like he was alive for himself.

Silence fills the room as he prepares to fall into the blissful sleep where can escape his insufferable parents and the way they treat him like nothing more than an employee rather than a son. The dreams come with an onslaught of nightmares, storms and blood filling his mind, but the beauty that he can see within it fills him with a restful sleep. A boy lays in bed, comfortably, no suffering that he endures through his life of being forced to being nothing more than a person who was nothing more than a maid. His art treated like a sinful piece of horrible colors that bring out the bad in people. They only allowed him to put it upon the walls because they only came home once a month, loneliness fills his soul full, but he still holds on as it's the only way he can truly live. Muse Stratos was a man full of gorgeous images and hope of a better future. The night disappears and the moon shines upon his body, the rest that fills him with the energy to continue his braving of the storm known as reality.