Those who find self harm triggering (or just don't wish to read about it) should probably not read this story.


Prologue

The warlock stared himself down from where he stood in front of his bed, his eyes dragging themselves over his own reflection

/worthless/servant/stupid/idiot/useless/ican'tdoitanymore/

His trembling hands held the shiny blade, the sharp edges threatening to prick his pale skin.

It's too dark.

The door behind him locked, his fingers clutched at the item in his hands. Voices pounded against his skull like knives, and the memories of his nightmares came back to him. He shivered; why does feeling hurt so much?

pain/pain/pain/pain

The scars on his wrists and thighs gleamed white in the pale moonlight. He bit his lip, cutting off the small gasp as he pressed the shining razor against his arm, watching as blood pooled to the surface. Slowly, and then all at once, the red liquid began to drip off of the fresh cut. He let out a shaky breath, and struck the blade against his pale skin twice more as the words and the thoughts slowly disappeared from his mind.

And in the pale moonlight, scars littering his body and blood staining his towels, the young warlock managed to slip under the waves of pain, and do the only thing he'd ever wanted to do.

Forget.


A/N: This was so hard to write - the idea is one I think is good, but I hate seeing our young friend like this. Don't worry, it'll get better - I'll update this soon. Please R&R, it means a lot - and if anyone has any suggestions on how I could write this to make it seem more real (or if they want to see something in this story) please send me a private message!