Claude often pondered the poignant cruelty of his creator. He didn't like to think of those days, the bright shining creature he'd once been. The memories were often too painful to bear. However he could never escape it when he knelt.

Kneeling, humbling the very pride he'd fallen for. The creator always did have a sense of humor. To dote upon and care for his creation regardless of his choices. "You will not serve me?" he seemed to say. "Fine. You will serve my creation."

"Claude I want him to suffer. Make him mine Claude, that's an order!" The boy's blue eyes flashed dangerously and his perfectly white teeth were bared. Like a tiny yapping dog. Perhaps a rat.

It was like poison on his tongue to speak the word Master or Lord, especially when none were worthy of the title.

"Yes, Your Highness."

He looked to the heavens, as if the whole host looked down upon him in amusement. You truly are a Bastard, Father. He thought, following the boy down the back alley streets of London.

Made to bow before a false, unworthy King. Unworthy of his devotion. Certainly not worthy of the blackened remnants of his heart. How….fitting.