Charice admired his bedroom while Michael stood guard outside of it. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made out of a caramel dark wood; the queen-sized bed rested on a black carpet.
The only source of light was a flickering candle in a bowl atop a night table next to the bed. An extinguished fireplace could be seen, above which hung a pair of small lapis and redstone symbols.
One, a red, eight-pointed star pointed outward, each arrow's bottom swirling into a singular point, the symbol of the Chaos Gods.
Next to it was the symbol of the Order of Gods, an empty sphere with one line connecting it at the top and bottom.
Charice wasn't interested in either for now, thus showing them no attention. Even as they subtly glowed in the dim light.
The candle flickered, and Charice approached it. As he stepped on the carpet, where his feet touched, the color changed to red, then to yellow, as if responding to the heat of his body before slowly returning to black as he stepped away.
Charice smirked as he looked at the dying fire, "Come on."
He slowly extended a finger toward the flame and stuck it right in the middle. A momentary burning sensation could be felt, but a cool, rigid sensation soon filled his finger as Order moved in.
"...So I am immune to fire, huh..." Charice sighed, "Just like the game..." As he looked away with complicated feelings, the flame seemed to wrap around his finger and swell in size, from a dying flame to a healthy light.
Charice flinched and pulled his finger away. Slowly, he allowed his robes to fall and got into bed, naked. He hid under the warm, fuzzy sheets made out of pristine wool and leather and snuggled himself in. His consciousness dispersed as his head sank into the pillows.
"Mh..." He bemoaned, unsatisfied as he pressed his thighs together under the bedsheets, arms wrapping around himself. His chest felt exposed, and he, even though his body was at a perfectly fine temperature, couldn't help but feel a little cold.
He grabbed a pillow from the edge of the bed and wrapped his hands and legs around it, gripping it tightly, like a leech.
A click of the tongue echoed, "B-Better than nothing, I guess." Charice mumbled, his eyes grew heavy, but before he slept, the faint scent of lavender filled the air.
"...I-" He yawned, "-want to see Mom again..."
And with one final sigh, he slept.
As Charice slept, above the fireplace, both symbols intensified their glow. Once dormant, the fireplace flickered to life with blue and crimson flames.
Charice's brows furrowed, a pink chain interlocked around his neck and raised into the air.
It was then that a small pink planet shimmered into the air with a sweet whisper.
It was Earth, the chain wrapped around it and tightly gripped it, shaking as a red and blue mist wrapped around it and the planet.
Charice shuddered, a dream fluttering in his mind.
"Thank you for taking the time, Miss." Charice's kindergarten teacher said with tired yet present eyes. The world behind the window behind her was obscured by a thick grey fog, with points of red and blue flickering occasionally.
Charice looked around. The area was filled with small paintings and children's toys for him to play with, but he didn't. Instead, he sat next to his mother, holding her hand.
It was soft, warm, gentle, albeit loose. The seat was stiff and hard; his butt would hurt after a while of sitting on it, but his legs would hurt more if he stood, so he remained planted.
The air smelled of nothing, nothing but his mother's lavender perfume.
"It's okay. You said you have to talk to me?"
The teacher sighed. Charice looked up with distant, black eyes and short black hair. An average young man, or rather, a young boy. He was very still, rigid, and inexpressive.
His mother had long blonde hair and blue eyes. Soft white skin and full, luscious lips, Charice had none of those. She was pretty, but she was prettier while crying.
A strange noise could be heard as the teacher looked at Charice. His name, was it supposed to be his name? It was a name, the boy could tell, but not his. He was Charice.
"------, Could you head to the other room and play? I need some time with your mother."
"..." Charice didn't answer; he was focused on a nearby painting. A large city, Roman-style, looked quite pretty. Grand, yet without the menacing noise of guns and cars, nor the looming shadow of skyscrapers and billionaires.
"I like it." He said, entirely unprompted.
The teacher sighed, "Well, alright, Miss. Your son... He is having issues fitting in with the other kids. I wanted to ask you how things are at home."
"Home?" Charice asked, looking at his mom, as if the word had woken him up.
Charice's mother smiled at him and ruffled his hair, "Things are just as usual. I think he just needs some rest, is all."
The teacher steadied her nerves before speaking again, "Miss. I'm sorry if this offends you, but your son's behavior cannot be explained normally. He doesn't register us unless we approach him on his very unique terms, not even his name registers to him, so I believe taking him to a specialized institution may be for the best."
The word normal prompted a rise of sickness in Charice; he didn't gag, but felt like he might. The mist now fully consumed his teacher, not showing a fraction of her expression or intent, just a fake, plastic voice looming over him and his mother.
The mother smiled kindly, only the sick shine of her yellow teeth visible. "I'll take your words to heart, thank you." His mother wouldn't. She loved him, the way that he was, even when others found him unappealing; she smiled at him and held his hand, just like now.
The teacher spoke, "Alright, other than that, your son is doing quite alright. He is a very good child most of the time."
Charice looked to the floor. Most of the time? He wasn't dumb; he understood exactly every single word. Did she not understand her own words?
Charice stood up and walked away without another word. Within a second, he tracked down his Mom's car and sat on the hood. Waiting.