Genre: Um... Gen? oO
Notes: Just a short introspective Envy drabble, regarding his relationship with Dante.
Word count: 517
There were very few emotions that comprised his existence. And he liked it that way.
Always at the forefront was hatred - for a man who abandoned him long ago, in a world so different and yet not different at all, separated only by time. Seconds ticked away to centuries, each pendulous moment increasing the resentment felt.
Beneath the hatred, a constant fuel of anger, towards a world full of men just like the one who left him behind. Creating and abandoning, carelessness and disgust for their own handiwork: hypocrisy, the worst and perhaps most rampant of human sins, so much so that it was omitted from their listed Deadly Sins.
And tucked far into the back, traces found only in dark crevices until it crept out and latched onto what little mind he had left, was something he would never admit to - fear. To even acknowledge such a weakness in himself would give him some inescapable, preternatural connection to the species he loathed with every fiber of his existence.
Even so, it wasn't fear as humans felt it. They feared those creeping things that went bump in the night; he was the bogeyman of their nightmares. They feared death, and he was Death - both in his nature and active existence, exterminating men, women and children alike, for they were all alike, all useless bodies with meaningless lives.
It was fear of being alone.
He, bringer of death and destruction, malevolent Sin who reveled in human suffering, didn't want to be alone. Couldn't handle it, wouldn't tolerate it, not after that bastard of a father of his walked away so easily.
He wasn't stupid. He knew that she only stood to benefit from his consuming hatred. Of course, she was just as infused with rage, hated the man just as much for abandoning her as well. As one with such feelings at the core of his being, it was easy enough to recognize them in another, especially in someone who had been with him throughout the wasted centuries.
Master, mother, not a mother at all, bitch who cared only for her own goals, her own survival... whatever she was, he depended on her for his own survival, she who was in part responsible for his life and unlife alike.
She was the reason he was not alone, and for that he would have loved her, had he been capable of such an emotion.
But she was also the reason he lived, lived with the nagging fear of solitude. And for that, he hated her.
If he didn't need her, not for the stones she fed him nor her twisted sort of companionship, would he kill her? She was, after all, only human - a powerful and ancient human, but a human nonetheless, rotting soul and all.
But he would never be free of her, so what-ifs were unnecessary. Both of them would continue to survive the centuries, survive each other. His hatred would survive, and his anger, and his fear.
They would survive, and he would never be alone. But he would always hate her.