"Mom! Mom!" the young boy, no older than 6 years of age tore through the room in search of his mother. "Mom! Look what I found! What is it"!" He was holding something small and furry nestled in his arms. The boy himself was a short, scrawny little thing. Curly hair that stuck out at nearly every direction, a mass that could rarely ever be tamed, no matter how many times it was wet down or brushed. Wide, curious eyes darted around the room as his legs carried him through the house, clutching the furry critter to his chest like it was a treasure. "Mooooooom!" He whined, wide hazel eyes peering down at the creature he was holding.
There was a soft sigh as his mother came from the room down the hall, her office. A wild mane of her own chestnut hair, nearly as curly as the boy that was causing such a ruckus. "Yes, Zver?" She didn't look pleased at being disrupted from her work, her gaze peering at him with the same shade of hazel as his own. It was clear that he was a spitting image of his mother.
His smile beamed as he found her, bolting directly up with her and nearly trembling with excitement. "Look!" Maneuvering his hands around the critter, curling his fingers behind the front legs as he held it up to his mother to show her what he'd found. "I don't know what it is....but it's really soft and cute. Can I keep it?" His eyes darted between the creature that was flailing and kicking it's legs, trying to get away from the boy's hands that was holding it in such a manner. Long ears pinned back against it's grey fur.
"It's just a rabbit, Zver." She sighed, peering down between her son and the animal he'd found. One of her hands reached out, grabbing the creature by the scruff of it's neck, raising the flailing creature to be eye level with herself. Her gaze was cold, distant as she wrinkled her nose at it. "No, you can't keep it."
"But..." his lower lip quivered at being told he couldn't keep the rabbit, having let go of the critter when his mother had grabbed it from him. His fingers fidgeted in front of him, lacing together and twisting as he wanted to argue with her, but didn't want to anger her again. "....I...It's cute...and.."
Her cold gaze pulled away from the rabbit, peering and staring down to the boy. "Cute"...." She blinked once, turning her eyes back on the rabbit as she slowly tilted her head. ".....I don't want you to say that word again, Zver....Do you understand me?" Her voice was plain, nearly monotone as her expression contorted. Her hands shifted around the creatures neck...snap.
Confusion littered his features, trembling rocking through his limbs and hands as he looked between the limp rabbit and his mother. "Why....why did you do that"....I just wanted to play with it...And....and pet it." His voice wavered, tears filling and glistening in those wide hazel orbs.
Dropping the rabbit on the floor, she crouched before the boy, getting eye-level with him. Her head tilted as she feigned a motherly expression. "Cute things don't matter in this world, Zver. Cute won't get you anywhere. Cute is a weakness. So is getting attached.." She lifted herself to stand straight, peering down at him. Her jaw set as she stared at him. She knew her son was different than the other Soul Shriven that resided in their realm. What the humans were supposed to be. Unfeeling, sociopathic, dead-eyed Soul Shriven. As a dremora, a strong worshipper of their cruel god, Molag Bal, her son was a disgrace. If any found out of her son that cared....loved....brought those little fuzzy critters home out of kindness....She shuttered, turning her gaze away from the boy that had his chin tucked to his chest, struggling not to sob as he stood there in defeated disappointment.
"I'm sorry, Mom..." he sniffled, raising one of his small hands to swipe at his runny nose, eyes downcast to the floor. Thump. A smack across the head, not overly hard to knock him to the floor, but enough to make him jump and tremble. Her deadpan voice drifted down to him as a snarl. "Enough with your apologizing. Being sorry means you feel guilt. Guilt is a weakness, a tool to be used against you. Regret. Is. For. The. Weak." Anger tore through her voice, battering him as he flinched with each of those last words growled at him. She sneered at her disappointment of a son, shaking her head. "Clean the rabbit, it'll make a good stew."
"Yes, mother.." his voice was soft, eyes remaining on the floor as he slowly bent down to pick up the rabbit that he had thought would be his friend. He jolted as he heard the door slam, telling him that his mother had returned to her work. A hushed whimper spilled from his lips as his small fingers drifted over the soft fur of his late friend, swallowing the lump in his throat. I'm sorry she's so mean... he thought, turning away from the door to do as his mother told him.
