[Hunter's not sure what mask he saw now. There are two masks that stick out in his mind. One that's simpler, with thinner slits for eyes. He thinks he saw that one.]
[But did he? Another form takes shape. With a flash in his mind like a lightning strike, his memory changes to a taller figure standing in the yard down below. Is that what he really saw instead?]
[He erases and lengthens the bottom of the mask into a beak-like shape. Then draws antlers. Then cracks that are oozing black liquid. With the last crosshatched stroke, he then stares out ahead, insensate, and goes still, the hand with the pencil dropping down still on the table, the pencil falling out of it.]
[Hunter's suddenly in a cavernous room covered in gold. The tall figure with his blue eye sits on a massive throne. Hunter's heart is pounding, the way it always does when he's displeased him, when they're alone here. Because he never knows how far his anger will go.]
[This room is sometimes a place of pain and shame over his failures and ingratitude. The figure towers over him and Hunter kneels in deference. In apology. In submission.]
[Everyone worships him, because he's a great man, and Hunter's no different. But what's different from everyone else is Hunter loves him so much. And his service to him is owed more than anyone else's because of what he's done for Hunter.]
[His life and time rightly belong to him.]
["So, you return with nothing. Is this the thanks I get for taking you in?"]
[The words come out of Hunter's mouth of their own accord, his present self forced to feel them leave his lips, hear them, without being able to stop them.]
Of course not. I want to help. A-A-And if you told me how wild magic did this to you, I might be able to find a -
[He's said the wrong thing. Stoked the fires of his anger. The tall man's arm jerks up and turns into a construct of dripping slime, a tentacle snapping out as fast as a whip. Hunter's heart clenches and he moves his head to left, only just in time to avoid another injury to another ear - or potentially losing it all together, were it to cut as deep into his face as a tentacle had when he'd gotten his face scar. He feels it snag his hair, cutting some of it off, but his skin is unmarred.]
[It's only through experience that his reflexes have gotten quick enough for him to sometimes dodge.]
[Hunters steadies his voice, keeps his eyes closed, submits.]
My apologies. I spoke out of turn. It won't happen again.
[He opens his eyes to see the slime tentacle withdraw, and the tall man clutches his chest, groans slightly. "These outbursts are painful." He stares down with glowing blue eyes. "And so is watching you fail. I know you can do better, Hunter."]
[In the real world, only a few seconds pass before he gasps lightly and comes back. His voice drops down to a hushed whisper, quaking with horror.]
I know him. Somehow. I belonged to him.
[It's the only way he can contextualize it. It's something he knows in his bones. He wasn't a person, he was an extension of his will. He was his to command and his to chastise and his to hurt whenever he pleased.]
Aunt Eda, who is he? What is he? What's happening to me?
cw: child abuse flashback
[But did he? Another form takes shape. With a flash in his mind like a lightning strike, his memory changes to a taller figure standing in the yard down below. Is that what he really saw instead?]
[He erases and lengthens the bottom of the mask into a beak-like shape. Then draws antlers. Then cracks that are oozing black liquid. With the last crosshatched stroke, he then stares out ahead, insensate, and goes still, the hand with the pencil dropping down still on the table, the pencil falling out of it.]
[Hunter's suddenly in a cavernous room covered in gold. The tall figure with his blue eye sits on a massive throne. Hunter's heart is pounding, the way it always does when he's displeased him, when they're alone here. Because he never knows how far his anger will go.]
[This room is sometimes a place of pain and shame over his failures and ingratitude. The figure towers over him and Hunter kneels in deference. In apology. In submission.]
[Everyone worships him, because he's a great man, and Hunter's no different. But what's different from everyone else is Hunter loves him so much. And his service to him is owed more than anyone else's because of what he's done for Hunter.]
[His life and time rightly belong to him.]
["So, you return with nothing. Is this the thanks I get for taking you in?"]
[The words come out of Hunter's mouth of their own accord, his present self forced to feel them leave his lips, hear them, without being able to stop them.]
Of course not. I want to help. A-A-And if you told me how wild magic did this to you, I might be able to find a -
[He's said the wrong thing. Stoked the fires of his anger. The tall man's arm jerks up and turns into a construct of dripping slime, a tentacle snapping out as fast as a whip. Hunter's heart clenches and he moves his head to left, only just in time to avoid another injury to another ear - or potentially losing it all together, were it to cut as deep into his face as a tentacle had when he'd gotten his face scar. He feels it snag his hair, cutting some of it off, but his skin is unmarred.]
[It's only through experience that his reflexes have gotten quick enough for him to sometimes dodge.]
[Hunters steadies his voice, keeps his eyes closed, submits.]
My apologies. I spoke out of turn. It won't happen again.
[He opens his eyes to see the slime tentacle withdraw, and the tall man clutches his chest, groans slightly. "These outbursts are painful." He stares down with glowing blue eyes. "And so is watching you fail. I know you can do better, Hunter."]
[In the real world, only a few seconds pass before he gasps lightly and comes back. His voice drops down to a hushed whisper, quaking with horror.]
I know him. Somehow. I belonged to him.
[It's the only way he can contextualize it. It's something he knows in his bones. He wasn't a person, he was an extension of his will. He was his to command and his to chastise and his to hurt whenever he pleased.]
Aunt Eda, who is he? What is he? What's happening to me?