Rykar tread heavily up the stairs from the lobby to the third floor, each step heaved with great effort. He was tired, yes, but moreso than that: his soul ached and he just wanted to lay down and die. Maybe he would. He dragged himself down the hallway before coming to a halt in front of a wooden door chipped with age. Fumbling in his satchel, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door. He slipped inside and closed the door firmly behind him.

Glancing about the room, he made the acute observation that his brother was not here. Right now, he did not know if this was a good thing or a bad thing; he wanted to see his brother more than anything right now, but so exhasted was his poor brain that he did not think he could handle any more drama right now. He shuffled over to the cot and threw himself down, the mattress sighing heavily underneath him. He curled up into a ball and wrapped the blankets around his body, pulling them up close to his chin. Closing his eyes to wash away the pain, he realized that it only brought dark memories to the surface once more.

Rejected once again. Tears welled up in his eyes. "The world hates me," he whispered to himself, the words clogged with the mucus as it accumulated in the back of his throat. His brother would forever be stuck performing for other people and Rykar could do nothing to help him. He had tried and tried and tried yet again in order to get his poetry out there for some of the performers to recite, but no one wanted what he wrote. His long hours laboring over emotion-drenched words meant nothing to no one. Just like the rest of Rykar's life--abandoned somewhere in the middle of a dark abyss. The only person he had in life was his dear brother Tylar after their parents died in the tragic barn fire of '05 and left the two of them all alone in the big, cruel world. And was it ever big and cruel! It had left Rykar without a home and his brother without his balls and the two of them lost and confused.

It was not like their parents had ever been extremely fond of them. From the very beginning they had been nothing but free labor for their parents, who often overlooked them. They had lived in a small town where their parents had owned a small pizzaria and sold food at inflated prices. But people still bought it, and their parents did not need to pay for any hired help since Arda had no labor laws and Rykar and Tylar were quickly employed since they were but young children. Then--the fire. Rykar and Tylar escaped, but their parents were not so fortunate. And the two of them were on their own and then the tragic "accident" which they didn't speak about now. And then the performances.

Rykar did not want to think about it. He slipped the pillow over his head and tried to blot out the memories, but they still penetrated his brain. Like how his brother could still sing now like a--

"Gah!" cried out Rykar, suddenly sitting up and tossing the pillow to the side. Why must life be so undeniably cruel?!? He wiped away tears from his cheeks, his eyeliner running across his high cheekbones in little rivers. Stumbling from bed, he made his way over to the dresser where he found the little shard of mirror where he had left it. It was one of the few possessions the brothers owned, and soon they would have to meet up with the circus again or else they would have no food to last them another week. Taking the piece of mirror in his trembling hands, he held it above his wrist for a long second before plunging it into his skin and tearing it sideways across his exposed flesh. Blood flowed out and dripped to the floor and with it took much of the great pain trapped within Rykar's soul.