He looked like a corpse.

I brushed his hair back at I stared at his face, wondering what about it captivated me so. Maybe it was merely his beauty, the pale, smooth skin glowing almost translucently in the waning light, his delicate features framed by fine, copper curls. I could certainly understand if that were the reason, but I didn't think it was so. There was something else... maybe the expression on his face. It certainly caught my attention.

It was almost triumphant.

It shouldn't have been. He had lost his life and his freedom, all in one blow; when he awoke, he wouldn't be the same person any longer. I caught myself wondering if I quite liked that; I remembered his astounding devotion to me. It was beautiful in a pathetic sort of way, his absolute trust, the way he succumbed even when his better judgment told him to do otherwise. He had consciously placed his reason in my hands, allowing me to dictate his decisions. Yes, it was truly pathetic, truly a weakness; his refusal to acknowledge the bitter truth had cost him his life.

In many ways, more than his life.

He had done it for the sake of his heart, I knew. That was another bit of reasoning I didn't understand; I couldn't grasp the concept of such a sacrifice. It made me wonder what kind of man I had been, that he would do such a thing for me. Had I been so loving, so kind, so worthy, that he had deemed me worth more than his life? I must have been so, though I couldn't see it--after all, I obviously had betrayed him--but the very fact that I was still alive testified to the idea. He'd had a chance, back there, more than a chance; a swift jab with his knife when I was incapacitated, a deadly virus to my defective wards, either of those, and he would have been free. It would have cost my life, but he could have walked away.

But he didn't. He had thought me worth more than himself.

And so, he was laying on that table.

I wondered what sort of man he would be when he woke up. Would he still retain that almost enforced innocence, the blind eyes that saw what they wished to see instead of what truly remained? Or would he be cold and hard, a specter of his lost humanity, a bitter ghost that mourned the past that he would not remember? Maybe, in truth, he had always been like that, sacrificing his life because it held no value. It was possible that I wasn't really a part of his equation, and that he had died because he had nothing left to live for.

I didn't really believe that. There was too much vitality in his eyes, despite the pain that also resided there. He had wanted to live on.

But he wasn't willing to pay the price.

I wondered how I would shape him. I was to be his mentor, his guide in this Dark Kingdom, and with no memories of his own, he would be putty in my hands. He had the tactical skills necessary to be one of the Shitennou, but did he posses the tenacity, the very ruthlessness that he would need to survive? I didn't think so. There was too much sweetness in his face, a goodness that would have weakened him far too quickly. When he awoke, I would do my best to break him of that. He wasn't any good to me if he didn't survive the first few months.

There wasn't any way I was going to retain his loyalty, no matter how useful it could have been. That would require some modicum of kindness on my part, and I knew that whatever else I would be during his training, kind would not be one of them. Kindness on my behalf would only breed weakness, a life-sucking dependency that neither of us would survive. I couldn't afford that, couldn't afford to protect a weakling in a place where strength was everything, couldn't take the chance that he would pull me down. I had learned my lessons well, barely surviving my own training, which had been performed by Beryl herself. The only reason I was still loyal to her was because I really had no choice in the matter. I knew that, and I knew that it disturbed me, but the truth remained:

I was nothing but the distilled byproduct of someone else's workings.

In a way, the young man named Zoisite would be something more. He would be his own person, I would make sure of that. A slave he would still be, but nevertheless, he would know the difference between servitude and mindless obedience; he would be rankled by circumstance in a way that I could not. It wasn't necessarily a benevolent action, instilling the possibility for independence, but he would have it. He would eventually curse me for it, for the knowledge of freedom could only drive him mad, but he would have it. It was the only possible vengeance I could have against my queen.

As I stared down at him, at his beautiful, serene, and triumphant face, I wondered what he would think of the path I had chosen for him.

Oddly enough, I knew he would like it.