There was a boy who lived alone.



He was from a family that was supposedly cursed.
His mother was his only kin, and she'd died bringing him to this world.



He never knew what it was that made the other villagers whisper to each other when he went out. He often wanted to ask, what is it that make you look at me as if I'm some kind of monster.

But fear always made his throat catch before he could ask. Was there something they saw that he didn't see when he looked into the mirror?



Whatever his family was supposedly cursed with, it must be really bad, he always thought. Bad enough that no one wanted to go near him or say good morning to him even when he greeted them. It must be really terrible, if it made everyone look away and pretend they didn't see him when he walked in the streets.



He liked people. Liked it when they smiled at each other, talked and laughed together.

One day...maybe someone will walk up to him and say hello.
And realise that maybe he wasn't cursed after all.


One day.


But that one day never came.



He was walking to the well for water when it happened: a sharp pain at the back of his eyes.
It hurt so bad he couldn't keep back his cries.



A few villagers, used to seeing his serene face actually approached him.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"


He looked up and they quickly backed away.



Muttering to themselves, he saw the fear in their eyes as they performed the warding motions with their hands. Wards to protect one from the devil and his doings.

"What's the matter?" he asked.



His eyes still hurt, but what hurt worse were the way everyone was pointing at him and backing away.

"Demon child. The devil's own."

When he finally managed to stumble to his empty house and stop crying enough to see his own reflection in his mirror, he stared.


So this was what his family must be cursed with.


And it was then he realised:




He would always be alone.



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