Sigma

Birds chirped outside the window, their sweet melodies carrying with them the sounds of spring. Sigma sat on the sill, his pink gaze sweeping over the blossoms that dotted the forest below. From his window the world looked like a vast and wonderful place. But he knew better than to take it at face value. The world, while beautiful, was a cruel place. Full of self serving people and monsters who hid their evil behind saccharine smiles. He had seen it for himself, in those early days before Fyodor had found him and brought him to the sanctuary that was his tower.

And from his tower, Sigma watched the world. He tracked the passage of seasons as they painted the forest in a variety of brilliant colours. He had learned and come to love the constellations that lit up the night sky. He had traversed the densest of jungles and darkest of hearts in the pages of books. But none of it was ever enough to ease the gnawing loneliness that became harder and harder to deny with each day that passed. With no memories of a life before three years ago, no sense of where he came from, or where he belonged, Sigma felt more like an impartial observer than someone with a place in the world. Like a secret that needed to be kept.

He knew that he was special, Fyodor had made that clear and so had the men who had found him in those first early days. His ability to give and receive information with the touch of his hand was what set him apart from the rest of the world. To Sigma, it was a curse. Even if Fyodor had called it a blessing.

But there was nothing to be done for it and Sigma knew he was lucky, to be given somewhere that was his own, to be given the opportunity to make himself useful. It was a far cry from the life that he dreamed up for himself, a life filled with meaning and purpose, with people... Granted, he had Fyodor. But the other man only visited the tower when he needed something. It wasn't the same as the families and friendships he'd read about in his books.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet, turning his back on the window and crossing the room that made up his world to set a record on the gramophone that Fyodor had given him. Once he had dropped the pin and the sound of cellos filled the room, he picked up his paintbrush and set out in search of a section of wall that wasn't already covered with his art. He had spent painstaking hours and taken the utmost care to paint the walls with a variety of birds and flowers, the sections of the ceiling he could reach had been covered with constellations. It wasn't that he especially enjoyed painting, although it did bring him some satisfaction, but rather the need to fill his tiny world with as much beauty and life as he could.

He climbed the first few shelves of one of the numerous bookshelves, the tip of his tongue held between his lips as he dipped the paintbrush into a metallic gold paint that Fyodor had dropped off earlier that week. Bit by bit, his steady hand worked to paint another constellation on the ceiling, his pink gaze unblinking. When ones world was so small, one couldn't afford to make mistakes. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't hear the lock on the door click, nor did he notice the door to the stairwell swing open.