Welcome to Gaia! ::

[Sorry if this entry seems rushed, Era!]

Really, he hadn't been expecting a place like this to exist in the Asylum. When he stumbled into the courtyard, Alphonse was immediately suspicious. Well... perhaps not 'immediately', exactly. He spent several minutes blinking at it, trying to discern if it was real or if he was losing his vision too -- how dare those bloody bastards tamper with my corneas -- then one more minute pinching himself, then five minutes rubbing those twinging little sore spots and blankly trying to absorb this vision before him, and then, finally, the suspicion set in.

Why is this place even here?

With all its greenery and polished cobblestones, the courtyard was a far cry from the dingy hallways Alphonse had seen so far. All those disgusting paths led to... this? He couldn't reconcile that. It looked like something torn out of another world, another century, when the Asylum still was what its name implied. If the whispered rumors he had heard were true, at least...

Carefully, he walks forward. His eyes scrutinize everything he can reach in an attempt to find something, anything out of place, just to assure his nagging suspicions that they were entirely well-reasoned. He keeps coming back to the flowers and vegetables, and ignores the loud, wanting growl his stomach lets out with each revisit. What if the damned things were poisoned? He couldn't risk that...

Alphonse presses a hand stiffly to his traitorous stomach, steels his nerves, and walks further in.

Finally, he notices something out of place amidst the unnervingly beautiful scenery. A smirk curls across Alphonse's lips, and he's about to feel triumphant... until he realizes that 'something' is just another patient. A female in a dress desecrated with tears and blood, decidedly unusual with the roses wriggling around her-- from her, he realizes with a mix of awe and revulsion as he traces them back to their source.

It is with another wave of revulsion that he realizes she must be the product of an experiment, just as he was. His eyes focus on all those bright red spots of blood and the dull petals poking free. Perhaps a subject of even crueler machinations.

Beneath his disgust and suspicion, Alphonse must admit he's curious. And so he walks forward, careful not to get too close.

"Excuse me, miss..." He speaks up clearly to pull her out of her apparent reverie, "This really doesn't seem like the best sort of weather to be sunbathing. Especially in that get-up of yours."

She looks like a scared animal. He thinks as he watches her shrink away from him. His stomach churns uncomfortably as that rose over her eye moves (if only because it seemingly confirms that it is not simply over her eye), but he manages to keep a straight face.

But his antennae twitch at the sound of her voice. It was harsh to his ears.

"I can't fathom how you could stand it, but..." His eyes go back to her roses, "... I suppose the nature of your experiment is beyond me."

Her words strike a chord in him, harsh, painful, and vibrating through his entire being. Alphonse hears and sees sadness and something else he understands as self-loathing; wildly, he thinks this girl understands how he feels, about the experiments and the Asylum... perhaps she wasn't one of those careless, frivolous patients who dared to think this place was nothing, or even enjoyable.

His whole body stiffens with the thought, but his own voice softens, even as he keeps his distance. "You're a product of someone else's cruel whims. I wouldn't insult you for that."

And that shock and suspicion... he understands that all too well. He smiles slightly, wryly, and stays in place to avoid frightening her. Physical contact is the last thing he would want if a stranger approached him like this.

"Because this isn't your fault. Just like this," He gestures at himself with a hardened glare, "As much as I loathe it, it isn't my fault either."

Or so he was usually able to convince himself.

And no one has ever bothered to tell you that, have they?

This thought keeps his expression cold even as he notices the small gleam of a tear. Again, he stiffens at her reply, his antennae starting to twitch with more anger than he allowed to show in his face.

"No, because they made me look like them."

"A Volbeat. A firefly, basically." He mutters. The girl seems slightly more relaxed, and while he can never fully erase his bitterness when he speaks of his past, he supposes it's a good thing for her to trust him. Having a pleasant acquaintance to speak to whenever he came out to the gardens wouldn't be so bad.

Gardens... He shuts his eyes before they can stray back to the girl's roses and grimaces, a hand pressing at his stomach again. Expressing his desire to eat those flowers wouldn't exactly be... polite. Or even sanitary, given where they came from...

Do you still have your light or have you lost it...?

A familiar wave of anger surges in his stomach, bubbling past his hunger, searing his heart, and forcing his hands into fists. He glances at his fingers-- long and pale, like alabaster twigs, and he's once again uncomfortably aware of how they are not his.

This is why I have lost my light. Alphonse thinks darkly. It is perhaps the most painful reminder of what he has become. His foul thoughts must have broken through the dam and reached his face, as he notices the girl flinch away from him, trembling while her roses shriveled and shrank with her.

This girl knows what it was like to have her body tampered with, she knows, she understands... he tries to remind himself of that once calming realization, but he's much too angry to focus on it. Instead, he thinks of his swarm, of light and stars and dancing in the night sky, of Illyana...

His fists tighten, and he can hear his knuckles crack with the effort. Behind him, his wings flutter, just once, but his antennae can't seem to stay still.

"Perhaps, had we met before, you might have seen one of my masterpieces." Alphonse says, his voice quiet and much too polite. "I'm afraid it is much too late for that."