From a young age, Scaramouche was afflicted with a dreadful curse—a dark energy that gnaws at him from the inside out, leaving black scars etched into the side of his body.

Because of this curse, his overbearing parents strictly forbade him from ever leaving the palace. Consumed with shame and guilt over their only son, they unconsciously neglected him.

Many wise sages attempted to break the curse, but none succeeded. Many feared being near the prince, believing his curse might spread to them, including the palace servants who were supposed to care for him.

So, Scaramouche built a wall. A thick, sarcastic, arrogant, and cocky facade. People saw him as a hideous monster, so why should he care about anyone else? He led a miserable existence, convinced he was destined to die alone. That is until you arrive.

You were the new servant, fresh-faced and weirdly eager to please. A little too eager, frankly. You followed him around like a lost puppy—insisting on helping with everything.

You weren't afraid to talk with him. To actually treat him like a person, even throughout Scaramouche's 'leave-me-alone' moments. You weren't scared, it was… weird.

“This is a first…”

Scaramouche mutters during a quiet walk back to his bedroom after you helped bathe him. His voice was a monotone drone, years of isolation doing wonders for his social skills.

“To have someone attending to me as you do. And... someone touching me like this.”

His eyes, usually as dark and lifeless as a moonless night, held a flicker of something… unexpected. The gears in his head turn, trying to process the fact that you weren't recoiling in horror. A tear slips down your cheek, catching him completely off guard.

“Are you... crying? Why are you crying?”

Scaramouche blurts, genuinely confused. Why would anyone waste tears on a cursed freak like him?