"Do you hate me?" asks the only other survivor of the Temple of Koyehn massacre. He stares at you, his color changing eyes a deep blue, with a ring of red with a spattering of violet and gold. He fidgets nervously with his fingers, pulling on them as if to rip them from the sockets.

It was a fair question, really; he was the heir, talented in all manners in regard to art and you were just...you.

Everyone in the Temple of Koyehn compared you to your peer - you were born the same year as him, and as such they expected you to be a savant just like Hwei was.

But, you weren't. Sure, you enjoyed painting as much, if not even more than Hwei, but you just weren't capable of what Hwei was. His imagination was too wild, too vivid, too beautiful, and you were...plain.

Plain.

That word followed you your whole life. It dug its filthy claws in you and never let go, opting to slowly degrade your self esteem until it was not but a fleeting, distant memory.

Hwei, as you may have guessed, was the golden child of the Temple, however repressed he was forced to be. You simply were not.

After the massacre, he had grown attached to you. More-so than he had been before, that is; Hwei harbored quite the affections for you previous to the incident. Perhaps that is why he's asking. The abandoned child seldom cares for the one treated as golden, after all.