It's not fair. How your palms burned against his cold porcelain. Joints visible like a puppet's. Because that's what he is. An animated doll, a byproduct. A discarded segment of someone he will never be. And you? Everything but.

It's not fair. How you let him touch you. Tracing cold fingers over supple skin, stealing your warmth. A living being, a mortal, yet alive in a way he would never be.

It's not fair. Not to you. How did he manage to draw such a person to himself? How did you manage to find him even when he hid in the highest branches of the tallest trees? Why did you trace his joints as if they were something beautiful?

"And how long will you be today?" He tilted his hat almost out of habit. "I hope you don't intend to waste your time idly drawing circles," Why did he let you do this? Maybe it's cause he couldn't find a reason not to.