Prologue(1): As the Air to a Bird

Before me stands a floor mirror, tilted in an upwards slant. The dark brown, wooden frame supporting it is lacquered, and the small, delicately carved floral patterns adorning it shows just how much effort went into its production. But all these thoughts and observations are just distractions from the main attraction.

And that's the very face reflecting in the mirror.

Two, big glowing eyes, shining like golden beryl gemstones. The patterns of the irises are perfectly symmetrical, and infinitely pleasing to stare at.

His hair looks akin to a dark gray cloud. Unconsciously, he brushes a hand through his dark gray locks, feeling how soft and silky they are.

Finally, his eyes gaze at his face. Smooth, spotless pale skin. Even upon moving closer to the mirror, he is unable to see a single pore. His slender nose is perfectly proportioned to his face. His cheeks have yet to lose all the baby fat of boyhood, but the buddings of a handsome man can be seen clearly by anybody.

Yes, the teenager in the mirror is disgustingly handsome. Offensively so.

But the looks aren't the problem. The face in the mirror is. I put a hand against the smooth, cold surface of the mirror. This face is... mine.

'Is it?' My brain struggles to comprehend the situation. Who... who am I?

'I'm Callum,' I answer. But, which Callum?

'Am I Callum Welliver, or Callum Dumont?' Callum Welliver, Callum Welliver. Who was Callum Welliver?

Quietly, I close my eyes, trying my best to sort through the myriad of memories in my head.

Callum Welliver, yes, Callum Welliver was... a nobody. Both a compassionate, angry, and sad person.

*****

Callum, how to say it... he was an unexpected child. That's a tactful way to express that he was unwanted.

At the age of six, his parents divorced. They never said it was his fault, but he knew. Children are often smarter and more observant than people think.

He didn't have many friends. And after the divorce, what little he had, they drifted apart from him. Before he knew it, he was alone.

'That's good,' is what he first thought. He didn't want to spend time with anyone, other than his parents, of course. But as time passed, he grew lonely, his only company the iPad his parents had gotten him years back to lessen the news of their divorce.

Then, spending time with his mom and dad started feeling like an obligation, something he had to do instead of something he wanted to do. And eventually, speaking to his parents became hard. Coming out of his room even harder.

Still, everyday and every night, he told his parents that he loved them. Only... he doesn't quite know when he stopped meaning it. Callum figured he wasn't a really good son.

Soon after that, he started feeling empty. Like he didn't really have a heart anymore. His emotions lessened, and his apathy grew. He began to have trouble differentiating between emotions other than angry, sad, and amused. Maybe it was all the internet exposure, getting used to bad news everyday from a young age. Or maybe it was something else, maybe something was wrong with him.

At the worst times of these feelings of emptiness, well, there was a short while where he didn't really want to exist anymore.

But at the worst of those times, like a light at the end of a tunnel, he found his heart again!

And oddly enough, he rediscovered it because of the tears falling down his cheeks after finishing a romance anime with a bittersweet ending. The chills that went down his spine after seeing that final scene, the goosebumps that rose from his skin, and the warm and fuzzy feeling enveloping his torso. It was the first time he cried in a while. But, because of it, he felt like a person again.

He knew right then and there after finishing it. That was the type of love he wanted.

The type of love where he could look at someone, and tell them he loved them with all his heart. It didn't matter how small his heart was, or how little love, as long as he gave it all to someone. The type of love where he wouldn't mind giving his life for them, and they would do the same in return.

He still remembered the shivers as he went to bed. Closing his eyes, he repeatedly murmured, "I love you," under his breath to an imaginary partner. He wanted to feel those chills, as well as that warm and fuzzy magical feeling again.

After that, he immersed himself in the world of fiction. Books, anime, movies, games, whatever. Searching for things that made him cry, and feel fuzzy, and human.

And then the years passed. The times where he felt shivers, or warm and fuzzy lessened. And the times where he felt like he didn't really love anyone, or where nobody really loved him, continued.

By the time he was in high school, there was only one series that made him feel something other than angry, sad, or amused.

Everyday, while online, he felt angry. Why was he so mad?

He felt angry at the unfairness of the world. At the cruelty of people. People who laughed at others, using anonymity as a shield. He hated it all. He hated all the negativity in the world, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it. He hated himself for how helpless he was, and that hatred only bred more anger.

He only got brief levity from his stormy emotions through funny videos, or heartwarming stories that he read online.

But that isn't enough to mentally sustain a person. If it was, there'd be less negativity in the world.

By the time he was in university, there were rarely any times he had anything other than a slight frown on his face.

At some point he guessed, as once again, he didn't know when, he stopped believing love could exist. Or that if it did, someone like him wasn't worthy enough of it.

He doesn't know why he felt that way, he just... didn't feel like enough, is his best answer. Like anyone that loved him was losing out.

Because it felt like he didn't have any love left to give, or that he never even had it in the first place.

He had so much love in his heart, but none that he could give. He was a truly sad person.

That is who Callum Welliver was.

*****

On the face of the boy in the mirror, crystalline tears stream down his cheeks. He tries his best to smile, but it looks absolutely horrendous with how unnatural and shaky the corners of his lips are.

"Haha, why, why am I crying?" I ask myself. Trying my best to snap myself out of these weird... feelings, I focus on the other set of memories floating around in my brain.

Callum Dumont, Callum Dumont. Who was Callum Dumont?

'Well, for one, I know he's the face in the mirror,' I tell myself. But there has to be more to him than that. Again, I close my eyes to focus.

Callum Dumont, yeah, he was... a twisted and terrible person. Words can't describe his misdeeds.

*****

Ever since he was born, Callum never had a mother. It was only him, his father, and their servants.

Whenever he asked, his father always avoided answering. At some point, Callum began wondering if it was his fault that he didn't have a mother.

And when he asked his father that, he cried, before assuring him that she loved him more than anything. But if that was the case... Why was he crying?

The young Callum couldn't wrap his head around it. Maybe, maybe he was crying because he missed her? Was his father feeling lonely?

Was Callum... not enough? This made Callum resolve to find a mother for his father. And so, he set off on his grand journey! Of... wandering around their mansion. It sounded grander in his head.

Walking around the hallways, he asked any maid he came across if they would be his mom, and accompany his father.

Some laughed him off, ruffling his hair or pinching his cheeks, all the while saying how cute he was, which he was certainly not! And he didn't pout, definitely not!

Others, well, they looked confused, and didn't even bother answering him. A bit rude, but he guessed asking someone to be his mom was a bit much. Not that that realization stopped him.

The third type he got was a blushing, stuttering maid, saying they'd be honored. His father was handsome, wealthy, and kind, after all. He brought each one that said yes to his father, but he all sent them away, and gave him a scolding.

Which was weird. Wasn't his father lonely? Why couldn't he get a new mom when he could get new things of everything else? It made no sense. And so he brainstormed for a while, before deciding to continue what he was doing after he couldn't come up with a better answer.

That's when it happened. After the tenth maid, his father called him into his study. He had never seen him so angry. Red in the face, glaring eyes, gritted teeth.

He looked ferocious. It scared Callum. And then, his father slapped him.

The pain didn't register at first. The shock that his father actually hit him pervading every inch of his mind. What... was he doing wrong? Was he even doing anything wrong?

"Nothing can replace your mother Callum! Stop trying! You're only... making me hurt more." Nothing?

Callum tried to wrap his head around everything that just happened. He couldn't.

"Wh-What happened to mother?" Callum asked, barely holding himself together from crying. He wouldn't cry, he was tougher than that. He was a noble. Nobles didn't cry.

"You did," his father growled, and Callum's mind went blank.

He didn't even notice when he started running. Or feel the tears running down his cheeks.

"C-Callum! Wait!" His father's voice called out from behind him. But Callum didn't heed his words, all his mind knew was that he couldn't be in front of his father.

It was his fault that his father was lonely. He's why his father is hurting. And nothing he can do could fix that, his father said it himself.

He could do nothing. Nothing he did could fix it. So... what was the point in trying to fix anything? What did it matter being Noble? While holed up in his room for two days, he ruminated on that intensely. Callum didn't know it then, but something inside of him twisted that day.

After that day, Callum became more interested in breaking things than fixing or replacing them. He may not be able to fix anything, but he could certainly break things, he figured.

'What would that painting look like ripped? How would that vase shatter?' Countless of such thoughts entered his head, day in and day out. And so, he acted on those impulses.

Things could be replaced, so he assumed it wasn't a big deal. And indeed, it wasn't.

His father didn't seem to care. Not to mention, he appeared to be avoiding Callum. Or maybe... it was Callum avoiding him.

The boy couldn't lie, after being hit by his father, the older man scared him. Not to mention, his father said he was only making him hurt more. So it was probably for the best for the two to interact as little as possible.

He hurt his father, and his father hurt him. Even a boy as young as him could see that as a poor relationship.

And so, Callum continued to break things and avoid his father. Some of the things he broke were bigger, some smaller. Size didn't really matter to him.

At some point, breaking things began to feel satisfying to Callum. Like, as other things broke, some part of him was being fixed.

So he doubled his efforts! He made a mess out of the mansion he called his home. The servants would clean up his wrecks anyways.

But, one day, as he tipped over a vase and watched it fall to the ground, shattering, strangely enough, he felt unsatisfied. He suddenly felt like he didn't want to break things anymore.

He thought over the problem. Maybe he was finally fixed? Or maybe...

He remembered the rat problem in the kitchen. Just maybe... he needed to break things that couldn't be fixed or replaced.

It did not take long for the preadolescent Callum to find and capture a rat. At first, he stared at it, not really knowing how to break it. But then, he supposed it'd be like all the other things he broke before.

He grabbed the rat tightly with both hands, and tossed it up in the air. He watched with interest, his eyes following it as it headed towards the ground.

It landed with a loud, wet thud, which made him jolt in surprise. The rat was still alive, whimpering. Squirming, squeaking, crying!

For a moment, Callum was horrified. 'What had he done?' he wondered.

But in the next moment, a sense of curiosity fanned in him, before becoming a bright flame. It still wasn't broken.

And so when it did finally break, it felt all the more satisfying. Callum learned that day, that the harder it took to break something, the more joyful it was to see it crumble.

Callum's journey of breaking things became bigger and brighter, grander! From rats, to rabbits, to cats, to dogs. Callum felt like he could break anything. He was on top of the world! Only...

He didn't understand why everyone was looking at him weirdly. They didn't care when he broke a vase, or a painting. So why did they care about a rat, or a rabbit, or a cat, or a dog?

They weren't anything special. And in some ways, they seemed even easier to replace than inanimate objects.

When he asked a servant what the problem was, they made a horrified expression.

"It's wrong!" They cried.

"Wrong? Why?" Callum tilted his head, genuinely curious. This servant was the first person to tell him that his actions were wrong.

"Because you're hurting them, that's bad," the servant simply explained. After that encounter, the now ten year old Callum pondered deeply on what they said.

'Hurting.' Callum didn't like it when he was hit by his father. It hurt, it felt terrible. Has he... been doing terrible things this entire time?

Was breaking things truly the only way to fix himself? If that was the case, then he... he didn't want to be fixed.

It was just a simple encounter, but after that day, Callum stopped breaking things. The urge was always there, whispering in the back of his mind, but he resisted.

Things with his father never got quite fixed. But the years caused the tension to ease, slowly, gradually.

Things would probably never go back to the way they were, the twelve year old Callum eventually realized. But this was fine, he told himself. As long as everything continued like this, it would all be fine.

Then, a servant called him up to his father's study. Standing before the door, Callum was barely able to calm himself. Despite five years having passed, he was still afraid of his father.

How could he not? Remembering that murderous expression on his face. He still had nightmares of that time.

After gathering himself, he went in. And there he saw his father, sitting at his desk as always. Upon noticing his entry, an almost... benign expression, such a soft look he made towards Callum. It made his stomach twist. He felt sick.

"Callum, I have some news for you," he says softly.

'Is this how everyone else sees him?' Callum thought. Everyone was always speaking about how kind Lord Dumont was, after all.

But... his father couldn't be this soft spoken, or good-natured. His father hated him, he blamed him for his mother's death. Unknowingly, some part of Callum wanted his father to hate him. To scold him. But he didn't.

"..." Callum stayed silent. His father's face contorted in sadness. It's an expression Callum was deeply familiar with, it was one he always saw when looking at himself in the mirror. It seemed obvious, but... Callum finally noticed that they were father and son.

He didn't know how to feel about that. But something inside of him urged himself to say something. He needed to say something, or he would regret it.

"Y-Yes father? What is the news?" His father's face brightened like a lightbulb when Callum said the word, "father." It was... nice to see him happy. Only a little bit.

"Well, the news is... I'll just say it bluntly, an offer of engangement from House Camondo came in. If you accept, you'll become the fiancé of the youngest daughter, Aliza Camondo. I've heard she's your age," Callum's father explained.

"Would you like to accept?"

"I-I don't know. I guess I would... need to meet her? Is that possible?" Callum hesistantly asks, fearing his father's anger. But, again, all he got in return was a gentle smile.

"Of course that can be arranged Callum. It'd be strange if you wanted to marry a girl you haven't even met," his father lightly chuckled.

Callum spent days wondering about the girl he might get engaged to. Would she be pretty? Kind? Mature? Beautiful? Smart? Funny? Ugly?

He spent so much time on thinking about who was Aliza Camondo, or who she might be, that on the day of, he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. Heavy bags were under his eyes as he nervously went through the doorway to House Camondo's garden.

And there he saw her. An unbelievably beautiful girl. His heart palpitated strangely in his chest, but he made no note of it.

Why? Because he noticed the dark bags under her eyes, and she, his. In that instant, beyond anything their respective family's expected, a sense of solidarity was formed.

Soon, their families left, and it was just the two of them. Callum didn't know what to say, so he just spat out whatever came to his mind.

"You're, uh, pretty," he complimented. She smiled shyly.

"You're cute," at her words, Callum frowned.

"No, I'm handsome," he said, pointing at his face. Her smile got a bit of a mischievous tinge to it.

"And that too," she replied, giggling. Her voice sounded so pleasant to his ears. Before he knew it, Callum was enamored.

And when it was time to leave, he was... desperately looking forward to when he'd see her next. It's safe to say he agreed to the engagement.

The wedding was set for when they were twenty, after they graduated from Dawn Academy. Callum couldn't wait for that day.

The next six months where the happiest of his entire life. Every second of every moment he spent with her... were deeply fulfilling. He felt whole. Content. Like he had everything he needed in life.

But then, one day, Aliza canceled their appointment. Callum didn't think nothing of it at first, aside from feeling a bit disappointed. But then, the next was canceled, and the next, and the next. When they did occasionally meet, she treated him coldly. Like they weren't friends, or engaged.

One day, when she probably had enough of his insistent pestering, she told him about her sudden shift in attitude. To sum it all up, she knew. She knew about him hurting animals. And blatantly told him she would find a way to annul the engagement.

The now thirteen year old Callum couldn't understand it. 'Why?' Why was this happening? He stopped hurting animals years ago, he knew it was wrong now. And most of all... he was happy. But his happiness had just left him.

'Why?' He had nowhere to focus these overwhelming emotions.

But then, as if it was providence, a servant came up to him. They told him who informed Aliza. It was the same servant who explained to him that hurting animals was wrong.

It was when all the lights were off, and when silence pervaded nearly every inch of the giant mansion. That was when Callum got up from bed, he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyways.

He wandered the dim hallways, any guard who saw him he just lied, saying he was going to the bathroom. Or for a midnight stroll. And when they insisted that he go back to bed, Callum, for the first time in his life, ordered them to leave him be.

Callum knew what he was going to do was irrevocable. He just didn't care. He needed to get rid of this gnawing listlessness, and overwhelming anger, or he was going to go insane. And so, he would do it in the only way he knew how.

That night, Callum broke his first person. And it certainly wasn't the last. A boy with a twisted worldview became a twisted young man.

That is who Callum Dumont was.

*****

"Ah," is all I can express. What can I do? What can I say? Is there... Anything I can even do?

'This is all wrong, this can't be real,' I tell myself. But my blurry, swirling vision, the soft ache in my forehead, and faint-headedness is consistently, and fiercely telling me otherwise. This is very real.

And no matter how much I hope, or pray for it not to be, this fact won't change. My knees suddenly feel weak, and I topple over, falling onto my butt.

My ears are ringing. My headache increases in intensity. I feel my heart constricting, as though chains are slowly pulling more and more taut, with the end goal of stopping it from thumping a single beat more. My white dress shirt sticks to my sweat covered back.

Something grabs my shoulder, and I instantly swat it off, glaring at whoever, or whatever, dares to touch me. There I see a fearful servant.

"D-Don't touch me!" I say louder than I intended to. The servant backs up, somehow my blurry and wobbly vision manages to focus on their, no, his face full of nervousness. Of fear.

A look that used to bring me a perverse satisfaction. That sensation is still there, but alongside it are more prevalent, guttural emotions, overwhelming me. Guilt. Fear. Anger.

My breathing quickens more than I thought even possible. Leave. They need to leave. I act on that very thought.

"Get out! Get out all of you!" I scream, and again, I feel it. A perverse pleasure at seeing them scurry like rats out the door, at how much power I have over them with just my words alone. I do my best to squish that emotion.

But... despite them all leaving, I'm still not calm. Far from it.

I look at the face in the mirror. Tears are constantly streaming down his, no, my face. I am desperately gasping for air, tightly gripping my chest, as if trying to claw my way to my heart.

I release my grip, and bring up my constantly trembling hands into my vision. The tips of my fingers are white due to how hard I was pressing them against my chest.

'I-I-I al-all of those people, I...' I see the face in the mirror, again. This face. This damned face.

I do one of the only things I know how to make me feel better. I put my hands on my knees, and push myself to stand onto my unsteady, bare feet.

My vision goes red as I look at the face in reflection. Before I know it, I'm slamming my knuckles into the surface of the mirror, shattering in a way that for a split second, was reminiscent of spiderwebs, before it all starts to fall to the floor.

Before I can even begin to feel satisfaction after breaking it, out of the corner of my eyes, I see big pieces of the mirror, again. Reflecting me. Mocking me with that fucking smirk on my face!

Red overtakes my vision and reason, I stomp on the glass until It's all little pieces that can only reflect light. A slightly red light, due to it being dyed with red.

A sharp, stabbing pain envelops the entirety of my soles. My knuckles throb in rhythm to my heart. I don't feel the usual satisfaction.

I don't feel anything, aside from the pain, everything else is numb. But thanks to my outburst, I can at least think straight.

The first thing I do is take steps to my bed, wincing every time my foot connects to the hard, cold wooden flooring.

I sit on the edge of my bed, the pain in my feet relieving ever so slightly. My back lowers softly onto the plush mattress.

I stare up at the ceiling for a little while. With a sigh, I bring up my slightly bloody hands.

I know who both Callum Welliver and Dumont are, but still no answers to who I am.

'Which one am I?' I ask myself. An answer soon comes to me.

'Both. I am both.'

And yet simultaneously, neither of them. I am something new born due to the union of the people known as both Callum Dumont, and Callum Welliver.

So, that begs the question once more.

Who. Am. I?

"I am... Callum," I say aloud. The name feels familiar, safe.

With one thing solved, it's inevitable that my thoughts wander. To my memories.

And thanks to that, everything comes rushing back. My fast beating heart, the rapid breaths, the throbbing headache, the feeling of tears wetting my cheeks, my sweaty body, the blurry, spinning vision along with lightheadedness as the appetizer.

'All the people I hurt, who I... killed.' Just thinking about it makes the chains constraining my heart tighten. It pulls tighter and tighter with each thump of my heart.

Nausea rears Its head in the form of a big ball in my throat, but I endure. I close my eyes as tightly as I can, as if it would fix anything.

'Let's just sleep. I can... I can think about it when I wake up later.' That feels like a good idea. I relax my tense body, doing my best to just focus on falling asleep.

And like all things, despite my best effort, I am unable to succeed at this endeavor. Thinking of sleeping in this situation is an exercise in futility. My mind may be tired, but my body has never been more awake.

Instead, another urge surges to the forefront of my mind. I roll and roll and roll across my bed, until I fall off it, landing on the floor along with a deep, bone reverberating thud.

I can't even groan as I hurriedly get on my hands and knees. I barely manage to do so as vomit escapes from my mouth.

More tears well up in my eyes and fall, as I do my best to gasp for breath, my throat burning. The vomit is chunky, viscid, and red. I gag, and gag, and gag.

Every one of my gags echo out in the empty room. Each one makes more tears come and go, my heart squeezes more and more painfully. It feels like I'm going to die.

I don't want to die. 'How hypocritical,' a part of me thinks. After all, if anyone deserves to die, it's me.

But, still, I...

'I don't want to die.' Tears continue to fall, irrespective of my will, but not due to my gagging. It's finally stopped, I can breathe.

I roll away from my vomit, and lay spread out like a starfish on the floor. I stare at the red ceiling, a fancy golden ceiling fan the only thing decorating it.

The whirring of the unlit fan is hypnotizing. The soft breeze caressing my skin is so familiar.

In the memories of Callum Welliver, let's just call it, "My first life," a ceiling fan was always there. The sound of it whirring, and the wind always accompanying me to sleep.

My eyelids start to feel heavy. Vomiting seems to have taken a lot out of me. My eyes finally close.

That's how the first day of my new(?) life ends.

Prologue 1: As the Air to a Bird - End