The Seven Stages of Sociopathy (III)

Age: 2

"Home..."

Father made a strange, half-laughing, half-sobbing sound and hugged him closer, saying things to the others about words and firsts and how his son hadn't uttered a single thing for months since the kidnapping and how this was proof that a permanent change in residences was the best idea after all, to say nothing of the safety of Candlekeep's walls, but Cyrus didn't pay attention. Part of it was the strangeness of the place that was supposed to keep them now. Large, hard and grey. He wanted back to warm, cosy and honey-colored, even if Mother wasn't there anymore. But at the same time the hard, cold grey called to him like old-home never had.

It lasted barely an instant before that feeling was drowned out by instinct, mind-whirls and thoughts of how easy it would be for someone to die if they were not careful to stay away from ledges or not bash too hard head-first into the wall. Or be pushed.

For the first time, he wished that hadn't started back up again. The stone sense was an altogether more wholesome feeling, somehow. It felt… unpleasant to have it drowned out this way, and he wished it would return. Nothing new in terms of methods to push people and things into the next great adventure was being revealed to him anyway. He wanted that new sensation back, almost as much as Father wanted Mother back.

Longing.

He didn't like it.