If you would have met Dorian there would be a lot of things you would notice, but if you would meet him when his grandfather is in the room you wouldn't notice all those things. He'd be timid, quiet and sullen. He would hardly talk or even look someone in their eyes, but even than Dorian observed the people with adoration, he never lost hope, his life has been tied together by the red string of foolish hope. Oh foolish dorian, it is a matter of time before that string is red because of the blood of betrayal.
But that day is not today, and hope isn't as frail if we follow it, or perhaps that is what we hope to think.

The innocent lad only has a second to be happy and without worry before remembering the reality of the consequences of his own actions, not to mention the screaming headache of his hangover. He stand up and throws up in the gutter near the road, He sighs and wonders if it was worth it if he will forget half of this night in some years. He chuckles and nswers his question, we only have one life, alledgedly, so yes, it is worth it. He can't avoid living because a grumpy old man has decided to be oppresive and arrogant. He smiles and looks into the sun relishing the pain of life, he parts his lips as if he wants to drink the honeycoloured beams seeping from the sun.

The boy sneaks into the manor through the servants' entrance. Dorian sneaks to his room and puts a new suit on, a suit in which he feels he looks authorative, arrogant, cruel. A suit where he resembles his grandfather, (albeit a lot more beautiful) He takes a deep breath, perhaps he can try to reason with the dictator of this house.

The tyrant is sitting in front of a family portrait, the old bitter painted man is tightly holding the shoulder of the younger man, afraid the man might escape, the young mans has a slightly cheecky smile, and than we have the child, as beautiful as the full moon but there is a darkness, a fear inside the eyes, a scream for help, He is holding the comforting hand of the father and the grandfather has forced his hand on his shoulder, pushing down his confidence and ability to stand up for himself, yves hasn't changed much since that painting. He still cannot stand up, but he must prove he can and will!

"Sir?" He looks up and slightly frowns, "You weren't here yesterday, I am convinced you have a good reason for that." "Indeed I do sir, I am a grown up and I can manage my own time and I personally think that you no longer have the right to be as strict as you currently are." "And what do you suggest? you are the one who is out of control, you are probably hungover as we speak" The boy sigh and looks up at the man he is terrified of. "I no longer want to be frightened to live here, but if that is what you want I will move out." "You cannot support yourself financially. You cannot hold a job! You are far too talentless! You won't be able to provide for yourself" The lad smirks and leans back as he quietly says "Watch me...."

Dorian stand up and cannot shake the uneasy feeling of being unsafe. "What job is it?" He takes a deep breath and turns around, "Modelling." The man scoffs "You are selling your body, your beauty, you might as well be a sex worker." Now it is time for the young man to scoff "You've never had a real job either.... you fucking 'profesional philanthrophist' you are a professional plutocrat and sycophant! I would rather be a fucking sex worker! At least that is fucking enjoyable to some degree. And what is so wrong about selling me beauty, it has no use in the world of philantrophy, which I am sure you would prefer me to do. It was gifted to me and I can choose to use it to get out of your isolated world!" "Isolated? I was simply protecting you, you were sick when you were young." "I am not anymore, and why must I be protected from having a good youth, being free, having friends but should not be protected from the violence and shame I am subjected to every day here. Do you have any idea what it is like to have only one person you love and respect....." "Yes....and that person died a long time ago, your father was a good man." "THe only one I have ever loved and respected beats me! Hates me! you claim to love my father and I am his SON! WHY DO YOU HATE ME FOR THAT?" the boy yells in with tears streaming down his face. "What have I ever done to deserve your hatred? Have I dishonoured my father that much?" "Shut your mouth you child! I cannot have a second body that I must see shriveling up while I cannot change it! The most honourable man I knew had to die in the most inhumane way, he died of pain. You were born broken, weak and sick! I cannot see a child die, you were a weak, inferior human who will not see past thirty I am sure of that. Your foolish optimism is childish." "BECAUSE YOU NEVER LET ME BE MORE THAN A CHILD! THE ONLY MATURITY YOU TAUGHT ME WAS PAIN!" "YOU SURVIVED! DO NOT BLOW IT OUT OF PROPORTION! I TAUGHT YOU MANNERS AND THE REALITY OF THE WORLD." "NO! you shielded me from everything in this world while simoultaneaously creating a hellscape of cruelty..... Can't you just let me live for a period of time....I am begging you." The old man looks at him. "What do you think I could've done better?" THe boy looks down hiding his tears. "I... I think just needed a little love" The old man scoffs "And that is precisely what makes you weak..."