Ciesel
Legacy Name: Ciesel

Occasionally Ciesel will dream.

Or perhaps, more accurately, he will relive broken memories when he sleeps.

They do not unsettle him.

Nothing unsettles him, anymore.

Even when the creaking from his front paw becomes a shattering screech, and oil leaks across the white snow, it does not unsettle him. He cannot feel it, though it throws his movement off. He hunts down a mechanic. After he fixes it, Ciesel kills him, his skull cracking like eggskin under the pressure of his jaws. Bright red blood splatters over the snow. He observes it silently, mechanical parts whistling and whirring in his head. It steams lightly, and the snow dips where it is red. Maybe if he were like before, he would find this sight to be rather...beautiful.

He is careful to clean his jaw afterwards to prevent rust then walks into the big abandoned mansion as it grows dark.

He does not have an explanation as to why he dreams.It follows no pattern, nor logic.It seems to happen more on the days he kills however.

And tonight, he dreams of before.

He is no longer an unwieldy contraption, wrought of a wolf’s body and a madman’s desperation. He is no longer strong or fast. He is no longer tall.

He is curved – soft. His limbs are chubby and almost useless – the strength is almost nonexistent. He is a child again, a human child. A little boy, with brown hair that obscures deep blue eyes. He is running around a big, big house; father is busy often, but when they are together it is wonderful.

Ciesel remembers that all children must have an attachment to their parents.He, however strong the attachment, can see that his father is mad.

It is his work that built him, after all.

Before is different in other ways too.He feels things.He remembers stubbing his toe and then crying, and then stopping for father and smiling...

Ciesel slowly wakes as light coating of snow blows through the cracked windows, settling upon the room. He has escaped the worst of the storm. He remembers smiling and pads over to a mirror.

He doesn’t think he is built to smile anymore.

It does not upset him.

Nothing upsets him anymore.

Even as he wanders around the house that is no longer his, even as he comes across a child who has frozen to death in a corner, curled and broken, it does not upset him. His head hurts a little. He shakes it and it passes. Maybe he will need the connections in his head checked again.

He did not used to break down so often when he was with father.

But Father had stifled Ciesel. Used him as a tool and then told him he loved him, he was his son. Ciesel had been indifferent to him...until he died. When he died, he had been beautiful. It is the last thing he remembers being beautiful. It is a memories he revisits often.

He recalls standing with Father. Father is speaking. He does not understand most of the words.

He understands the word collar...

For some reason he can no longer comprehend (it feels like his head hurts, but his connections cannot be loose yet...), he is suddenly on Father’s chest.

Father is speaking. His words get faster and begin to break as Ciesel presses down. His face is turning pink, then blue...purple.

“M-my son, what are y-you doing? My son...my son...I-i love youI saved you! I made you my--“

His words cut off in a bloody gurgle. Ciesel’s paws crushed his chest cavity, bones splintering under the force of the machinery. Blood seeps from his pale skin, staining the silk of father’s jacket, patterned with tiny cogs. It is a sharp, dark contrast to the pale carpet...

And Ciesel thinks it is beautiful.

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