Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun

As ever, Minoth's life was divided into two phases on every aspect: before the experiment, and after.

Before the experiment: smaller moods, weaker desires, easy assimilation. The Indoline people were a race of reservation and homogeneity, all wearing the ubiquitous updo styled with earrings whether male or female, above structured yet shapeless garments. Minoth kept his hair up and his eyes forward or down, as the situation demanded. In color, he was a garish stripe, but a stripe that comported itself well among the patterns of the Praetorium.

After: thrashed composure, stronger outbursts, a practical inability to blend in. By tying it up, Minoth had successfully avoided Amalthus's bid to cut his hair, and the infusion of the human cells took it several inches longer in a matter of months. He'd lost the feeling of his Blade armor as a second skin, instead stubbornly clinging to it as outerwear that kept him safe from fading away amid the turmoil. Discomfort ruled every day. No longer was there peace in the supposedly sacred land's warm embrace.

How could he guide anyone, lost as he was? What was he? Who was he, and who had he ever been if that identity was lost to him now?

Addam's hand, a light in the dark, bore no calluses, but Minoth's hands sustained them now. His writing kept his ears above water, his mind above darkness.

Single fine piercings marked his earlobes, though hidden alongside tufts of untamed hair. Would they close? Would they remain wounds forever? The dangling crystals Amalthus had insisted he adorn himself with, in order to better camouflage the color of his face, had been one of the first adornments to go.

But now...

Perhaps a stud, red or gold. No, orange. But gold would complement the best.

"Was it always so easy for you, my prince?"

Addam laughed softly, top edge of index finger tracing at the stem of Minoth's ear. "I don't think it ever has been. You just see me as everything you're not."

"Well, but you are. You're a leader. Got it all - strength, compassion, and a conscience. Born that way, I'd bet."

"And were you born just the way you appear to me, Minoth?"

Minoth's laugh was a bark. "Not a chance!"

Addam remained gentle. "So even if I am all the things you say I am, I find you all the more admirable for what you are. Regardless of my adoration."

Before the experiment, Minoth had considered himself more or less immune to judgement, positive or negative. He was an analytical operative, young and reticent but lean as a muscle.

And now what was he? A wild bull, ready to leap at anything and constantly in conflict with himself.

What else?