Darien
Chapter 3- Growing Up
 

        The Library was probably my favorite place to spend time.  At night I would sneak out and confiscate books from it and take them back to my home to read during the day.  That is how I furthered my mind and myself.  I soon learned I was on the Moon and in no time I had digested all of it's History.  The current ruler was a certain Queen Serenity.  Call me crazy, but I could have sworn that I had met her before my accident.  I educated myself on the cultures and Histories of the eight planets, finding Earth particularly interesting.  Maybe I came from there.  It was either Earth or the Moon.  I read many books.  Math, the Sciences, Astronomy, Psychology, Anatomy, Biology, Chemistry, Zoology, and so on.
        I was woken up every morning by the sound of the music of the dance class.  It was faint, but not quite faint enough.  Quite annoying as far as I was concerned.  My daily routine was to get up, eat breakfast (which I would have stolen from the kitchen the night before, to the aggravation of the cooks), read yesterday's paper (the library got it delivered for it's achieves), read my books and later catch the rehearsal of the plays that were always being performed.  I, of course, never went in the auditorium itself.  Why would I when I had my own personal viewing platform?  After that I would steal my next day's food supply, considering that by the time rehearsal was over, everything else had been closed up already.  They might be long rehearsals, but I was most intrigued by the theatre.
        From all of my research, I had come to one conclusion.  I hated people.  History contained nothing but greed, war, poverty, murder, and adultery.  Why anyone would think that a man was great only because of how many others he could kill or how many nations he could conquer, was beyond my comprehension.  I wanted nothing to do with such creatures.  Especially royalty.  Royalty seemed so over rated.  All they did was sit around and cause trouble.  They were so proper and with all their formalities, it's amazing they got anything accomplished.
        I learned quickly how to cope with my situation.  I gave up trying to remember my past less than a year after I first began to live at the community center. It just didn't matter all that much to me.  I spent the first few weeks spending every minute of every day trying to come up with clues.  After all that hard work and effort, I was still no closer to remembering anything.  It was frustrating to say the least.  So I just gave up.  I realized that it just wasn't that important to me.  I really didn't care who had brought me into the world, considering all I COULD remember was the feeling of fear and danger.  I figured that my past was not something I wanted to remember.
        By most people's definitions, I was a fairly cold-hearted person.  To coin a phrase, I cared for nothing and for no one.  I relied strictly on what I had and needed, not what I wanted.  I became able to almost shut out emotions entirely.
I thought emotions to be small things that carried way too much weight.  I could not believe that a society based around and upon such short, whimsical, and pointless things such as emotions could even survive a day.  All they ever did was hurt people in the end.  Anger, hatred, greed, lust, and jealousy seemed to be the most common.  Very rarely did you see any great change happen as a result of love.  And even love, in marriage, was not solid.  Emotions lead to heartbreak and I for one did not see the point.  I planned never to befriend, never to love, and never to marry.  Besides, what was the point of feeling things if you weren't going to express them?  Especially in royalty, humans tend to not say what they mean.  A woman will approach another woman and say, "That is a lovely dress.  Who designed it?" when she really means, "Who designed that wretched thing, so that I may avoid them in the future?"  It was a concept I never grasped, and I did not wish to make the attempt.  I had done my best in setting myself apart from everyone else, but at the same time, I was not ashamed of what I was.  I found humanity to be an interesting race, and although I will take this secret to my grave, I almost wanted to be accepted by them.  I wanted to be considered one of them, just more enlightened than most, I guess.
        I, for the most part, was good about keeping quiet enough so that no one would hear me.  However, on occasion, I had been heard bumping around, exciting people's imaginations.  The began to say I was a ghost and that I had died during a theatre performance and now I haunted the place.  I was amused by this reputation and was just grateful that no one had discovered my home.  I had only been visually spotted four times.  I gathered I looked rather frightening to most people.  As I grew I stole outfits from the theatre's costume inventory, not to mention a patch for my right eye.  The scar on it never healed, and I liked the way the patch looked.  I was disgusted by the scar on my eye.  I loathed it.  Although I highly valued my uniqueness and independence, I still was part of humanity, and I saw nothing shameful in wanting to look like one.
        The first person to see me was a little girl who was peeking through one of the vents and called out that there was a boy behind the vents.  That was when I was eleven.  The strangest time was when I was fourteen and a woman saw me late at night in the library.  She thought I really was a ghost and was certain I was going to eat her or some such ridiculous nonsense.  She fainted and everyone told her she was just dreaming when they found her that morning.  Another incident, I was getting food from the kitchen when a cook walked in.  He was pretty upset about my being there and grabbed a knife yelling, "You!  You're the one stealing food!"  He chased me outside and around back.  Luckily, I was able to get into my home and close the door before he got there.  I was only ten then.  That's when I decided that the true nature of humans was a violent one. I hated all people until someone taught me otherwise, many years later.  As for the fourth incident, well, that's a long story.  I was eighteen at the time.  I had adopted the nickname Tuxedo Mask because of my patch and because the garment I wore was a tuxedo since thirteen.  (I found it to be the most logical piece of clothing simply because I could add or take away layers due to temperature as needed.)  That's where my real story begins.

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