𝕶aito had a list of names on a small piece of parchment, over thirty of them, of which he was supposed to send letters to. Why, you might ask? Two words: his aunt. He hadn't even done anything bad this time. He hadn't brought home a pet half-Crup, he hadn't shown up in sweats to a pureblood dinner, he hadn't talked back to his aunt and uncle. He was just, well, existing.
It was winter time, and he was forced to come back to the Fukui mansion, a place he disliked. He'd shown resistance coming here, yes, but otherwise he'd been good. But his aunt would take any excuse to make him do work. Kaito just had to control himself. He couldn't get angry. If he could write these thirty letters and get something useful out of it, his aunt and uncle would leave him alone for the rest of the break, and maybe he could sneak out and spend a couple nights at Ryusei's house without them noticing.
That was if he could write thirty letters without the bones in his hands collapsing from the effort. He threw on a baggy sweatshirt over his black button-down shirt. He was going to need to be comfortable; this was going to take a while. Sitting down at his perfectly organized and spotless desk, he picked up a brand-new quill and parchment paper and began to write. Halfway through the fourth letter, his hand began to cramp. The sun was already setting. He wasn't hungry for dinner, not that he ever was.
His aunt and uncle and cousins had questionable things for dinner: blood. His vision blurred from even the thought of that. He had been raised to be normal. To be human. To ignore the dhampir in him. And here, it was all different. Being a dhampir was normal here; it was supposed to even be a privilege but he hated it. Kaito wasn't a fan of standing out, but with his pale skin, cherry lips, and dark circles under his eyes, he did look like a dhampir. And it was getting more obvious by the minute.
Taking a break, he sat on his bed petting his half-Crup, Echo. She was adorable and always kept him company no matter the circumstances.
As he continued on his quest to write more letters, he finally landed on a name that was unfamiliar. Most of the other names he had heard once or twice before from his aunt and uncle. They were rich. They were important. They had a huge house. They had a huge party. Stupid things. But this particular name struck no memories: Sia Rose and family.
As he scribbled the same letter he had written to the rest of the recipients for this new family, his interest piqued. He wanted to send this letter. He wanted to find out who this person was and how she and her family had ended up on the list. It must have been something special, but not quite memorable enough to make it into one of his aunt's and uncle's lectures or tangents.
By the time he finished all thirty letters it was way past midnight, and the house was silent. It was the perfect time in his opinion. He liked the quiet. He liked it better when his aunt and uncle and cousins weren’t around. They didn’t get him, and Kaito didn't get them. Kaito wasn’t just a pureblood heir on the outside. On the inside, there was so much more. And if one truly got close enough, they would be able to discover it all. Because no matter how many times Kaito tried to bury the old, soft him after the hundreds of lectures from his aunt, a part of the old him still remained. He couldn't let go, no matter how hard he tried.
Letter:
