Kaegen was hiding alone. He was off in the study room, holding a book, staring at the page, and trying very, very hard to stay in control. It would pass, he knew it was about to pass, but that didn't make it any easier for him. He didn't know much about what he was, just the basics. He didn't have a grasp of what exactly would happen if he gave in, but he didn't like the implications. He didn't like the dreams, or the thoughts he associated with the dark places.
He was hiding, true, in the sense that he was all alone. But realistically, everyone knew where he was. They just avoided him. No one stayed where Kaegen was. No one even crossed his path. People took detours, the scenic route, anything that would prevent them from having to see the boy, anything to keep them far away. Some of them gave weak excuses, such as wanting to mix things up, or say hello to an old painting, or something along those lines.
Rooms darkened when Kaegen entered. Temperatures dropped. Shadows seemed to swirl and move and dance around him, and his eyes practically glowed with malice. You could feel him in a room before you saw him, feel his approach down the corridor. The terrifying aura did not match up with the boy himself, at least not for the most part, but it unmistakably originated from him.
He had a mess of a head of black, tangled hair, darker even than his faded, frayed robe. A large umbrella was strapped to his back, under a thrice-torn blue and black cape. Where the grey scarf was usually wrapped was nothing. Just a thin neck with ugly scar tissue that looked like it came from something's gigantic claws. His hands would twitch towards his neck now and then, feeling naked without his scarf. But he had lost it, had it taken. And now there was nothing.
His eyes scanned the pages, but they couldn't focus. He didn't feel right, or good, or okay. He wasn't himself without a scrap of fabric, and he hated it. He hated the weakness, it was so pathetic, and he knew it. But kaegen hated feeling pathetic, he despised the feeling with a passion and that passionate hate shone in the little rings of red set in his otherwise storm cloud greyish blue eyes. His fangs were unsheathed, and pressed hard against his lower jaw.
But he was not weak. He had to remind himself he was not weak. He was a predator, he was better than they were. He was stronger and smarter and better than anyone else in hogwarts. He had his own names, names he had given himself. He was a beacon of shades, he was a master of a castle with invisible walls. It didn't matter that he had lost a scarf because he was Kaegen Deathmote. Fens-Born, Shade-Beacon, Master of the invisible castle.
But even as he tried to drag himself up the slippery slope with overdoses of pride, he was dragged backwards by the horrible, little voice of logic. The voice of logic that pointed out how many times he had failed, how many times he had fallen short. There was small comfort in the little things. Those little things he knew were true.
He knew, for example, that they feared him.
Abilites: Unsettling Aura, Terrifying presence
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice