Muse: Victor von Doom
Fandom: Fantastic Four
Word Count: 516
Rating: Mature for mentions of very not nice stuff
Doom stood in the darkened room that was his private study for this embassy. He had been thinking about his past lately. The past which haunted him. He would never talk about it. Many were unworthy of knowing of these black nights or why he needed to find the strength within himself again.
They forgot his was Romy. That the Barron had allowed his soldiers to do horrible things to their women. He remembered the tales of the rapes and beatings. It made his blood boil to think that his mother may have been victimized like that.
Her friends as well as the rest of their band. It made him very angry that they who should have gotten fair treatment had received. His Father ad been a very skilled healer, had he been treated fairly and not as a dirty thief or beggar he could have been a top doctor in their nation.
Victor could still remember his Mother, despite him being very young. His parents might not have known but Victor was aware that his mother was using the darker parts of her magic to protect the clan. What he did know was that she more than paid for that price, with her soul sold to a powerful demon. Mephisto had tricked her into that deal. But the price had been paid.
His father had tried to help cure the Barron's wife. He had no choice and the disease that the poor woman had couldn't be cured. So they had to feel like the blackest hounds of hell were on their heels. His father hadn't survived that. It had broke young Victor's heart really. He like any son with a loving parent like his had loved his father.
Doom did not regret anything that had happened after that. No. He had done everything for what was needed. A means to an end.
His cold gaze turns to the two small black carvings that he had found. Something a member of his father's caravan had made. His Mother and father side by side forever.
It pleased Doom, for as black as his soul was according to everyone else, he still could love. Love so deeply that even his so called black heart could shine in the darkness of the room as he tried to think of happier times.
But it couldn't be. Doom could not recall his parents. Instead he recalled a young woman with hair spun like the night sky, with hands that had tended to his wounded soul. Hair so thick and black that he had been mesmerized by it as a young man.
The only woman he had ever loved. A woman who would have given anything just to get Doom to smile. Doom finds that he still longs for the woman that held the spirit of his people with the face of an angel, and the darkest hair he had ever seen.
That woman was Valeria. He only hoped that she might forgive the fact that when it came to her, she was his only mistake. He had let her slip away.