"I can't believe you'd do something so reckless!" I exclaim, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Do you understand how much trouble you could've gotten yourself into? Especially since the people you decided to "prank" happen to be the children of the Earl Grey and his late wife?"

I wave my arms in exasperation, "What, are you going to decide to prank the Countess next? At this rate, I wouldn't be suprised. What'll it be? A bug in her powdered wig? A toad in her cocktail?"

I fold my arms and observe him for a moment, my eyes narrowing when I notice that he doesn't appear to be listening.

"I didn't think it'd bother them that much. They're so used to seeing others as writhing little worms, so I thought they might like to see a few real ones for a change. In their food. I guess they don't like the taste of their own medicine. Is that my problem?" He huffed, running a hand through his platinum-white hair.

"What, and you didn't plan ahead? Think of the consequences?"

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. His arms are crossed, and everything about him screams "I could literally care less". He looks uninterested in what I have to say, but what else is new?

Avoiding my gaze - not out of shame, but out of annoyance - he sits down on the plush red lounge behind him. His suit creases as he sits, legs spread in an effort to make himself as comfortable as possible.

Clearly this approach isn't working.

I'll try something else, then.

"Look," I sigh, sitting beside him. "I know this hasn't been easy. I don't like it either." He purses his lips, and I finally get a reaction out of him.

"Yeah? What would you know about it?" He asks, his gaze darkening.

My eyes soften, as I sympathize, "I know that being only one rank above the "commoners" can earn a lot of unwanted attention. I wasn't always the heir of a Castle and wealth, either. Just... don't take it out on other people, oka--"

"No, it isn't okay," He growls, cutting me off. "You may have gotten a little "taste" of what it's like, but you will *never* understand me. You will never be like me. You think that because you suffered for fifteen years before getting promoted makes you like me? I've been living this way for my entire life!"

I gape. Well, okay then.

"Fifteen years is still more than half my life, Rue. I'm only eighteen," I mutter, irritated. If he thinks that the last three years have made me an uppity, corrupted, no-good fancy-pants, he is sorely mistaken.

"Three years of comfort and luxury? Three years of acceptance? That is still more than I will *ever* even hope to recieve. Don't try to act like you aren't like the rest of them now. *Soft*," Rue spits, his voice burning like acid.

"Oh, really? Okay then. I'm a soft, flabby, cruel noble now. Happy?" I ask, turning my voice into a sickeningly-sweet coo, "Ooh, yay! I'm finally important enough to be recognized by my so-called peers! /Now I don't have to be mercilessly bullied, like you!/"

"Stop that," Rue seethes, turning to glare at me. His eyes are colder than words can describe and his words sear more than hot oil.

"Stop what?" I bite back, "Giving you what you wanted? What you asked for? This is how you picture me now, right? I suppose it's only fitting I go along with it!"

"You don't understand!" Rue shouts, and I can see tears pooling in his eyes. Fighting to keep the tears from falling, his face turns into a concentrated glower. It'd almost be funny, if not the current situation.

"I hate being so close to the "commoners". They think it gives them right to walk all over me, as if I'm poor. I've tried *everything*, and nothing works. I buy expensive clothing, I learn to act like them, I try to be friendly - but they only see me as a fool with a couple of pennies. Just another poor person pretending to be rich," He grits, sharp teeth clamped shut in an effort not to completely break down.

My voice dies in my throat, and my spirit deflates. This brings back memories. I remember when I was young, wondering why none of the other noble children my age ever showed up at my tea parties and croquet games. Why I never got invited to theirs.

"Rue," I say as gently as possible, "Is being a commoner such a bad thing? They're still people, after all. There are plenty of people less fortunate then us who go to work with a smile on their faces. Most just strive to live, being themselves in a world that favors the rich. Don't you notice how odd it is? That they can wake up with a smile on their lips, and you can't?"

"I don't know," He mutters, his spirit seemingly have worn out. "I didn't think about that."

"You don't think about anything," I reply, my lips trembling in an effort to smile.

Rue's white hair falls over his eyes, his bangs so light they're barely a different shade than his pale skin. His snow-white eyelashes flutter over ruby-red irises, which shine like dew on a rose, or blood on a silver knife.

"I don't know how much longer I'll last," he finally murmers, tugging off his thin black gloves. "I thought that if the bullying wouldn't change, then I'd be the bully."

Without warning, I pull him close, wrapping him in a warm embrace. I can feel his tears seep into my shoulder.

I grab his hands, which are frighteningly cold, and press it against my cheek. I take his other and give it a squeeze, watching his eyes widen.

"It'll be okay," I whisper.

"I hope that's true," He replies, face buried in the crook of my neck.