The pool of water rippled as gold and black koi swam to the surface, nibbling at the meal food found there. Tears dropped into the liquid, scaring the fish. 

The reflection of the dragon's blackened face came into clarity as the ripples calmed. He gazed into his fiery red eyes that seemed to dance in behind with flames themselves. It was a horrible pain to see his own scarred face, though he had done it himself.

The mar on his scales were his own doing and the only part of his forehead that was a pure untainted gold, oddly enough. 

~*~

Violence walked through the glass balcony doors to the kitchen of his home. Continuing into the next room, he gazed around at the walls and the pictures on them. Many of them were of him and a white tiger; a former boyfriend. He seemed so happy in all of them. It had only been about a month since him and the tiger had parted ways. 

Laju ...

The tiger's name was Laju. And Violence still loved him. Still hated him. 

He had fallen in love with that tiger and then, almost a year later, Violence had asked the tiger to be his mate, his partner. Laju had turned him down and left the day after, claiming that he was disgusted by the gold dragon and his values. Saying that they were never meant to be, the whole time they had been together, he had been in love with a cheetah marked blue cat. 

Violence knew the female he was talking about, knew her intimately. She wasn't aware of him. He had found her one day on the way to work. She worked in his own business, as a secretary. Violence knew all about her. He hadn't seen her recently though, due to his unwillingness to go to work. 

The pictures that framed these walls, he hadn't been able to touch them yet. Hadn't been able to remove them, hadn't been able to raise a talon to take them from the walls. But he couldn't look at them anymore. He couldn't handle it. 

He motioned towards the horridly wonderful memories on their hooks ... then dropped his arm. It was impossible. He couldn't do it. But he couldn't stand to look at them anymore.

In a lightning-strike movement, Violence turned his claws on his own eyes and gouged them. Blue-black blood spurted onto the ground and his hindlegs slid out from underneath him. He fell to the ground, bellowing in pain, rage and frustration. It was not enough. 

He dug deeper, pulling and tugging at whatever his nails caught. He screamed and cried, blue-black tears flowing down his cheeks. 

Finally, the dragon stopped. Paused in his self-torture and covered his head with his talons. 

Loud bangs sounded at his door and a neighbour called out, inquiring to the source of his noises. He told her in no uncertain terms to leave him alone.

Standing from his kneeling position on the floor, Violence stumbled and slipped until he found his way to the bedroom. There he removed a shirt from his closet, black like everything else in there, and ripped a long strip out of it. The expensive, torn material fell to the floor. 

Violence closed his eyelids and wound the black cloth about his eyes, down under his chin and round his neck. Tying it securely in the back, he fell to the floor again, weak from pain, exhaustion and adrenaline. 

His mind fell into the blackness as more ichor leaked onto the floor.