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Description
The frost was crisp on the ground. Snow laced across the frozen wasteland. The overly large moon hung low in the midnight blue sky, shining iridescent blue light onto the plain white snow. Icy winds blew the loose snow into frozen whirlwinds.

Cerulean lent on the windowsill, and looked out of one of the few windows in the whole complex. He gave a sigh, but it came out as a rattled hiss through the grating of his mask. In his hand he held a cup, dry from not one drop of water. The plastic crumpled as his grasp tightened. Sighing yet again, he opened his hand, allowing it to drop to the ground; where upon he punted it with his boot, so it scuttled across the floor.

He turned his back to the window, and sat on the ledge. Behind the pitiless black lenses his eyes scanned the room. The floor was plain white steel, any step on it ricocheted  the noise. The walls were also plain white, the only thing that adorned it was a large circular mirror. He froze as he caught his own reflection in it. Back at him gazed the blue mask empty of all emotion, apart from the fear of others. But why was it that others feared that mask? Was it how the icy blue colour seemingly froze them? Was it how the two black lenses held no mercy, no pity? Was the grating there to hold back some hidden horror? Or was it them so ominous of words, 'Blue Death'? He ripped it from his head, and hurled it at the mirror. The mirror broke into many a shard, cascading to the floor; and among the pieces crashed the mask.

He put his left hand to the sill, then lifted it as he felt a slight sting in his palm. Looking down he saw what rested under it. Carefully he picked it up, and held it in front of his face. With mild glee he froze the object. In awe he stared at the crystallized structure of the elusive blue rose. Looking to his palm, he saw where the thorn had punctured his flesh. A thin stream of blood trickled from the wound. Careful not to nick his face against the frozen rose, he licked away the blood, then numbed the opening. Again he turned to the window, but this time, he also looked at his own reflection against the dark glass.

His hair came down in thin white strands, and blocked most of the view of his icy blue eyes. Despite the lack of sunshine he received, his skin still had a healthy sheen. His thin lips allowed him a small smile. Someone would have called him handsome if they didn't know the underlying evil of his nature.

Averting his gaze from his reflection, he looked back out of the window.
"My Empire," he whispered to himself, "It might have taken one hundred years, but it is mine." His smile turned into a cruel smirk as he thought of what was yet to come. He still had alot to conquer, but he had started. But as he looked out, his thoughts were averted. How could he forget that she was still out there, the one who had given him all of this? He had to go and find her, and have her back by his side as he took over the rest of this human world. He half laughed - human, the concept of being like one half thrilled him, but of course he wasn't quite. Of course he could have taken over the world in only a small matter of time with his powers. But where was the fun in that? So he gave himself the same disadvantages as that race to make the game fairer. He only allowed himself to play with human technologies, he found it more fun if they had a chance to hit back.

However, he stopped as he remembered he still had an enemy out there. Somewhere, out among the snow of his own conquered land, his enemy lurked. Tucjed away in some self perceived safety. As if to add more insult to the injury of his pride, the enemy had her in his possession. He remembered how the ancestor of this enemy had wronged him, and how this generation continued to do so. Yet again he half laughed to himself, this enemy did not know his face, but he knew his. What would this enemy do when he saw the face of him, so seemingly the same age? Would he shake at how such evil remained so youthful? Or would he try and fight on, unconcerned?  Again he laughed, and stepped away from the window. From his left hand he dropped the rose, and it shattered as it hit the floor. For once he stopped, and felt a slight sense of regret at the beauty he had just destroyed; but then he shook his head, as if shaking away the feeling, then moved on.

Only at the door did he stop and turn back. He lent down and picked up the mask, shaking the reflective shards out of it. They tinkled to the floor. He looked down at his mask, and again wondered why people feared it. He was not afraid of it, so why should others be? Then he wondered why he wore it. And he remembered why, the world was more scared when they did not know the face of their enemy, and they gave him more respect than if they just looked upon his sixteen year old face. Again he smirked, and left the room, his mind already concocting his next evil deed.

Description
The frost was crisp on the ground. Snow laced across the frozen wasteland. The overly large moon hung low in the midnight blue sky, shining iridescent blue light onto the plain white snow. Icy winds blew the loose snow into frozen whirlwinds.

Cerulean lent on the windowsill, and looked out of one of the few windows in the whole complex. He gave a sigh, but it came out as a rattled hiss through the grating of his mask. In his hand he held a cup, dry from not one drop of water. The plastic crumpled as his grasp tightened. Sighing yet again, he opened his hand, allowing it to drop to the ground; where upon he punted it with his boot, so it scuttled across the floor.

He turned his back to the window, and sat on the ledge. Behind the pitiless black lenses his eyes scanned the room. The floor was plain white steel, any step on it ricocheted  the noise. The walls were also plain white, the only thing that adorned it was a large circular mirror. He froze as he caught his own reflection in it. Back at him gazed the blue mask empty of all emotion, apart from the fear of others. But why was it that others feared that mask? Was it how the icy blue colour seemingly froze them? Was it how the two black lenses held no mercy, no pity? Was the grating there to hold back some hidden horror? Or was it them so ominous of words, 'Blue Death'? He ripped it from his head, and hurled it at the mirror. The mirror broke into many a shard, cascading to the floor; and among the pieces crashed the mask.

He put his left hand to the sill, then lifted it as he felt a slight sting in his palm. Looking down he saw what rested under it. Carefully he picked it up, and held it in front of his face. With mild glee he froze the object. In awe he stared at the crystallized structure of the elusive blue rose. Looking to his palm, he saw where the thorn had punctured his flesh. A thin stream of blood trickled from the wound. Careful not to nick his face against the frozen rose, he licked away the blood, then numbed the opening. Again he turned to the window, but this time, he also looked at his own reflection against the dark glass.

His hair came down in thin white strands, and blocked most of the view of his icy blue eyes. Despite the lack of sunshine he received, his skin still had a healthy sheen. His thin lips allowed him a small smile. Someone would have called him handsome if they didn't know the underlying evil of his nature.

Averting his gaze from his reflection, he looked back out of the window.
"My Empire," he whispered to himself, "It might have taken one hundred years, but it is mine." His smile turned into a cruel smirk as he thought of what was yet to come. He still had alot to conquer, but he had started. But as he looked out, his thoughts were averted. How could he forget that she was still out there, the one who had given him all of this? He had to go and find her, and have her back by his side as he took over the rest of this human world. He half laughed - human, the concept of being like one half thrilled him, but of course he wasn't quite. Of course he could have taken over the world in only a small matter of time with his powers. But where was the fun in that? So he gave himself the same disadvantages as that race to make the game fairer. He only allowed himself to play with human technologies, he found it more fun if they had a chance to hit back.

However, he stopped as he remembered he still had an enemy out there. Somewhere, out among the snow of his own conquered land, his enemy lurked. Tucjed away in some self perceived safety. As if to add more insult to the injury of his pride, the enemy had her in his possession. He remembered how the ancestor of this enemy had wronged him, and how this generation continued to do so. Yet again he half laughed to himself, this enemy did not know his face, but he knew his. What would this enemy do when he saw the face of him, so seemingly the same age? Would he shake at how such evil remained so youthful? Or would he try and fight on, unconcerned?  Again he laughed, and stepped away from the window. From his left hand he dropped the rose, and it shattered as it hit the floor. For once he stopped, and felt a slight sense of regret at the beauty he had just destroyed; but then he shook his head, as if shaking away the feeling, then moved on.

Only at the door did he stop and turn back. He lent down and picked up the mask, shaking the reflective shards out of it. They tinkled to the floor. He looked down at his mask, and again wondered why people feared it. He was not afraid of it, so why should others be? Then he wondered why he wore it. And he remembered why, the world was more scared when they did not know the face of their enemy, and they gave him more respect than if they just looked upon his sixteen year old face. Again he smirked, and left the room, his mind already concocting his next evil deed.