Parvaneh

"Don't slouch, Uriel. Have some manners," A tall lady scolded, red lips moulding a venomous tone as she eyed her son across the vast plain of the table.

"Yes, Mother."

"Do not slurp, Uriel, the mere sound makes my head ache," a pale faced man scowled opposite Uriel, rebuking even before said male even inched a finger.

"But I didn't even-"

"Do not talk back to your father," he temperamentally grimaced, massaging the bridge of his nose. Barely two minutes fluttered away, the impregnable silence broken by the belittled boy.

"Can I- um, can I be excused? I have lots of homework to do," Uriel timidly enquired, pushing his seat back marginally. His mother eyed each and every detail the tall boy had to offer, before scowling.

"You've left your steak untouched; we went through great lengths to acquire such meat. You dare leave it?" the woman probed, challenging his son.

"I just really need to finish this binomial homework, I-"

"And yet, you bring home Fs and Us every term. Enlighten me, are you doing your homework, or do I need to take away that- what even is that thing? That little virtual toy of yours?" the pale man impatiently cut in, hands tapping against the lignum table.

"What? I already promised I'd work harder, I got a D last time!" Uriel floundered, chestnut tresses bouncing with his every movement.

"Butler, escort this boy to his room," the woman sighed, finalising tone bellowing through Uriel's bones. With a bow, the butler scurried over, walking the sulking boy up the quartz stairs.

If you couldn't quite grasp it just yet; Uriel had more than a few pennies in his pocket.

Far more.

Money that could buy a luxury hotel six times over, and still have enough to frivolously spend without regrets. More money than anyone could dare to imagine. Even then, he still wanted more. He didn't hate to admit it; he loved it, in fact. Not a single finger had to be lifted, and everything could be given to him on a glimmering golden platter.

He is the winner. Trying, or not, whether he likes it or not, playing genuine or dirty, he wins. He controls anything and everything, and didn't need to worry nor care. Why should he bother plaguing his mind as such?

He dashed towards his room, slamming the oak door in the elderly butler's face, yet he remained unfazed. It was a fairly normal occurrence, this scenario. Someone as entitled and impudent as him only became this way thanks to his parents' handiwork. Bouncing on his plush bed, he reached for the headset, along with one of many the game cards he bought a few days back. Well, his parents bought.

His parents were brilliant actors, ones who amused the role of the worrisome guardian. Yet, beyond the great automatic doors, and past the indoor fountain, and into their main lounge, the couple sat on the velvet couch removed their rose-tinted masks, as their great big smiles reduced to a downturn in their eyebrows and lips. All they wanted was to look good. And that, they did. If they had to bribe a few universities with money and a good rating, so be it. No one cared enough to object.

He decided to play a game he brought home just yesterday. 'Parvaneh', it read. The word for butterfly, in Persian. Ironic, since this game was anything but delicate. It contained quests, battles, homes, everything that could spark Uriel's interests. A game that jests reincarnation. Maybe that's why it's called Parvaneh; after all, butterflies represented spiritual rebirth. Not that he'd need it. He fully believed with his heart and soul, that he'd become the best player on there within two weeks tops. And maybe he would, one way or another.

He gazed just in front of him, a painting of heavenly bodies bathing in the dusky sky gazing right back at him intensely. Looking back at the headset, he sighed.

The brown haired boy slid the headset atop his head, already loathing the feeling of the cold metal grazing his forehead.

Couldn't they put a heater in it, or something?

An unfamiliar sensation overtook his body, as he felt the warmth of his bed anesthetise into nothingness. An absent feeling, void of any sensation. Eyelids feeling heavy, they batted open, surprised that he could feel his virtual body at all. Squinting his eyes, he briefly looked around, unimpressed.

"Is this it..?" Uriel squinted, scoffing. "Is this what all the hype's about? The sky could be bluer, or the ground could be groundier," Uriel scoffed, kicking the ground. A white bearded man cloaked in royal blue approached him, signalling him to trail behind him with the simple flip of his finger. Running to follow the AI character, he doubled over in fatigue, watching his stamina bar hit zero. Groaning in frustration, he just walked.

"Are we there, yet?"

"Be patient, young adventurer!"

"I don't fucking care. How much longer?"

"Be patient, young adventurer!"

Uriel grumbled again. "Of course, the response is bloody automated."

Vibrant, vivacious trees wavered in the breeze that Uriel could've sworn he felt on his cheek, still bewildered at how he could feel anything in a virtual body. After the unhurried stroll, the elder man simply pointed to a little building to guide Uriel, before throwing a crystal into the atmosphere, and vanishing into thin air. Utterly baffled, he just stared at the spot the man used to be in. He simply assumed he teleported. He chose not to care, and pushed the door of the cosy building open.

A boutique-esque setting surrounded by makeup, clothes, and wigs was presented before Uriel. The average person would gleefully cheer across the room, but of course, Uriel wasn't quite as simple as that. He silently cringed, not wanting to be near an ounce of makeup, be it virtual or real. He had his 'masculinity' to defend. A shorter, youthful AI bounced in his vision, clapping excitedly.

"Welcome! Here, we will be designing your avatar! Please tap the crystal to your right to view your reflection!" the small lady beamed, her bowl cut Prussian blue hair and short shorts flowing despite the lack of wind. He just shrugged it off as a cool effect. Unenthusiastically, he tapped the emerald green crystal, leaping backwards in utter fear when a mirror popped into view. No, he wasn't particularly scared of the mirror materialising out of thin air - he was much more concerned with the image reflected in it.

A pale, mint green skin tone was blemished yellow, lips tinted a pretty pink, bald head shining beneath the piercing boutique lights. "What the..? I look like a damn troll!"

He hastily tapped all sorts of weird and wonderful buttons, only panicking more when he grew a four foot long beard out of nowhere. Releasing a chunky gruff, he breathed lowly, sprawling his eyes across the screen. Finding a reset button, he hurriedly pressed on it, as all stiffness flooded out of his joints upon witnessing his original figure. Sharp, uneven eyelids coating his strident black orbs, his tall nose hovering atop his rounded lips, all worn on his golden skin. Wavy chestnut hair brushed his forehead, reaching just above his eyes. The constellation of moles dotting the bridge of his nose and under his eye resurfaced, eliciting a sigh of relief. He decided against changing his avatar, even by the slightest smidge.

"I'm too flawless to change shit. Let me leave, little birdie," Uriel declared.

Stumbling out of the store, he used one of the three free teleport crystals given to him as a welcome gift to zap him into the lobby. Chucking it into the air to activate it, he felt the world materialize around him. He actually felt it; no matter how much he complained, beyond his conscience he knew he would never get used to feeling this world. It was already the evening in this game, much in line with his own timeline. The stars were dotted across like white ink blocks, spiralling into galaxies. He peered at the glittering galaxies, remembering the painting in front of him. He silently whispered to them.

"How ugly."

He triumphantly walked up to the launchpad, bumping into whatever and whoever, not necessarily caring. His eyebrow raised upon skimming through the board, smirking as he took notice of the Battle Royale. There were an array of teams joining, all in teams of six; apart from one. A lone player, with stats higher than anyone could imagine, though Uriel reckoned he could beat those 'weak numbers' in a few days. They go by the name of 'Blue', which already had Uriel convinced that that person was a twelve year old.

"What a gay name."

Having a victory complex didn't help his already unlikeable personality, but having questionable morals, too? Not exactly ideal, but he did he really seem like the type to spare a care?

I bet this minx feels all high and mighty going solo, he silently thought to himself.

"In that case, I will too," he grinned forebodingly.