[NOTICE ]
ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE FICTIONAL. ANY RELATION TO REAL LIFE PEOPLE(S) IS MERE COINCIDENCE.
THIS PLOTLINE CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, AND MENTIONS OF MENTAL HEALTH, PAST ABUSE, AND DEATH.
THIS NOVEL ALSO CONTAINS BRIEF ACTS OF SMOKING, AND REFERENCES TO DRUGS THAT ARE NOT USED.
THIS NOVEL TAKES PLACE IN FUTURISTIC TIMES, AND IS NOT AN ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF ANY CURRENT CULTURES, OR SOCIETY AS A WHOLE. ANY NEGATIVITY IN THIS PLOT IS NOT TO BE GLORIFIED IN ANY WAY, AND IS ONLY FOR WORLDBUILDING PURPOSES.
DO NOT TRY TO IMITATE ANY ACTS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY.
Read at your own discretion.
••••
A frail-looking boy, his shoulders hunched and steps hesitant, navigated the dimly lit corridors of his residence with an air of vulnerability.
Clutching his worn teddy bear to his chest with fierceness, he hugged it to himself it as if it were a delicate treasure that might slip away at any moment.
The boy's expression was clouded by shadows of worry, and the soft sheen of moonlight spilled over his tousled chocolate strands, hinting at a bittersweet fate.
The stillness of the night only deepened the sense of foreboding that surrounded him, wrapping him in an unsettling embrace.
Despite the expression in his eyes being obscured by his hair, it wouldn't take a genius to understand the precise amount of fear emanating from him.
In only a split second, his head snapped up as he heard an ear-splitting crash fill the room, and his cerulean eyes that were once so full of shining innocence, were revealed to be a vast void tinged with terror.
A small sound escaped the back of his throat—perhaps horror?
Yet it only came out as a weak gasp.
He quickly shoved his small hand against his lips.
Despite how scared he was, he needed to know what had been happening all along behind those closed doors.
The boy stood quietly, his eyes fixed on the graceful silhouette of his father, draped in richly embroidered robes that were caught in the faint light of the moon.
His father was hunched over a crumpled figure on the ground.
"I thought that I ordered you to stay in your room, did I not?"
The boy jumped slightly at the deep voice of his father, feeling chills skittering down his spine.
Something was off.
It was definitely his father's voice that had spoken, but this time it carried a sharpness that hinted at an impending darkness.
It was the kind of aura that suggested he was teetering on the edge of insanity, and little Hikaru couldn't shake the feeling that something significantly unsettling—was about to unfold.
The small boy stood frozen in place, his voice trapped in his throat, as he struggled to avoid looking at his father.
The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, and he continued to avert his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his father's unsettling voice.
He focused his attention on the king's elegant robes as they swirled around his ankles, his gaze remaining anxiously lowered.
It felt as though his lungs were being constricted in his chest.
Eventually, a firm hand clamped on his shoulder.
The boy could only flinch.
It was painful, but he knew better than to defy a ruler, even if it was his very own father.
"Hikaru, Look me in the eyes at once. I did not raise the heir to my throne to be a pathetic sissy."
His father's words were tinged with a cruel edge, and the coldness of his hand seemed almost suffocating, as if threatening the little boy into silence.
Hikaru raised his head reluctantly.
He longed to escape, to just flee into the vastness beyond, leaving behind the painful thorns of his fate.
Yet, he found himself rooted to the spot, forced to gaze into his father's cold, onyx eyes.
Hikaru felt as thought he would vomit all of his earlier meal out at the sight of the crimson streaks that marred the weathered surface of his father's skin, a haunting reminder of the violence that must've unfolded once again.
It had become a daily routine.
Once Hikaru finally began to speak, his voice emerged like a fragile breeze, barely a whisper that danced through the heavy silence.
"Where is Mama?"
The grisly grin that twitched at the corners of his father's lips was something that Hikaru wished he never laid eyes on.
He should've just stayed in his room!
He should've-..
"I highly suggest that you don't venture into secrets that aren't yours to carry, unless you want to end up just like her."
His father's words were devoid of any emotion, and Hikaru didn't even realize that his hands were trembling.
"I asked you a question! Where is Mama!?"
Hikaru cried out, demanding an explanation, an answer, just... something!
Why was his father's face covered in blood?
Hikaru knew very well that the punishment for raising his voice at his father could cost him his life, but he needed to know the truth.
As soon as he caught sight of the sheer rage filling the leader's eyes, Hikaru quickly yanked free of his father's harsh grip and broke into a sprint towards the limp figure.
He felt his slippers sliding on the ground…there was something coating the marble floor.
Hikaru collapsed onto his knees beside the figure, hearing a scream rip into the air.
It took awhile for him to realize that it was his own.
It was his mother's body…
The boy quickly reached out for a lock of his mother's raven hair, the same hair that he nearly shared.
Her hair, once delicate and full, was stained with a crimson sheen that barely reflected in the moonlight.
Hikaru's scream grew louder and louder as hundreds of arms came plunging towards him, and he could only smell the scent of rotting flesh suffocating him.
Fragments of gleaming marble tumbled around him like celestial confetti as he plummeted through an unnaturally bright sky, the intense light reflecting off the shards and casting dazzling patterns in the air.
He braced for impact, anticipating the excruciating force of the ground beneath him, yet it was strange—a numbness enveloped him instead, leaving him bewildered, as if his body had been stripped of all sensation.
"Ah, sweetie! I thought that I told you not to run in the gardens. It can be dangerous!"
Hikaru heard the comfortingly light tinkle of his mother's voice fill the air, and he could feel tears prickling at his eyes.
Hikaru raised his head a fraction of the way to peer at the white rose that was being held out to him by his mother.
The pureness of the silken rose was unflawed, and the whole scene change was not far from being describable as a fever dream.
Was this reality?
Was it a dream…?
He didn't know... He hoped that it was real.
Without a single moment of hesitation, Hikaru let soft words spill from between his lips as he reached for the white rose that was being offered to him.
"You're right! Silly me. I'm sorry, Mama!"
Hikaru laughed lightly and took ahold of the stem, but something was stinging his palm.
No, this wasn't right.
Simple thorns shouldn't have stung to that extent.
Hikaru's eyes began to widen as the scene fell away right before his eyes, and he found himself clutching at nothing as the beautiful flower turned to ashes…