#* — the echo of heartbeats‚ resounding in the ground beneath my feet. in character.

[rulesearth]

' jura! happy birthday~ planning anything special today? '

“ thank you, chelia-san. ”

jura smiled. era was pretty as a picture, as always — a beautiful backdrop for the stage. it was not real, not quite. he knew this. sometimes, he even doubted that era  existed.  it seemed like a fantasy of power-hungry individuals, a gladiators pit. he did not like the city, did not even truly want to stay. alas, sacrifices had to be made. not being in zinnia for his birthday was one of these sacrifices. he would have rather been there, in the city he still thought of as home. he would have gladly eaten whatever barely edible cake tobi would have made, he would even have tried not to grin  too much  about how, like every year, kora and adam would get him a gift  together.

but this year, era had dug its claws deep into him. he could leave, but the cost would be too high. and jura was too pragmatic — he would not sacrifice  months  of hard work for one birthday party. and he could always go to zinnia later. sherry had made it very clear — as far as she was concerned, his home would always be with them. he had not told her, but the fierceness in her voice when she had said this had touched him; nearly, it had wiped away some of the less happy memories he had of her.

but it was not sherry who was standing in his office, now. it only made sense; sherry should not travel much, according to her healer, and jura did not think that  anyone  in zinnia would permit her to just get up and leave for a birthday visit. well, neil might. but neil also … did not count.

mentioning for chelia to sit down, he poured tea into two cups. there was a third cup on the windowsill, still steaming next to a book. if he was lucky, chelia would not notice and not report back to sherry, but … when had jura ever been  that  fortunate?

“ i haven’t planned much, ” he admitted, fingers tapping against the new notebook — leather-bound and lacrima-infused — as he regarded the younger cousin, once more contemplating how he should proceed. he had never had to think about this when sherry had had the same age, but despite what some seemed to think, the cousins were not interchangeable. “ i’ll have to work until — the evening, ” he continued. it was better if no one in zinnia knew just how much time he spent at work, the last thing he needed was a well-intended intervention that told him to sleep and rest more. “ then i’ll probably grab food, somewhere. sherry … installed a guild member in era, as you may have heard, and she won’t allow for me to be alone on my birthday. ”

and not just because serpents looked after one another. it was true that as a rule, most guild members trusted their own more than they trusted anyone else, but — even this solidarity paled in comparision to true friendship. and just like jura had counted himself among the fortunate ones to have found a friend in lyon and sherry, he had been lucky before, too, because eva had been a friend to him for many years.

“ if you wish, ” he said as he heard two  ( by now )  familiar sounds in the hallway: his assistant’s pointless attempts to slow someone down and the click-clack of heels against marble, “ you could join us for dinner? i think that  eva-san  will be thrilled to meet you properly. she’s always been a dear friend of both sherry and me. ”

[unnecessaryadversaries]

LOVE & DEATH [Alucard | Adrian Tepes x Death]

Summary: After Dracula’s passing, Death (also known as Mistress) returns to his castle to mourn. When discovered by Alucard the two of them find solace amongst one another. As their friendship deepens into something more, Mistress Death and Alucard learn to overcome ghosts of their past and challenges of the future.

(A/N: This idea has been brewing in my mind for months after I finished season 2 of Castlevania. The character Death hasn’t been adapted from the games yet, so I took it upon myself to do it in my own way. Btw, this is only the first chapter so if you like what you read, the rest is posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

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I killed him… I killed him. My father, my flesh and blood.

I saw him. I heard him groan in agony as his body disintegrated before me. His blood still stained my gloves, and the smell of decay never left me. The ash from his burnt body still seemed to cling to my hair, and sometimes I'd catch myself flexing the hand that held the stake which pierced him as if it were still in my grasp.

I miss my father. He’s dead. I miss him.

So why then do these accursed memories plague me so? Why then do I see him there, clutching my mother’s portrait in his hand? This is no memory; this is no ghost…is this really my father? He’s dead. Has he returned? He’s dead. I killed him, he’s dead. 

What is this?

“Who are you?” Alucard demanded.

Earlier in the night, Alucard had left the castle to wander the grounds in search of an animal to hunt. When he returned, an unsettling chill set into his bones as soon as he stepped foot in the foyer. It made him shiver and gave him goosebumps; it was as if this chill constantly crept down his back, making his hair stand on end. There always seemed to be some sort of quiet, ambient noise that echoed throughout the castle, however now it was unnaturally quiet as if time had stopped. Even his footsteps seemed too loud as he searched the halls for an intruder. The echo from his boots unnerved him, so he decided to levitate instead. As he approached the open door to his father’s study he gasped.

A tall, dark figure loomed by the lit fireplace; it wore a dark, hooded cloak and its back was facing Alucard. Its head was dipped to stare at the portrait of Lisa Tepes, which is held in its hand. It was as still as a statue. The outline of this figure was too sharp, it's body too solid to only be a memory or a spirit. Alucard fell silently to his feet and his mouth fell open with the intent to speak. 

Is this my father? Tears brimmed his eyes and threatened to spill. Has he returned? 

He hardened his expression and placed his hand on the handle of his longsword, ready to unsheathe it if necessary.

“Answer me, who are you?”

The figure lifted a hand to softly trace the outline of Lisa’s face with a long, pointed fingernail. It raised its head at the sound of Alucard drawing his sword and turned slightly to face him. He narrowed his eyes and posed to strike.

“Speak,” he ordered for the final time.

The figure sighed as if out of breath and lowered the portrait, then slowly turned to face him. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that this figure is… a woman? From what Alucard could tell she stood a few inches above him and she wore what appeared to be a floor-length, hooded black robe with long medieval sleeves. Underneath was a long, form-fitting, velvet dark blue dress that almost appeared black. The neckline of her dress was high and straight, hitting right below her collarbone. A three chained, silver belt hung loosely on her wide hips and tiny human skulls hung like charms from the lowest chain. An intricate, round silver amulet hung proudly from her neck; a red, cracked gemstone sat in the center. Her hood shrouded her eyes and nose in shadow and her full lips were downturned at the corners. Alucard gripped his sword tighter.

  Who is this woman?

She made no further movements and only seemed to stare him down. Her stillness caused his stomach to turn. An odd and uncomfortable fluttering sensation permeated his gut; a sensation he hadn't felt since he had encountered his father with the intent to kill him. His hands started to sweat as the memory of that fateful night flashed through his mind once more, and his body began to involuntarily shake. The woman tilted her head slightly to the side as a corner of her mouth lifted into a small pitying smirk, "hmph.”

 She brushed him off and walked towards the desk where the portrait hung above. Carefully, as if fearing to damage it, she lifted the painting, placed it back on the wall, and continued to stare at Lisa. He bared his teeth as irritation stirred within him. He felt humiliated, ignored, and he cursed himself for succumbing to the overwhelming unease this woman evoked. From her eerie silence to the unnaturally smooth way she walked —as if she were gliding across the floor— it set him on edge. She was unearthly and seemed far too detached from even the most otherworldly creatures he’s dealt with before. It alarmed him how nonchalantly she ignored him, like how a man would ignore a line of ants beneath his boot: too indifferent to pay them any attention but confident in the fact that he’d crush them in an instant. The thought made Alucard shudder.

He watched as this woman lifted her hand to caress the cheek of Lisa’s portrait longingly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. What the hell?

The way she touched his mother’s portrait seemed far too intimate for his liking. His confusion quickened to rage as he imagined this horrid woman touching his mother like that when she was alive, and he grimaced at the thought. Despite his discomfort, his anger was enough to steel his resolve. He gripped his sword tight, raised it, and quickly lunged towards her. In the blink of an eye, he had pierced her heart from behind deftly. He paid no heed to whether she was too slow to react or simply did not care to put up a fight. She grunted and slowly turned her head. Alucard stared in horror as he watched her head begin to rotate at a perfect 180-degree angle to face him. Before she had a chance to completely turn her head towards him, he plunged his sword deeper, to the hilt, inside of her body. This caused her head to swivel back quickly, her head bowed as she hunched over and braced her hands on the edge of the desk.

He spoke gravely, “You come into my home unannounced and have the gall to touch my mother’s portrait like that.”

He leaned towards her by a few inches causing the added weight to push her slightly forward against the desk. She exhaled shakily. “Your presence confounds me, woman, and your disregard angers me, so I ask again, what is your business here!”

Silence filled the room once more apart from the crackling of the fire. Alucard’s chest rose and fell with the heaviness of his breathing, his eyes were narrowed, and his patience was beginning to fade. He felt his sword waver slightly as the woman’s body began to tremble and he almost couldn’t believe he began to hear light sobs and hiccuping. 

Is she crying?

“To mourn,” she replied. Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper.

His brows knitted in confusion, “what?”

She quickly turned around causing Alucard to lose his grip on the sword and stumble back.

“I said—!” Her voice boomed.

Suddenly a mysterious force snuffed the fire out and the room was bathed in a thick, dark shadow that seemed to wrap itself around every corner. All at once the high-pitched whistle of a strong, howling wind resounded throughout the room, it’s screeching deafening. Alucard could not tell from which direction this wind blew, nor what caused it, but it’s iciness bit at his skin, chilling him to the bone; and its force blew his long hair around wildly. Without warning he was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of dread and distress; it was as if a heaviness had settled upon his shoulders. He staggered back and fell helplessly onto his rear. He could feel his heartbeat wildly in his chest; the thrums of this beating pounded on his chest and rattled his rib cage.

Bumbumbumbumbum!

He struggled to breathe and found it hard to swallow because of how dry his mouth had become. Panicking, he clutched his chest and choked. An ambient droning sound— akin to the buzzing of a multitude of flies— grew louder and louder in his ears, and static seemed to cloud his sight; invading from his peripheral vision and closing in towards the front, his line of sight becoming narrow. The figure of this woman loomed above him imposingly and he looked upon her in fear. He felt his nose begin to stuff as warm tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks. 

What’s happening! Am I going to die?

However, these sensations and the darkness were gone as quickly as they came, too quickly in fact for Alucard to process. It was as if nothing had happened. The fireplace was lit once again, bathing the room in an orangish glow, and the snapping of firewood filled the otherwise silent room once more. His chest expanded widely as he gulped down lung fulls of air. He dropped his head in his hands and carded them through his hair to tug on the roots. 

Was that real? Did I almost die?

Alucard quickly realized that this woman was more dangerous than he’d originally believed, and he felt anxious at the thought of her harming the villagers who lived far beyond his castle. He released his hair and lifted his head to steal a glance at her through his parted fingers. He was afraid to stand, not wanting to seem like a threat. When he noticed that her head was bowed, he lowered his hands and cautiously raised his head to view her fully. She was trembling slightly, and she clutched her amulet in a tight fist.

“I—I said…” she began with a sad voice.

Hastily, Alucard scooted back as the woman walked forward to unsheathe herself from his levitating sword; it dropped to the ground with a clank! The woman followed suit, falling to her knees with enough force to shake the ground.

“…to mourn.”

Her sobs began again as she curled in on herself; Alucard’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.

To mourn? He looked at Lisa's portrait. She was mourning my mother?

It was then that he felt a slight tug on his heart. He hadn’t thought anyone else, besides his father and himself, had dealt with the pain of losing his mother. After killing his father, bearing the weight of loss became something he had carried himself, and it was such a heavy burden. At that moment Alucard had wished things were different, and that his mother’s love was enough to completely eradicate his father’s hate towards humanity. Maybe then he wouldn’t have needed to kill his father. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so drastically alone. He yearned for the presence of his father, and much more than that, his mother. These were desperate and grieving thoughts, ones he had thought he was able to subdue, but they clawed their way from the recesses of his mind and attacked him once again. His throat tightened and he chastised himself for losing control of these wild thoughts, ones that used to keep him up for days at a time. To calm his mind, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth; he repeated this technique a few more times before opening his eyes.

He steeled himself and spoke with a gentler tone, “I do not know who you are and yet I empathize with you. If you truly came here to mourn my mother, then please…tell me who you are.”

The woman's sobbing stopped gradually, and she exhaled deeply once she was finished. Next, she sat back on her legs with one hand splayed behind herself for support and the other still clutched her amulet, albeit with a much softer grip. Most of her face was masked from Alucard, so he couldn’t see the forlorn look she had in her eyes when she raised her head to look at him.

He looks just like her, she thought. 

Fresh tears brimmed her eyes, but she was too exhausted to stop them from flowing.

She released her amulet to grip her hood, “very well.”

Frozen, Alucard didn’t blink as he finally saw this woman’s face. Her skin was a dark shade of brown and the richness of it was emphasized by the warm glow of the fireplace. This was contrasted by her wide eyes which were framed by thick, black eyelashes. The entirety of her irises and pupils were a blue so pale they almost blended in with the sclera, oddly there seemed to be some sort of inner glow that shone through, furthering her ethereality. Much to his surprise, they held a deep sadness that Alucard also saw in his own and momentarily reminded him of his father’s eyes moments before his death. Long, white, loosely waved hair cascaded down her back and echoed the same glow in her eyes. Though she looked to be in her early thirties, her face did not betray age-old wisdom.

Alucard gulped, she was beautiful.

Despite her grief, she lifted her head proudly and said with confidence, “I am Death, but you may call me Mistress.”

[puttingfingerstokeys]

[untitled]

Nanowrimo day 20 Featuring Alabaster Belmont, Joachim Armster, Alucard, and Darck Eve, an OC on loan from @darckcarnival  Modern dark fantasy Castlevania, violence, blood Unfinished and unedited

The castle gates yawned open, a drawbridge spanning a moat within which flowed, not water, but stinking, crimson blood. Alabaster gagged and held a hand over his mouth and nose as the four mismatched companions passed the threshold of the ancient place, their heels ringing hollowly on the old wood and silent cobblestones. 

No sooner had they entered than the portcullis dropped with a resounding smash. Alabaster jumped and whirled about to force himself to face whatever had made the sound. Part of him had, of course, known exactly what it was, but that was not enough to stop the reflex. A hand on his shoulder calmed his nerves. Despite the paleness of it and its owner, Alabaster felt at ease and raised his own hand to cover it, a silent thank-you. For some reason, the idea of making noise in this unholy space felt ironically sacrilegious. 

He turned his attention to his other companions, Darck Eve and Adrian Tepes himself. Still standing next to him, Joachim Armstair maintained constant, physical contact with the only human in their party. Alabaster’s heartbeat was quick and strong and all three night walkers could hear it. They would have been lying if the had told him they were not scared, as well. Castlevania had not manifested itself this way in ages. It was a sight to behold and sent chills down even the stoutest spines. Surely, these four must have been that, else they would never have dreamed of setting foot here, on this blasted ground.

The courtyard was wide, stretching far to either side of them, and might once have held a bustle of activity, but that had been centuries prior and now only death and decay remained. Alabaster took in the sights slowly, methodically, centering himself on Joachim’s touch as he did so. He was not prone to full-on panic attacks, but now would not be the time to put that particular bit of truth to the test; it could always change. 

“He’s not makin’ this easy,” Darck observed quietly, the first to speak. Alucard shook his head, his white-gold tresses catching the moonlight far above and shimmering like so much silk and gold. Even in this eerie, haunting light, he was beautiful. Alabaster had thought that was just the nature of vampires, but in reality, Adrian Tepes was, simply put, a stunning specimen of half-humanity who likely would have been so regardless of his vampiric blood. 

“My father’s castle has ever been a stronghold,” said Alucard. “More than that, however, it is a reflection of what is inside him.” 

Joachim made a noise of disgust and drew Alabaster closer. Alabaster did not resist, preferring to be enveloped in arms he knew could protect him, versus pretending he had more bravery in him than he did. It did not take a perspicacious individual to tell that whatever must have been lurking within the heart of the master of Castlevania was horror personified. It also would have taken very little insight to ascertain that, along with the hatred, anger, and rage, there was no small measure of grief. One might almost have pitied the night king. 

Alabaster did not.

“We don’t have time for this,” Alabaster hissed, keeping his voice low to disguise his terror. They could hear his heartbeat, but he was not about to wear his brain on his sleeve, too. “I’m sick of lookin’ at this place, already. Let’s kick his damn door in and find my sister.”

Darck winced. Alabaster knew as well as the rest of them that the presence of the Vampire Killer on his hip meant that his sister had departed from this world. Knowing Rosario, she had gone with fists and holy water flying, but that did not bring her back. Rather than heartlessly reminding Alabaster of this fact, however, Darck kept her mouth shut, but shared a look with Alucard. He shook his head minutely and gestured that the boy was right; they had little time. 

That the castle had physically manifested meant that the imminent return of the dark lord himself was nigh upon them. As if to confirm this, the courtyard was suddenly soaked in rust-colored light as the moon turned to a gaping wound, casting its pall over everything under heaven, daring the foursome to move. 

Alucard drew his weapon. He offered no explanation for this, but the other three followed suit, forming a ring and facing outward. Darck, ever the pragmatist, drew and checked her sidearm, checking the safety. Joachim began to hover, reaching out with his abilities to locate any discarded weaponry; a few rusted swords and a battle axe flew to his aid and ringed them around. Alabaster knew he should have drawn Vampire Killer, but just the thought of weidling his sister’s weapon filled his heart with squeezing despair. He raised both hands in front of him instead and, drawing a few complex, runic sigils in the air before him, summoned power from the universe itself and conjured a ball of crackling energy that spat sparks into the reddish shadows around them.  

All at once, the air around them shuddered and reverberated with the groans and cries of the damned, the dead, the undead, and all manner of voracious beast of the night that Dracula kept within his ever-shifting walls. Shambling corpses rose first, their stink issuing forth and hitting the foursome like a wall. Alabaster retched, but the rest showed no sign they had even noticed it, beyond the minute twitch at the corner of a mouth, the beginnings of a grimace. 

“Stand firm,” Alucard growled, “and move as one, lest we be overcome.”

It was as good a strategy as any. The four of them knew which direction they had to go, at least, and staying together would not hurt a bit. The first of the undead horde reached their position with a staggering grasp for someone’s cloak or leg. They were batted away with a swift boot and the sharp report of pistol fire which echoed angrily off the surrounding walls. 

More zombies flung themselves at the group and were met with blade, rusted and well-oiled, bullet, and magic. Deferring to Alucard’s wisdom, they moved as one, stepping in to fill gaps and covering one another. Dark kept a watchful eye on the dhampir’s back and Joachim upon Alabaster’s as they forced their way through the throng. 

“This isn’t enough to stop us,” Darck hissed. “You know he knows that… So what the hell’s he doing?”

“A war of attrition, perhaps?” Joachim suggested as blades spun about them, mowing down shambling corpses as if they were nothing. “Wearing us out to make easier targets for his generals. It’s what I would do.”

Alucard nodded, “indeed,” he confirmed, “that may very well be the case. Sacrificing a few pawns for the grand chessboard has ever been one of my father’s uglier… idiosyncrasies.”

“Not… super out of character for a guy with the nickname ‘impaler’, to be honest,” Alabaster bemoaned, flinging lightning, which caught a whole crowd of the undead by surprise (if zombies could feel surprise, that is) and frying them almost instantly. His comment earned him a slap on the back from Darck, who was barely containing her mirth. 

In fact, after a few minutes of this onslaught, the four of them had all begun to loosen up, feeling themselves a little more fully and stretching the limits of their abilities just a little bit once they realized that everyone else was more than capable of defending their own person and area. 

Darck was letting loose her liquid shadow abilities, rather than relying on her firearm. Alucard was dicing zombies into chunks. Joachim had acquired a slightly larger arsenal from some of the weapon-wielding undead. Alabaster was commanding an arc of flame that resembled a great serpent, plowing its way through the undead hordes. They were awash with corpses and the smell of burnt flesh, but never did they separate, never did they lose sight of one another or their goal. 

It was not long before Castlevania seemed to catch on, as if the first hordes were just a test of their strength, a gauge to see precisely what threat level it ought to anticipate. Alucard called a halt to their advance and bade them come together once more. “I feel the castle rising beneath us; something moves in its depths, hidden in the womb of darkness.” 

Darck was struck by the poetry of his words and, in other circumstances, would have commented thereupon. She could not help herself picturing some kind of weird, monstrous birth, an ancient womb gushing forth with putrid fluid, ichor, and the maimed remnants of what should have been its child. She wondered if it would show itself now, or if they would need to delve deeper to find it. There was no doubt in her mind they would see it at some point, whatever it was. 

“I mislike the feeling of this place. We ought to move,” Joachim suggested, gesturing toward the grand staircase which led into the castle proper. The doors yawned, as the gates had done, a great, gaping maw, awaiting their arrival. A fine, crimson-colored carpet had been unfurled to greet them, like a tongue lapping outward, seeking to draw a meal in. 

“The whole place is gunna feel like this, Jo’,” said Alabaster sourly. Alucard shook his head, gesturing that they should indeed move. 

“He’s right,” Darck pointed out, “I mean it is Castlevania, but… y’know now you mention it fellas, I think something is truly fucked.”

They started their forward pace once more, easily carving through zombies as they made their way across the final stretch of the cobbled courtyard for the staircase. Every one of them expected their way to be barred by some eldritch horror, a mass of ichor and rage the likes of which they had never seen. Every step forward, they anticipated this, knowing it would come, that it must come. Eventually, even Alabaster felt the difference in the tremors beneath their feet, from that of the zombies to the larger, looming threat. 

They reached the stairs as a yawning chasm opened up right in the very center of the courtyard, spilling forth a sickly, red-orange glow as if rising from the depths of hell itself. The ground began to fall away and they scrambled up onto the porch-like platform just before the door as the cobbles gave way and tumbled into the ever-widening pit. 

A misshapen hand reached out of that pit, grabbing the edge and pulling more rubble down as it scrambled for purchase. Alucard, Darck, Joachim, and Alabaster were rooted to their spots, just outside the threshold of the door to Dracula’s accursed abode, their gaze locked on whatever was about to rise from that crevasse. Steam belched forth, followed by a deafening roar that was some combination of thunder rolling and an earthquake ripping through the earth. 

“Go!” Darck shouted, gesturing toward the door. “Go, GO GO!”

She was certain, as the hand was joined by another, that they were quite far from equipped to deal the fiend that was about to rise. She was also absolutely, unsettlingly certain that the moment the doors closed behind them, they would be safe from it, that Dracula and his enchanted castle would not dare unleash something like that within its walls proper. 

Something about her tone convinced them of this same idea, though not in so many words. Joachim dropped the swords he had been controlling and bustled Alabaster through the door, the young man being his first priority. Alucard grabbed Darck’s upper arm and gave it a solid tug. Despite her warning, the woman’s eyes were still riveted upon the pit. 

“For my sake,” he whispered, “if not your own, Darck, you must heed your own warning.”

This snapped her from her hypnotized state and she whirled, joining him in passing the threshold. The doors closed sharply behind them, the resounding boom drowning the beast’s deafening bellows from without and leaving them in a tomb of silence. 

“Welcome home,” Darck grunted.

[rulesearth]

“ The death of a bachelor seems so fitting for happy ever after. “

jura had been reading some of the letters his assistant had brought before leaving for the weekend and around his lips, there was still the ghost of a grin. between the strenuously polite lines, at least five people had implied they wanted him dead and in a sixth case, the wizard saint had not yet decided if the man wanted his head or not. however, most of his focus had been on lyon who had come all the way from zinnia with a bottle of wine and news about their guild.

absentmindedly, jura touched the dark insignia on his chest, covered by clothes. he had left the guild quite some time ago, but his heart was still mostly in zinnia. era was pretty with its neat glass and steel buildings, but it was too sleek. it lacked character. still, he no longer minded era as much as he had before. maybe, sherry’s scheme had worked — the near constant presence of eva meant that a piece of zinnia now lived not far from him.

“ well, ” he said as he lifted his head to look at lyon. “ i never felt the way about bachelorhood many others do. ”

for some people, being single was the right thing; it was how they wanted to life their lives and jura had always known that there were many paths to personal happiness. singlehood was, however, not the path he would chose. no matter what people had done to convince him otherwise, he was not meant to stand apart. he was at his best whenever he was around others, when he was not forced to be something that was not in his nature — a solitary rock, towering above all else.

at the same time, it had gotten difficult to make meaningful connections. the higher he had climbed, the harder it had become to convince people that he was  not  arrogant, that he did not have an unnecessarily high opinion of himself. old friends, people who had known him when he had still stumbled over his own feet because the pressure had been  too high  — they did not need to be reassure that he was still the same man, even if he had another title, now, even if he was walking a different path.

one of the most refreshing moments in the recent past had been when he had met martin, a former serpent, on a trip to iceberg. years had passed since they had last spoken, but it had taken less than thirty minutes for them to find their old dynamic. it had been the possibly best part of the entire trip — definitely better than the awkward moment when one of the lower-ranking officials had called the king’s oldest son  crown prince,  obviously forgetting that it was not the prince but his younger sister who would be queen.

shaking his head, he reached for his wine glass. “ they all like to make it sound so … romantic, ” he continued with a shrug. “ i only think it’s often lonely. ”

he did not have to reassure lyon that he was not lonely in the way many would use the word. he did not worry that with the way many were settling down and getting married, he would be left behind. he had more faith in his friends, in his family than to assume this. however, there was the old memory of a bottle of apple juice, shared with martin’s twin, a long time ago. the drink had not been the only thing they had shared, they had also discussed their dreams. then, he had admitted that while he was afraid of passing on the burden to a child, he would want a family, one day.

only that this day had not yet come. maybe, his friends were right. maybe, instead of waiting for the day to come while living his life and chasing his other ambitions, he should work towards his dreams. they did not deserve to be sidelined in favour of a greater good that may never be found.

[rulesearth]

tag drop. i