#idk i ran out of ideas fndndnd

[quatraine-in-c-major]

{#} If All Is Fair In Love And War {#}

A little thingy about the second war between the upperworld and the underworld cause by a break of the peace treaty :3 (note “The Boy” ™ is a reference to an rp concept with the sona of @v-3-ll-1-ch-0-r!!)

WARNING!!: The following my contain themes referencing to war, religion(?), POW practices, starvation, dehydration, and similar related themes. Reader discretion is advised, and I will not be taking responsibility for ignorance of this message.

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Malthine breathed a heavy sigh as he slumped back against the wall, the metal crucifix necklace feeling cold against his bare chest.

He hated this. He wished to see the sun again, even if it was a blinding crimson that painted the earth in a red haze. Even if it was a warzone out there.

Originally, the young prince been captured by the enemy to draw information out of, but now, they weren’t letting him go until a truce was drawn between the Upperworld and the Underworld.

It had been three years. And the war was still escalating, showing no sign of stopping.

It’d like he’d almost been completely forgotten. Kept in this cell day and night without any sort of interaction. His feeding had gone from twice a day, to whenever they remembered to, and now to never at all.

His stomach was growling at him, and his throat felt dry. What he’d give for even a sip of water, or at least a half decent meal. It’s not like it’d kill him, no, you can’t kill something that’s already dead.

But he still felt so sick. He just wanted this to be over. He’d never look at angels the same again, not after this. He almost wished he’d taken up the offer to leave before the war begun from that kind, albeit strange, boy he’d met all those years ago.

He’d never admit it, but he could help but feel he’d been developing feelings for that boy, that had just grown stronger the longer he was here. How he just yearned for someone to care for him. He felt so lost…

Malthine was snapped from his long stream of thoughts by a sharp knock on the door of his cell.

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