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shiroi---kumo · 5 months

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.: The Devil's Toll :.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He doesn't understand why his hair is getting stroked so lovingly but he also doesn't know why he's finding it so hard to pull away. There is a small hand brushing through white locks over and over and he doesn't quite know how he ended up leaning his head up on His Excellency’s chair like some kind of lounging cat but here he is doing just that nonetheless.

Words: 2.9 k Pages: 6 TW;; Depression, PTSD, Submission, Mental Illness, Survivor’s Guilt, gaslighting, possession, isolation, abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, self blame, objectification, manipulation, injury, mental breakdown, intimidation, love bombing, dissociation, conditioning, punishment and praise, rewards, murder

His stomach twists in disgust as he realizes the true stakes of the situation and now if he moves wrong that hand in his hair will turn into a variable claw in the matter of a few moments. He hates how he can't remember ever laying down like this and quite frankly he can't remember waking up this morning either.

It's becoming more and more frequent in recent days. He's missing entire chunks of time and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. He's missing chunks of time and he can't remember when was the last time His Excellency killed him. Somehow this seems like more of a bad thing than a good thing for as strange as that sounds. Shouldn't one want to be spared the pain of death? Well yes, and of course he does too but this also means that when the time comes that he inevitably messes up again, when His Excellency makes a move for punishment it will be the most severe one he's received to date.

He's not stupid. He knows how this game works. Praise and Punishment walk hand in hand with this little beast and right now those same hands are in his hair and he can't move. He can't pull away no matter how much he wants to and he can't even flinch or breathe wrong unless he wants those small but deadly fingers ready to tear snow colored locks right out from his head.

It's always such a wretched sensation.

Nothing is worse than the feeling of his hair being pulled. He hates it. He hates the feeling and he hates the way it makes him feel so vulnerable. How the pain of it will bring him to his knees and have him fighting back the tears at the sensation. You would think one who has died as many times as he has would have more pain tolerance for something seemingly so simple but the sensation of even the root of his hair going taunt is enough to send his nervous system into overdrive.

But what he hates the most is how he can feel himself start purring. He doesn’t know why he does it. He tries to tell himself to stop but he can feel those fingers grow softer as they stroke through snow. The louder he purrs the softer they get and he hates himself for finding so much comfort in the sensation. He hates himself for finding peace in this. He should be running away from this beast as quickly as his body would carry him. He should be fleeing at any chance he gets but instead he allows himself to sink into his place on the arm of this chair as that little monster continues to comb through fluffy spikes with a gentleness that could only be described as care.

That can’t be right.

That’s just not possible, and he hates how many times he feels like he’s had this conversation with himself as of late. The beast does not love him. The demon does not care. The little devil felt nothing for him but yet those lips part and purr out affections of their own.

“You’ve been so well behaved as of late, Precious.” The small emperor sounds as his hand continues to work. “You’ve done your tasks so well. I’m proud of you, my Little Cloud. You’ve been such a good pet. Perhaps you deserve some time out of the castle? I think you’ve earned it.”

He only increases the volume on his purring in response as if doing so will show his gratitude for such a notion but his lips are hanging in a frown behind the thin metal covering his face as the boy of pink continues.

“You can go with Herba the next she leaves.” The Tyrant offers as he finally pulls his hand away and out of the Misterican’s hair. “But when she leaves you know the rules. Her word is as good as my word and you are to do whatever she asks of you. You understand, don’t you Precious?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“That’s my good boy. You’ve become so well behaved. I’m so proud of you, Makenshi.”

His purring only grows louder as those hands return to his hair and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that but it’s long enough that he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Did he fall asleep? He doesn’t know. He does know that he woke in his own quarters the next morning and he was met with Herba throwing her arms over his shoulders to bring him into a very tight and very unwanted hug and she leaned to try to push a kiss to his cheek and he could only lean himself the opposite direction so far to avoid contact.

“Makenshi.”

His name was trumpeted in his direction in a small but authoritative voice and it has the Misterican standing up straight giving this damnable woman the space she needed to push those poison painted lips directly to his cheek even if it was covered in metal. Dull jade is looking forward into the main hall with the entirety of his form tingling to both get away from this woman and get off the ground. The place just above the little demon’s head is calling his name because then he is both in eyesight but at the same time away from this gaggle of absolute morons.

If he could never associate with any of them for the rest of his life ever again, he’s sure he could find a way to be happy. If only Rorahm could finally wake up - but - jade moons downcast at the thought because at this rate his sun would never rise and he was going to be stuck here for the rest of said life. Should he make the most of it? Should he adjust?

No. No. Listen to yourself Makenshi. You’re falling for that monster’s tricks!

But are they tricks?

It’s been too many years and he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t remember the sound of his Mother’s voice and he can hardly remember his Father’s face. He tries not to think about them too much because he doesn’t want to get himself all upset and then in turn upset His Excellency. The Tyrant isn’t exactly one to be any form of comforting if he were to simply explain that he was thinking about home. In fact, he doesn’t want that little monster anywhere near anything to do with Misterica in the first place, so it would probably be for the best to simply forget it all anyway. If he can’t remember then the little beast can manipulate it against him.

He can’t seem to remember most things lately anyway.

He can’t remember going to sleep the night before and he hardly can make sense of the morning. He just wants this woman to get off of him but instead she lets herself sink down to wrap her arm around his and lean herself up against him like they were anything that could be considered close - which was comical in his mind when the closest he would like to be to this

woman would be to watch her burn.

Still he just adjusts to the feeling of her hanging off his arm as he focuses his attention on His Excellency instead because the only thing he ever needed to do was to keep the little gremlin happy and as long as he did that he’d keep his head. Why was the beast smiling at him the way he was? He doesn’t like it. It’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the feeling of the plant witch hanging off his arm is.

“Makenshi, I am assigning you to assist Herba today. I expect you two to cooperate while you’re out in the field. Herba knows what needs to be done, so you simply need to follow her lead, and I shouldn’t have to repeat myself with what we discussed yesterday, do I?”

“No, Your Excellency. I remember.” He sounds, raising his free arm to cross it over his chest to give this pink haired abomination a half bow. What he was saying he remembers, he doesn’t know. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even even the day before. Yesterday? He couldn’t tell you. Herba’s face was where his memory picks up and he hates that too because there is something about thinking about yesterday that is turning his stomach but he couldn’t tell you why.

So now they’re returning to that damnable airship and he hates being on it. It’s nauseating and the amount of pollen in the air is enough to make him sick. His stomach is twisting in knots As he takes a seat. He doesn’t feel well but there is the sound of jingling chimes in the air as he looks over to the open deck just to the right of him. Chimes blowing in the wind and it's enough to tell him to just focus on the sound of something pleasant for once as he lays his head down and tells himself to just go back to sleep. She’ll wake him when they get there. She always does.

And he’s sure it’s for something nasty. It always is.

He won’t do it this time though. He’ll never kill again and he doesn’t care how badly His Excellency beats him to death for disobeying orders. He will not stain the Holy Blade with yet more blood of the innocent… He just needs to not think about it and sleep. He’ll fight with her when he wakes up. His Excellency might be able to get the better of him but Herba won’t. He will never let that woman -

“ ‘kenshi-darling? ‘Kenshi-darling, wake up you silly willy. If you told me you were tired, I would have gotten you a blanket, lovely.” She smiles at him with a face that is possibly dripping with more venom than it ever has before. Her smiles are always fake and they turn his stomach, but she is taking him by the hand and he’s letting her. He doesn’t feel like fighting with her.

It’s a quiet town they’ve found themselves in this time. It’s closer to the outer reaches of Wonderland but not quite all the way out. A town that has larger than normal buildings built up and a large building he wonders if it is a church of some kind on the other side of town. She has him by the hand as they walk, and the people of this village don’t seem to be paying them any mind. Children are laughing, the smell of fresh bread is in the air and the city itself seems at peace.

Herba is leaning herself in to cling to his arm as if they were some sort of couple and it is taking everything in him not to shake her off. She just seems to be happy to take a stroll with him and he doesn’t understand what the catch is. Why did His Excellency let him out of the castle if there was nothing wicked for him to do? Why let him just come take in the sights of Wonderland if they didn’t mean for him to cause some kind of havoc?

She’s strolling through the local bazaar with him as his nose catches the smell of sugar and it’s been so long since he has got to eat anything truly sweet. He sniffs once and then again and she’s making an Oooh? Sort of sound that he doesn’t like as she takes him by the hand to lead him towards the source of the scent.

“You like sweets, don’t you, ‘kenshi? I’ll buy you something. I’ll buy you something nice, for how good you’ve been lately. Tell me what you want. Anything and you can have it. We all deserve a little treat every now and then.”

Is she serious? She can’t be.

The Church bell is ringing in the background as she pulls him along. A grin slipping on her lips as she pulls him into the middle of the marketplace, only to look back at the Misterican with bright eyes and a poison purple smile.

“Anything you want, ‘kenshi-darling. Name it, and it’s yours.” She pauses to look towards the church and watches as the streets seem to fill as if the building is emptying further with each chime. “Must be noon.” She sounds returning her gaze to her companion only to watch as a pale hand reaches back towards the hilt of his blade to rock it free with a single click.

“ ‘kenshi-darling?” She sounds but still just continues to watch the man move. The swordsman takes his blade up into his grip and it is held out towards her at length as if extending the tip in her direction. Mist rolls out from behind bared teeth in plumbs when the devil growls. He’s pushing off a foot to take off in a dead lunge in her direction but instead of striking at the object of his absolute hatred, the man of white races past her directly towards that of an older man down the way of the lane of the marketplace and cleaves the poor soul clean in two.

More Mist rolls out from parted pale as his blade is swung to send a flood of white colored energy racing through the stalls like a spark on a wick until it reaches its destination and half the bazaar goes up in a massive explosion. Screams fill the sky as citizens start to scurry and scatter.

“The White Devil!!” They cry. “The White Devil has come for us all!”

Red stains window panes and runs along the cracks of the cobblestone as the carnage continues. The man of snow does not cease his hellsent symphony even as men and women alike fall to their knees to beg for their lives. Their lights are snuffed out regardless. Children struck down with little concern and explosion after explosion brings building of stone tumbling to the ground.

Before long the symphony of sayonara falls silent and the Maestro of the Massacre stands center stage, crimson dripping from the Holy Blade stained with sin once more.

Only one other life remains and a dangerous gaze of dimmed jade is turning to glare daggers at the plant like woman. He’s raising his blade and taking stance to charge her when she merely raises her hand in his direction and snaps her fingers together.

Jade eyes go wide before they start blinking rapidly and soon their owner is looking all around him with horror etching itself into his features. Anger overcomes him as he refocuses on Gaudium’s Lord of Plants and Potions only to scream.

“What did you do?! Answer me! You didn’t have to kill them!”

But he only gets a small laugh in response as she floats over to him to rest just over his shoulders.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. You did this, ‘kenshi-baby. This was all your work. You killed them all gracefully and you didn’t leave a single one alive. Truly expert skill.”

“You’re lying!” He hisses as his mind starts to reel at the possibility. Her lungs didn’t sound like she was lying.

“Am I though?” She asks coyly. “Look at your sword.”

And her hand is pointing a finger down causing jade eyes to drop along with it even if he’s scared to do what she’s asking. The Maken is in his hand and it is covered in blood. He’s covered in blood.

His hand is trembling as the Maken is released and a deep guttural scream escapes him from down in his belly as the Holy Blade clatters to the ground. His hands are flying up to slip into white locks in between his horns only for the scream to get louder.

What was going ON?!!!! This wasn’t right!!! He doesn’t remember ANYTHING!!!!

His entire body is shaking as his knees hit the ground. All he can do is scream. He killed these people. He slaughtered an entire town and he doesn’t even know how or why. He can’t remember their faces. He never knew their names. He slaughtered these people and -

Herba is wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she hovers there next to him for the moment, nuzzling her face in close to his own.

“ You did so good today, ‘kenshi-darling. Let’s go home and tell, His Excellency, about what a good job you did. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Oh and !” She’s letting her feet hit the ground to shuffle over to the now destroyed stand of the vendor from earlier that had been selling all sorts of sweet treats and she picks up what appears to be some sort of hard candy on a stick and extends it out to him. “I said I’d get you anything. A treat for doing such a good job.”

But he couldn’t eat anything now. Now it would only taste bitter.

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shiroi---kumo · 2 years

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.: Lessons and Punishment :.

It’s hard to adjust to life like this because while the Sun still sleeps the Moon has never rose again. He didn’t know how to. He couldn’t find a way to do so. There was no way to escape anymore and if he did, who knows what would happen…

Words: 4.1k Pages: 10

TW;; Depression, PTSD, Submission, Mental Illness, Survivor’s Guilt, Loneliness, gaslighting, possession, isolation, abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, self blame, objectification, manipulation, punishment, restricted movement, threats, ultimatums, injury, mental breakdown, intimidation, love bombing, dissociation, food, self blame, self sabotage, self hared, suicidal ideation

He laid on that cold stone floor for so long the time all bled together. He laid there, quiet and crying all at the same time. What was he supposed to do? He was under orders to remain quiet and obedient. He was told to be quiet, not silent. So he did the only thing he could think to do in that situation and that was to just simply lay there and cry. He didn’t give a damn if the blade does not weep. He was not a blade and this was finally the breaking point.

That demonic devil was at his limit with him too but at the same time this Little Cloud was at a breaking point all his own. Never in a thousand years - never in his wildest dreams did he think that this would be his future. Never in a million lifetimes did he think it would all come to this. He was crowned prince of Misterica. By all rights, he was The King - and yet here he lay on the castle floor, bound to a single location - chained like an animal.

Perhaps to that devil, that’s all he was. After the display that took place, and the sharp feeling of a hand crashing into his face still throbbing - after being forced to call that monster Master - he really understood it now. When that pink haired brat called him pet, he meant it in every sense of the word. He was just his pet. He was a lesser being that was kept around for entertainment and he was hardly anything worth proper consideration. He was a sub-species and that little monster saw him and all of Misterica as less than. That alone was enough to make his blood boil.

But what could he even do about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The last time two of them faced off against a beast this foul, it was just that - the two of them and he never would have gotten a proper shot in if Szél hadn’t taken that beast into himself so he could hold it back long enough for the white prince to have a proper shot at cutting it down.

What was he supposed to do by himself? What was he supposed to do alone? What was he supposed to do without the Maken? He didn’t even know where it was. How infuriating! Of all the things that monstrous brat does, this has to be the one that always sends him into a rage. Perhaps he knows that. Perhaps that’s why he does it.

He doesn’t know how to describe what it is to have his soul stolen away. It's far beyond any punishment that little beast can dole out to him. It's one thing to trap him down here. It's another to treat him like a lesser being but it is crossing a line every time his soul gets snatched away from him.

If he ever gets out of this, and Tanári Szél ever wakes up he pledges to be the one to hold the beast down himself just so Szél can unleash the Magun's wrath upon it. He will use every single ounce of the power available to him when that time comes to pin the little brat down no matter the cost to himself. He will see that mix of putrid pink and a pale gaze brought to his proper retribution if it's the last thing he does.

The line in the sand has been drawn. Both parties have reached their limit and now this means war. Now this means this demonic disaster will need to face the prowess of himself and all the Misterican Kings who have come before.

But for now. For now there was nothing he could do. He was stuck here. He had no way to get out without the threat of punishment. He was stuck here and he was alone. He's been alone for seven years and he's grown so weary of it. He's alone and he's grown so tired. How was he supposed to fight back like this? Maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the point from the start of it. Maybe that was why this beast took him in, in the first place. Because he knew what he was. Because that snot nosed pipsqueak of putrid previsions knew that he was Unlimited before he did and he wanted that power for himself.

"Of course he did and I'm a little bit ashamed that it took you this long to realize that."

A harsh voice echoes into the silence as if to scold the crying prince. Slowly the body of white sets up and raises the back of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes with sleeve cuffs that hang a bit too long.

"Makenshi, that's rude. You know we can't talk like that."

"Or what? He'll lock us in a dungeon?"

The sarcasm in the second voice is practically dripping as it sounds out and there is a hard roll of jade eyes to go along with the statement.

"I see your point."

"That little pipsqueak is the one who drew the line in the sand. Not us. Him. He only has his own fault to blame when we make him choke on his words."

"And how pray tell do you suggest we go out doing such a thing oh great Demon Swordsman?"

It's a third voice that enters the choir as arms are shifted and crossed over his chest in a way that shows his annoyance at such an impossible suggestion.

"Shut up, White Cloud. I don't need your attitude. We have magic obviously. Why don't you use it, Oh Fearsome White Devil?"

"That's your title, not mine, beast. You're the demon here. You do it."

"Don't call me that. I'm just trying to make a point and you know it. That little brat has to be made to pay for crossing us like this."

"Fighting really isn't doing anything to get us out of here you know. You can keep fighting if you want to but shouldn’t we be focused on getting back to Tanári Szél ? We can't do anything without him anyway." A fourth voice chimes as hands raise as if to separate the two beings in front of it.

"So we're stuck here." The first of the voices - small and meek - sounds out in a sighed defeat as legs are drawn to his chest, chin coming down to rear up on his knees while his arms wrap tightly around them.

"Yes, Little Cloud, we're stuck for the time being. I suggest you try to make the best of it."

"But it's been days." A small voice whines as his shoulders rise and fall with an exaggerated huff.

"Yes, Little Cloud I know. There's nothing we can do about it though, lapsi."

"But I'm cold and I'm hungry and I hate it down here. It's dark and I can't see anything and I don't know what that smell in the air is."

"Anteeski Lapsi. I know this is hard but he'll come down here for us eventually. If you just continue to behave then he has to come."

"I don't understand why you consistently encourage him to keep his head down. That's terrible advice and you know it, White Cloud. We could just break out of here and go in - sword drawn."

"And with what sword do you suggest we use, Makenshi? That demon has the Maken. Do you really think he was fool enough to leave it anywhere we could get a hold of it again? What do you suggest we do? If we break out and disobey, we'll only be charging in to die. Use your head."

"I hate it when you're like this." The second of the chorus of voices sound as a head of white lifts so jade eyes can roll defiantly.

That same head of white is turning to look to his left side as the slumped body rises, releasing his knees only to start talking with his hands instead.

"Like what Makenshi? Logical or right?"

His face shifts as his head turns looking to his right side instead while the expression on his features shifts to childish mocking. Jade eyes are rolling again as his nose wrinkles up with the face he’s making before his posture shifts all over again and his hands raise up flat palmed one to each side as if he’s pushing two people apart.

“Both of you. Knock it off. Tanári Szél would be upset if he saw you like this. We need to stop arguing and figure out how to get the Maken back so we can get out of here.”

There is the sound of a sigh as shoulders drop in frustration and arms are crossed over his chest with a snap of his head the opposite direction that he was looking.

“Holdfény is right.”

It’s a new tone to all the voices of the chorus as shoulders level and posture straightens out.

“Stop fighting. I don’t want to hear it. Fighting isn’t getting us anywhere. This behavior is shameful. What would Father and Mother think? We just need to focus on getting the Maken back and the only way to do that is to play that monster’s game.”

The room goes silent for several moments and that’s when the prince freezes with wide jade eyes as the sound of footsteps echoes towards him from down the hall. There’s footsteps and they’re getting closer. They’re coming towards this room but the question was - would they go into it?

"Yes, you're right Pilvi." It's a strange agreement between all the voices before. "I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"Please rest your head, Pilvi. I'll take care of this." The most aggressive of the voices sounds in a small regretful tone as if accepting the wrongdoings of his actions, and the white prince drops his head for a moment only to look towards the door where two shadows appear in its frame most likely looking in his direction.

"Oscha." A small but commanding purr rolls out to address the taller of the two figures. "Wait here for a moment. Little Cloud and I need to have a conversation."

"Of course Your Excellency."

And if he squints enough he swears he can make out the shape of the taller man leaning over into a half bow. Small footsteps echo into this empty chamber that is only filled with darkness and the form of one small new moon. The Misterican stares forward, watching into the deep black for signs of where the predator that prowls towards him could possibly be.

It's hard. It's hard to resist the urge to tap his soul if only for this moment so he can see. It's hard not to force his vision into a bright glowing color but the sting of a hand coming to strike across his face comes rushing back into his memory and he just can't risk the damage - not in his weakened condition.

He can feel eyes on him the minute the footsteps stop. There's a body leaning towards him and a hand at the side of his face. Fingers curling just under his chin to tilt his head up so he can look up at the shadowed figure that jade is failing to see.

"So tell me Little Cloud, what have you learned?"

And he knows that expectant purr when he hears it. He’s heard it a million times or more. He’s heard it in lecture and he’s heard it in disappointment. He’s heard it false caring and he’s heard it in backhanded praise. The only time he was ever praised was when he was covered in blood.

Would this time come to differ from the rest? Would this time be the first he has received praise from that monster with being soaked to the core of his soul? He supposed that all depended on what his answer was and if he’s learned anything while being trapped in this den of hyenas it’s how to lie with the best of them.

“I - am a wicked foul beast.”

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t acknowledge the predatory gaze that looks upon him like prey that this beast will only devour if his words become a misstep in his own treachery, and he speaks without a hint of it in his voice. He speaks with shame. He speaks with sadness and he speaks with regret.

“I - have stepped out of bounds and I deserved to be punished for it.”

Keep your head up but don’t look into those pale blues that could swallow him whole with only a glance. Lie. Lie like your life depends on it because it’s the only way you’re getting out of here. You won’t survive down here in this darkness with nothing and no one for much longer.

“I - am a foolish child and I should be grateful for all that - “ there’s pause in his words as he finds himself swallowing hard to force the words out. “ - that my Master has given me.”

A second hand is raising to brush gently over his cheek as the other slides low to slip under his chin and tilt his head a little higher.

“And what else have you learned, my precious child?”

His breath hitches in his throat and he knows he can’t hide his fear. He can’t hide his hatred. He can lie but he can’t hide the emotions burning his heart that have consumed him in concerns towards his demonic keeper.

“The outside world would destroy me. I am - I am only safe with you. I am fortunate that I was found by His Excellency and not someone else. I was spared by his grace.”

It must have been what the monster wanted to hear because his chin is released so that same hand can stroke through his hair with the softest touch he’s felt from this beast to date and he stands there hand stroking through snow colored locks. Soon that small voice purrs.

“Oscha” It echoes. “Help Makenshi to his quarters. He must be quite tired and bring him a hot meal. I can only assume how starved he must feel. See that Makenshi is taken care of, understand?”

That masked man appears in the shadows on command, as if rising from the ground itself. A half bow with his arm crossed over his chest.

“Of course Your Excellency.”

Those small fingers continue to stroke through snow as the prince has kept himself silent while they do so. He hasn’t moved into the motion but he also hasn’t pulled himself away. It’s strange in a sense because it’s this little monster that trapped him down here but at the same time the feeling of any form of soft affection has him melting. He’s mad. He’s still mad and hurt and he feels disgusted with himself. He hates what he’s had to become to survive this demon. He hates what he’s had to do purely to survive and sometimes he wonders if it would be better for all parties involved if he simply didn’t.

There is the sound of metal jingling as the cuff is finally removed from his ankle followed by the twang of that masked man’s voice.

“Come along, Lord Makenshi. Let’s see that you’re properly taken care of.”

“Wait a moment.”

That little monster is talking again, hand stroking over the back of his head with a gentle rhythm as he does.

“Makenshi, listen to me. You are not to interact with the others unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand me? If they ask where you’ve been, you tell them nothing. Though I permit you to keep to your quarters for up to the next week. They are not your friends. Pets don’t have friends. They are your betters, and where you’ve been is none of their concern. I will explain anything they need to know.

From now on, I expect to see you every day. If you run off on me again, there will be dire consequences. Mark my words child, if you disobey me again I will spare you no more. I have been kind to you in all these years, so don’t think to cross me again.

Am I understood, my precious one?”

The Snow White Prince nods without words for a short moment before misty lips finally part.

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Good. Good boy. You may go, and if you’re good for the next week I’ll think about returning your sword to you.” Still that small hand strokes through his hair and he hates that he can’t say he minds the motion and that such a thing - even with who it’s coming from - is starting to feel good in a twisted sort of way.

“Come now, Lord Makenshi.” Oscha chimes motioning with his hands for the Misterican to follow after him but as the man in white begins to rise his legs shake and his knees buckle and the prince is crashing back down to the cold stone floor in an instant.

“Oshca!” Tyrant practically growls the word, scolding as he does so. So a pair of mismatched hands are reaching out to slip under the Misterican’s arms to keep him upright. “Show Makenshi more attention. I told you to help him. Do not let anything happen to my precious one.” He hisses as those pale eyes narrow at the jester in question.

“Yes. Yes of course Your Excellency. Lord Makenshi can you stand?”

“I - '' He needs to be honest and his lies have seemed to have appeased his keeper. For now anyway. So he needs to be honest about his condition. Staying down here locked in this dreadfully dark room wasn’t doing him any favors. He’s hungry and he’s thirsty. He’s been able to move from one spot but yet he finds himself feeling so drained of all his energy.

“I - I don’t know. Let me try.”

There is an expectant pair of pale eyes on the jester as arms are moved away from the swordsman only to slip right back under his arms again when his knees buckle under his own weight just as they had before. The mime-like man is moving to swing his arms around and scoop the prince from the ground entirely.

“There’s no need for you to strain yourself, Lord Makenshi. I will get you where you need to be safely. You just rest your head.”

And he hates it. He hates doing it. Leaning his head in to rest against Oscha’s shoulder but he hardly has the energy to stay awake. His ankle is throbbing and he can feel the dig marks deep in his skin from where that cuff had only dug and cut. His stomach growls and he can feel a burning drag of dryness running down his throat.

So he does the only thing his body will allow in that moment and jade eyes fall closed so he can finally get some decent sleep.

–

He wakes in his own bed. Can he really call it that? It’s been the only place he feels any sort of comfort since he got to this damnable place. His small room at the back of Gaudium, hidden away where it’s hard for any else but Oscha and perhaps Herba could find him. He can hardly remember what happened. How did he end up down there in the first place?

He can hardly remember any of it but he can remember what he said. What he lied to that little devil in order to secure his own freedom. He felt filthy thinking about it and he never wanted to speak such things ever again.

“Ah, Lord Makenshi, you’re awake.”

Oscha appearing from out of nowhere is always enough to make his heart stop for a moment, even if he doesn’t react to the man’s sudden appearances any longer. Instead jade eyes are turning to look in the mask’s man direction.

“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

There are no words, just the sound of the Misterican’s stomach growling and a soft rose color creeping into pale cheeks.

“I’ll see to it right away then.”

The man was gone before he had a chance to say anything else about it and really he didn't want to. So the Misterican allows himself to flip backwards into bed so he can just lay there while he waits. Somehow he was given permission to keep to his own quarters for up to the next week and he honestly planned to make the most out of every second of it. If he was allowed to be antisocial and not interact with anyone including His Excellency for the next seven days as long as he stayed within the small space that had been allotted just for then he certainly was going to do just that.

He never asks when Oscha returns what he's been brought. He's found it to be safer within all his years here not to ask about the food and to simply eat what is given him. Animals don't get to inquire about the meals they are given; their only job is to simply eat them and it's such a pain to have to constantly keep forcing himself back into such a mindset.

He needs to though. He needs to though if he ever wants to get the Maken back. It's still within the space of the castle, he knows that much because he's been able to remain conscious but he can't tell just how far away it is because he's having a hard time feeling her. Lady Tiamat went dead quiet the moment the Holy Blade was stripped from his person. He supposed that made sense in a way.

So he sets, quietly in bed working through the meal that's been brought to him and he feels like he hasn't eaten anything in a week. Has it been that long? Maybe, time all blurred together when he was stuck down in that darkness. He just needs to complete another one in order to get his sword back. He just needs to do one more week without losing his sanity to be properly mad whole again.

It's always such a slap in the face when he does this and of all the terror he's been put through as of late, what he hates the most is the fact he can still feel small fingers stroking through the back of his hair. He can still feel small fingers stroking through snow as if to let the boy know he's been a proper pet and obeyed to a satisfactory degree on this day.

He just needs to survive the week. He just needs to survive the week and ignore that monster's word choice when he chose to call him things like my previous one as if that pink haired devil hadn't been the one to lock him in that place and threaten to tear the Mist out of him only days before. He needed to drive out the kindness in pale eyes that was now burned in his memory and the way the touch of soft fingers still lingered just hovering his cheek and chin. He needed to drive it out and never think of it again because there was no way that beast could actually care.

There’s no way -

Has he been the one in the wrong this entire time? No, that monster killed him. That monster has killed him and nearly killed him more times than he could count. The years run together, colored in his blood. There simply was no way.

And yet -

“My precious Little Cloud. It’s alright, I love the way you hate yourself. To me that makes you perfect.”

How many times has this monster told him that he loved him for his wickedness? How many times has this monster told him that he was perfect for his faults? Cherished for the way he crumbled and collapsed?

This beast - this monster - this demon - this - His Excellency.

It wouldn’t be the same would it? Not again….

Surely His Excellency wouldn’t leave him abandoned down in that darkness again. Not if he just kept his head down. Not if he just played the game in proper. If he just did as he was told. If he just did as he was asked. If he stopped running away…

Then no one else had to die.

It was all his fault and it always had been.

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