King Nothing

❛  ▌┊𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 :  hien  ( @domaheir​ ) .

        𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃, initially, when she’d found him. Broken and bleeding as he was, Cirina had come to the grim conclusion that if he wasn’t dead already, he would be soon. And that was how the Doman had come to be under her watchful care. He was improving, at least. His fever had broken some days ago, marking the first good news since his arrival. Still, healing would be a long and arduous road ahead. Many of his wounds had yet to completely close and would no doubt leave scars unimaginable in time. Were Cirina of a weaker stomach, she might not have been able to handle caring for him as she had been; but though she may have been of the Mol — weak in might — this, she had the strength for.

        Cirina and some others of the Mol had helped to remove his blood-soaked, damaged clothes and armor upon his arrival, fashioning him instead in their traditional deel. Helping the Doman prince to sit up now, she wordlessly peeled aside the fabric to expose the bandaging across his torso and up over one shoulder. it was stained a dark red in places where his wounds had not yet fully closed — or rather, had re-opened. Cirina frowned. She had only changed them a day ago. ❝  We must redress your wounds again. You have been restless.  ❞ Although it is said not unkindly, there is a hint of reprimand to her tone.

        ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʙʟᴜʀs ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ɴᴏ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ɪᴛ. Still drawn deep into a restorative sleep, though it wasn’t without it’s unrest. The memory of the night before, the Revolution and it’s fall. Being carved like an animal by the man meant to be his political equal. Like a loop without an end it plays, reliving his mistakes over and over and over-

Hospital Ghost

family visiting hours are over, so I’ll be right here to hold your hand. it’s not as easy to head towards the light when every room glows a sickly plastic green. I float through the fluorescent beams only to hear the next conversation upstairs; his condition is improving. yes, your heart will be just fine. stay awake long enough and the curtain thins. the rooms are never really empty. sometimes, it’s hard to tell if you can see me. can you feel the air grow thick? I’m not to blame for the way the hallways grow dark and cold; how some nurses know not to wander when the sun goes down. heavy hospital exits swinging loose like saloon doors. the monitors metronome a heartbeat, a tune my body misses singing.

The Miqo'te hums thoughtfully, his red tail flicks out behind as he muses in thought—lost, more like. His ears flick ever so often, not paying attention to any person that approaches. In fact, so lost in his musings, he is none the wiser that anyone is beside him.

G'raha mumbles some things under his his breath, ruby irises glued to the tome in his hands. How anyone would grab his attention… who knows.

Spotting the peculiar Miqo’te, Hien wanders closer to find out just how lost this man could be. The tattoo upon the other’s neck tells him he is much like the Warrior of Light’s friends. ‘Scions’ if he remembers correctly.

Thinking the man will look up at any moment, the prince is more than surprised to be passed by. Needing to know what could be so important not to worry for one’s own safety, Hien decides to walk beside him, peering into the book before looking up to see a pillar heading the opposite direction.

Hien: I miss my wife, Yugiri.

Yugiri:

Hien: I miss her a lot.

Yugiri: