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Famille

“A palace in the sea, sought by man for riches and spoils, but only those with pure of heart could find it. Or so I am told.” There is a smile, as they continue, “The legend claims that it was found, once, and the seeker was welcomed to court with those who dwelled in it. Eventually the young prince of the palace was allowed to leave it with their newfound ally.” Perhaps it was, not quite a mirror. The details were a little murkier. Instead of an ally, he had a guard. A friend, but loyalties were hard to place when it came to those who ruled and those who did not.

And perhaps one day, if the queen would ever allow him to leave the safety of Troia, he could find this palace and befriend the ones who called it their home. What an awfully lonely place it must have been, isolated from the rest of the world with only one outsider to have ever found it. If it were real, one day, he would be the second person to find it, and he would make certain that there would be a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and even more new friends for its inhabitants to meet and befriend, for surely, the world was filled with pure hearts that were worthy of setting foot in their domain.

"Does it not feel magical, having them come to you unafraid?" Mephisto asked, lifting up his skirt to avoid disturbing the small, winged critters as he moved to give them more room to feed. "In all the stories, birds will only gather 'round the pure of heart. I suppose this means that one's purity is directly tied to the amount of food one has to offer. Perhaps, then, we need a chef and not a monarch to rule over these lands."

𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 cants his head, a brief flicker of emotion sparking within his empty, doll-like eyes. Tiny fingers still raw from the cold twine around 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗's own, melding to the gaps 'twixt his fingers and interlocking with them as though they were puzzle pieces that had always meant to fit together.

ㅤ❝ I'll wait as long as you need, ❞ 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 intones eagerly, the hidden conviction behind his words possessed of an eerie devotion all too easily masked by the amiable, lilting nature of his voice.

ㅤA cold but sympathetic hand tenderly caresses the side of 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗's cheek, gently tracing the noble escarpment of his cheekbone with the same tender, needy affection with which a butterfly draws nectar from a flower. Again 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐓 found that he pitied him; this beautiful but broken creature before him, who did not even know that he was broken. His flesh was as the 𝐂𝐎𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 rime upon which he'd slept, the deceptive warmth of its hue belying its icy feel.

ㅤWhen beckoned, 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 clambers to 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗's side with the cloying grace of an overeager puppy, though each second spent within his borrowed flesh caused him unfathomable agony. Each step he took was more painful than dancing on rivers of broken glass, and every breath he drew felt as if it were tearing his insides apart with cold and stabbing pain. All of this he endured with the utmost grace. Gone now was the endearing clumsiness of eld, for he could be nothing less than immaculate to look upon, and gone was the ribbon that once secured his sideswept braid, which had long ago been replaced with unkept waves into which an ill-assored variety of flowers had been tucked.

ㅤBlackened velveteen lips part softly as hiercing violet eyes gaze deeply into 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗's own, the roving, lambent nature of his eyes providing the distinct impression that he know more about the one upon whom he was gazing than they knew about themselves. It was as though he looked through 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗 (or perhaps, into him), and saw within him that which he could not percieve of himself, becoming privy thereupon to his innermost secrets, and all else that he endeavored to conceal from others. Perhaps the people of 𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃 were right to feel uncomfortable around him; perhaps there was a reason that his gaze invoked fear within some, and an unwelcome warmth beneath cloaks and skirts alike within others. To be sure, 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐓's gaze rendered each its targets vulnerable, in ways they could not easily fathom.

ㅤ❝ It's alright. You needn't worry. I pray you take as much time as you need. To press ever onward. To heal, ❞ 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 adds, the gentle cadence of his voice lilting with unspoken emotion as he utters the word heal. ❝ If you'd like, I will be here every step of the way. That is my wish, but I wouldn't dream of forcing it on you. ❞

ㅤUnbeknownst to 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗, this too was a lie; for 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐓 would see him whole again, even if that meant forcing his soul back together by whatever means necessary, as it was his intention not only to heal 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗, but to fix him entirely. All that the other did was ephemeral, so glimpsing the hurts hiddne away within the depths of 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗's soul held little weight with him, for 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐗 was but a brief segment in the eternity that should have been 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎.

Leaving Raphael's side once more, and narrowly resisting the urge to reach for his hand, Morganaux this time turned his attention to the room's altar, his breathing coming to a stop as his eyes locked onto the prayer book sitting atop it. Shakily, he opened up the seemingly ordinary tome, swiftly turning its pages until he turned to one that emitted the same glow of the brick he had touched moments ago. To those who did not know the secrets held by the room, the page would have contained just another prayer to the Fury— one of forgiveness, to be precise. But bathed in the subtle magicks he had activated, the incantation hidden within was revealed.

He recalled the last time he had returned here, and the poetic finality of it all. In the many generations that passed since his homeland's founding, the incantation had been spoken to imprison hundreds, perhaps thousands, of orphans like himself who had no family to miss them. And in that moment, he had given voice to those words for the last time to free the ones who still lived— to free himself. It was a perfect, pretty circle coming to a close, just like in all his favorite storybooks—a fitting, cathartic ending to the pain he and all the others had suffered.

It was supposed to heal him, but it did not. He had fulfilled his promise to save his fellow expurgators, and he had watched with muted glee as his former jailers were put to the sword for their crimes, yet it brought him no true satisfaction. Though one evil was stomped out, it was only a matter of time before another came forward to take its place, for Ishgard had no shortage of wicked men hiding their true nature beneath a veneer of benevolence. Or, perhaps that was just his paranoia speaking.

Perhaps coming here was what he needed, to reopen the wound upon his soul so that this time, with a friend at his side, he could begin to really, truly heal and know that there was good in the world— that there were people like Raphael out there who would not hurt him, or anyone.

Drawing in a deep breath, he spoke those words he thought would never be uttered again, flinching at the sound of bricks rearranging themselves to reveal the room's hidden passage. "This must seem awfully ominous, doesn't it?" he mused, turning back toward the other with a cheerful grin. "I've led you deep into the Vault, unveiled a secret, spooky staircase that no one else knows about, and haven't explained myself in the slightest. I... Wouldn't blame you if you wished to back out now. I know I should have when I came here all these years ago."

Excluding murder, what is the worst thing your OC has ever done?

Has your OC ever killed someone?

Has your OC killed a friend/family member/loved one?

What appears in your OC's darkest nightmares?

What is your OC's moral code?

Would your OC make a deal with the devil?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

Would your OC consider themself evil?

Would you consider your OC evil?

Does your OC enjoy watching others suffer?

Has your OC ever tortured someone?

If your OC was arrested, what would the charges be?

Who does your OC hate the most?

What is your OC's "villain song"?