ƬɌĘẲ•ŞỎȠ

       Mordred had not quite known what to expect — in fact, he’d barely had time to think about what might come after, as he was to busy thinking about what might happen then. It had felt surreal, to say the least, but even that would not be an apt enough description; it’s indescribable. Whatever he had prepared himself for, it had not been… This.

       Deep greens and browns surrounded him, vibrant colours, all of which he had seen before, but never in such definition. It was as if, before now, he had been blind, and these were his first true sights. Perhaps that’s how death was meant to be. But no — no, when you die, you are not meant to stand face-to-face with yourself. Not only a duplicate of yourself, but one who is so extraordinarily different to you… Mordred narrowed his eyes, and took a hesitant step forward, and despite the precision with which he moved, he still managed to stumble. His apparent reflection did not copy. Instinctively, he reached a hand towards his word — but it wasn’t there. In fact, he was no longer wearing armour, but a billowing white shirt, with dark slacks. These were not his clothes: he’d never worn anything so… Clean. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, and —

         ”Who are you?”

      Feeble, weak words to match his feeble, weak voice. He cleared his throat again, and paused, composing himself. Adapt. That had been one of his many instructions during training in Camelot, and at the moment, it appeared to be the most relevant. Adapt.

                                “What are you?”

                             Que the corner of his lips twitching, pulling back                               into the faintest of smirks, how foolish this boy                              was, and how weak he appeared.

                                         A child in every way    ;;                                                        age       ——                                                      looks   ——                                                      m i n d s e t          ——

                          And this child                           this b o y            ;;                           was him in another time.

                               The prince’s fingers tapped against the arm of                                his wooden throne, the pale flesh contrasted                                against the dark black oak as shadows from                                the rapidly receding moon disappeared.

                        Day never came in Avalon, he would see it again.                         Though there were times where he missed the                         gentile hum of sunlight on his skin and the feel                         of warmth as he stepped out from the shadows.

                                But this was his exile, trapped beyond                                 Avalon’s veil, kept from his fate   ——                                                 From Arthur.

                                   ❝ — You can’t possibly be that stupid;                                                   can you ?    I am you, boy. ❞

                                     He took in every inch of his surroundings,                                     absorbing it all, as his eyes landed on the                                      throne before him. It was elaborate, both                                         in design, and in juxtaposition to its                                      surroundings. How could something so                                      beautiful be somewhere so dark? A chill                                      ran through him yet again, and a sinking                                                   sensation overcame him.

"What have I told you about being in here!?"

"Don’t make me punish you…"

"Who will believe you?"

"If anyone asks, you fell down the stairs."

"Stay in this closet and be quiet!"

*SLAP!*

*PUNCH*

*KICK!*

"I will whip you until all of the blood pours from your back!"

"Shut up, you worthless _______!"

"I told you once. Don’t make me tell you again or else."

"You’ve been a bad boy/girl again, haven’t you?"