#warborn.open

a poison being involved, especially in the small yet big world of a monarch and his castle, could mean several things ; gaining a free ticket for the chopping block for just breathing in the wrongest of moments being one very much feared by all of the ensemble currently guest of the waning highness’ opulence, selfishly clenching to their life like they’d clench to a piece of ore --and ironically, legitimately so.

but to those like him, whose nose was more interested in trailing along dried ink and withering paper, hearing of a poison would only mean that someone had been clever and cautious enough to smuggle an intricate concoction under their nose. or has prepared it within the castle walls with an excuse or another, the possibilities were many --and mind of a scholar always would run to the next book, the scroll put aside, the notes written by an alchemist’s morbid curiosity.

chasing cautiously everything that could become a potential lead or herring --for when it came to a king’s health, after all, nothing was left to fate, because fate has left walochnia a long, long time ago.

the king was a fake.

perhaps it was too easy for him to notice, or the small circle really had gone lax with the excuse of the marriage trying to hide away whatever happened to that wreck of a sovereign their nation was stuck with still or even render him even more of a vulnerable target for any fool to hit in public and any veteran of the trade to hit far away where truly his tragic majesty was hidden --for his lord, that would be too many a chance to further his goals, and for himself to collect information and details that would ease such plans to fruition. it was expected of him, after all --a dutiful doll for such a cruel and conniving master to be proud of, he was--, and just as expectedly he’d store such an information in one of the many crevices of broken mind of his for later reports.

a false king exhibiting a false pride in an even falser ceremony only meant it was all a coverup to something much sinister. the familiar churn of deceit, how easy to catch and how easy it’d make his own jaw clench in tension, trailing along columns like a shadow.

he just wished for such event not to be as noisy --for his gift not to have limits so he could shut away every mouth and chatter in a blink ; but oh, he couldn’t. too many people despite the area being big enough for him to technically cover, and isolating his own sound would only make himself unhearable ( as if that wasn’t already done, what kind of trained blade would he be ! ) to those masses. and he had a princess to keep an eye on, whose face screamed of how she’d rather be hiding into necropolis rather than be there.

and to judge the startle he had given to nearby person ... “ apologies. it wasn’t my intention to startle. ” something he was oddly used to, by now. “ so many concerned faces for an event people love to define ‘happy’. ”

there was nothing sincere in such event. just like in most unions involving blood of royals and nobles, truth be told, as scholar had long read of so many marriages merely existing just to facilitate records and descendances --and the princess’ face not even attempting at deceiving those surrounding her forlorn presence. it felt like watching a lamb being slaughtered, rather than a wedding.

only fools whose heads have dug too deep into pages of idealized romances could pretend so blissfully for any peace and reason to rejoice to exist within something already long rotten even before its birth ; somehow, zixuan envied them. he wished, sometimes, for such simplistic thinking --it would hurt the heart and the mind even less, render things much more enjoyable. 

to the companion by his side, he’d barely give a glance --just to make sure they knew he was going to speak to them, a distraction from the butcher that was the ceremony. “ having the wedding in such an emergency ... terrible organization. ” but truly, what was new. “ and the small circle really thinks whoever poisoned the king is going to fall for a shapeshifter’s trick ? they’re probably going to finish their job while we’re all sitting here doing nothing. ”

of course it wasn’t going to be him. as if he’d even dare spending a little bit of tie with her despite their union, ill - fated in everything like every single whisper ‘round her would usher whilst making her desire to be deaf instead --too unpleasant for him to even look at, too ungraceful to even grace him with a child. it was always a realization painted on her face and unable to be hidden away --even ‘cause it’d be such a disservice, to herself and to anyone else, to hide away her malcontent in a marriage that felt empty like her laments inside that cage made of solid gold ; her visage struggling in trying to regain even just a little bit of composure, for she was never meant to play the toying games of a huge castle as haunted by ghosts as it was haunted by beings pretending to be alive to begin with , her lips curling barely in a smile supposed to be courteous. 

“ please, come in. do not stand at the door waiting. ” she’d chide the visiting figure closer, her hand pale when indicating empty velvet seat not that far from her --distance barely created by a small tea table. voices were already traveling far, coquettishly whispered by servants when coming and going from their passages. “ i assume you’re here to bring me news about the ... execution, right ? ”

death would walk among them with its breath heaving aghast necks and heads, he knew. perhaps even more than peering eyes treating them barely as beings able to share their same air but rather as cattle to sacrifice as banes of all earth’s sin or to send off to die in their stead where wars they weren’t meant to belong to would seize all that existed in fire and blood, as rare as they were so expendable.

it was vrajiit’s grim sight on grimmer reality since dawn of times only told by mouth after mouth and barely finding traces in scriptures for it’d be too much of an uncomfortable subject for those crowned heads to hear when oh so busy they were in grasping at straws so bad they’d start using once more all that held breath and movement as excuse for their fright and paranoid fueled incompetence --chaining and torturing and executing those who never laid a hand in guilt towards those people they all claimed in devoting protection and adore when high heads themselves were those afraid of lingering rage of masses ready to knock at their door in outrage.

it had just happened, after all. it had happened in past not so far away to look at, it would happen again if so fit wounded king’s maddening decree --ever so infuriating to look at even for one like himself who always had been so silent, always had let those shadows within whisper of painting himself as villain they all oh so desperately wanted because enough was enough ; what he had to lose, after all ? with a father most likely within those who rejoiced of the unscheduled demise, a mother long gone and returned to ungrateful earth, what would stop him from making of those lulling shadows doing his bid and beck and call to rise as a newfound army aghast those false thrones and ungrateful crowns who’s done nothing but prove him right over and over ?

no friends existed for they could easily hide away in fear of crownwearing paranoia’s retaliation, dear cousin so easy to see disappearing to a safety poor zixuan knew he’d find anywhere else but nearby her ; bruising still would remain though, lacing neckline and wrists with their scatter of reds and purples and blues, ointment made with sageash and ground glaze lilies delicately massaged as if that would make any ache and rage grow meeker and less close to point of no return --eyes of abyss shooting glares to whoever dared even inching closer to him with their deafening steps, head still held as high as he was during prisonry and slaughter, defiant.

DEATH WOULD WALK AMONG THEM WITH ITS BREATH HEAVING AGHAST NECKS AND HEADS, he knew. perhaps even more than peering eyes treating them barely as beings able to share their same air but rather as cattle to sacrifice as banes of all earth’s sin or to send off to die in their stead where wars they weren’t meant to belong to would seize all that existed in fire and blood, as rare as they were so expendable.

it was vrajiit’s grim sight on grimmer reality since dawn of times only told by mouth after mouth and barely finding traces in scriptures for it’d be too much of an uncomfortable subject for those crowned heads to hear when oh so busy they were in grasping at straws so bad they’d start using once more all that held breath and movement as excuse for their fright and paranoid fueled incompetence --chaining and torturing and executing those who never laid a hand in guilt towards those people they all claimed in devoting protection and adore when high heads themselves were those afraid of lingering rage of masses ready to knock at their door in outrage.

it had just happened, after all. it had happened in past not so far away to look at, it would happen again if so fit wounded king’s maddening decree --ever so infuriating to look at even for one like himself who always had been so silent, always had let those shadows within whisper of painting himself as villain they all oh so desperately wanted because enough was enough ; what he had to lose, after all ? with a father most likely within those who rejoiced of the unscheduled demise, a mother long gone and returned to ungrateful earth, what would stop him from making of those lulling shadows doing his bid and beck and call to rise as a newfound army aghast those false thrones and ungrateful crowns who’s done nothing but prove him right over and over ?

no friends existed for they could easily hide away in fear of crownwearing paranoia’s retaliation, dear brother so easy to see disappearing to a safety poor zixuan knew he’d find anywhere else but nearby him ; bruising still would remain though, lacing neckline and wrists with their scatter of reds and purples and blues, ointment made with sageash and ground glaze lilies delicately massaged as if that would make any ache and rage grow meeker and less close to point of no return --eyes of abyss shooting glares to whoever dared even inching closer to him with their deafening steps, head still held as high as he was during prisonry and slaughter, defiant.

his head still spun, as if trying to keep with the amount of energies consumed in order to keep people safe and help them escaping the rumble of dragonbreath and screeches that still echoed in his mind as if that very fire had just taken the chance to burn its horrors far more than any archival scroll or academy trills --a price to pay to allow as many of the defenseless to reach the keep as fast as possible, making his palms burn and ache and his lungs feel like filled with water and his sight as clouded as a foggy path in wechinka and forcing him once more in keeping it all in.