Warning: Contains references to childhood neglect, implied predatory intent toward a minor, and physical abuse (non-graphic). Read with caution.

Gift Box [1]

"Please… I only ask that you grant me a moment," Dohyun pleaded, the desperation in his voice threaded with a quiet dignity. "I can prove my worth-"

Yet the words died on his tongue.

Miye had already turned away. From the bare angle of his pale cheek, Dohyun could see the Princess's expression twist into something ghastly: her eyes blown wide, and pupils shrunken like frostbitten seeds. Her skin, usually soft as fresh snow, drained of its color in an instant. A trembling hand clutched at the cloth over her heart, as though trying to cage the panic within.

"Haerin… escort me back to my chambers," Miye said, voice strained despite the fine porcelain composure he tried to maintain. "I am… unwell."

A chill slipped down Dohyun's spine. What did she see in that box? What could make a person like her so refined and composed... turn so deathly pale?

"We may speak again when Your Highness recovers," Dohyun murmured, lowering his hand in reluctant retreat. "I shall wait."

"Suit yourself," Haerin replied with a frosty look before guiding the Princess away, their figures fading into the lantern-lit corridor.

....

Night unfolded over the palace like a silk tapestry, star-embroidered and hushed.

Alone, Dohyun wandered into a quiet corner of the backyard, a place forgotten by moonlight and men alike. He found a patch of grass beside a bush and arranged his small cloth bundle as a pillow.

It was hardly unfamiliar.

Cold ground had once been his only bed, and hunger his most loyal companion.

He lay beneath the vast night sky, hands tucked behind his head, one leg resting over the other. Stars glittered like distant lanterns, and in their faint glow, old memories rose like unwelcome guests.

Since childhood, he had been the boy everyone scorned. The traitor's son, they called him - a shadow no one wished to touch.

He remembered the two weeks he spent starving outside a nobleman's house, waiting for a promised meeting with Uncle Hwang. He remembered the rooms he cleaned. Rooms polluted with liquor, pipe smoke, and stains that clung even after he scrubbed until his small hands numbed. Those stains never belonged in a child's world, yet they shaped his. For a while, it earned him food - a night at a time. Until... one of the nobleman's regular guests noticed him.

Dohyun was quietly playing with a broken stick in the backyard.

"You, boy. Come here," the man said.

Dohyun knew instinctively that obeying him was safer than refusing.

Still, when the man's hand stroked his hair, and those fingers slid toward the collar of his shirt, a cold dread curled in his stomach.

He didn't understand fully, but he understood enough. His small hands tightened around the wooden stick. A sharp jab to the man's eye, then the frantic pounding of his feet against the ground as he ran and ran.

That night, he received no food. Nor the next, nor the one after.

His employer beat him regardless, whether he knew the truth or simply didn't care.

"Great… why remember that now?" Dohyun muttered, brushing his forehead with a weary hand.

His stomach growled fiercely. He curled onto his side, drawing his knees closer, trying to ease the hollow ache gnawing at him. The night wind was cold, but it was the kind of cold he had known long before he understood warmth.

At last, exhaustion pulled him under, and his eyes drifted closed beneath the indifferent stars.

....

Miye staggered into his chambers, one hand pressed tightly over his chest. The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, he broke into a run, barely reaching the washroom before his knees struck the floor.

A violent retch tore through him.

Bile and bitter liquid spilled from his lips, burning his throat as he gagged, breath shuddering. The memory clung to him like a curse.

That sight...disgusting, unbearable!!

His fingers trembled against the cold porcelain. It was all his fault. That vile man. That so-called Prince.

Yugwon.

Miye's vision swam as the image resurfaced: a bloody, mutilated flesh laid bare within the ornate chest. A human tongue! Torn brutally from its owner's throat with the stench of iron and decay still clinging to it.

His face drained of color.

He had thought himself hardened by cruelty. Thought he had learned the limits of Yugwon's depravity. He was wrong.

"That bastard…" Miye whispered hoarsely, clutching his throat as though the pain were his own. "He truly has no bounds."

Slowly, he forced himself upright, bracing both hands against the basin. The room was silent... too silent.

No one must know.

This must never leave these walls. Not the box. Not what had happened to Yuna.

He splashed water over his face, though it did little to wash away the horror etched into his widened eyes.

"Is she… dead?" he murmured.

The mere thought sent ice cascading down his spine. His breath hitched, and before he could stop it, tears welled up - clear, fragile crystals slipping down his cheeks.

When was the last time he had cried?

He could not remember.

Yuna had been everything - his savior, his caretaker, his refuge in a world that sought only to cage him. A mother where none existed. A friend, when solitude was forced upon him.

And now... she was gone.