[NOTICE ]

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE FICTIONAL. ANY RELATION TO REAL LIFE PEOPLE(S) IS MERE COINCIDENCE. 

THIS PLOTLINE CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, AND MENTIONS OF MENTAL HEALTH, PAST ABUSE, AND DEATH. 

THIS NOVEL ALSO CONTAINS BRIEF ACTS OF SMOKING, AND REFERENCES TO DRUGS THAT ARE NOT USED. 

THIS NOVEL TAKES PLACE IN FUTURISTIC TIMES, AND IS NOT AN ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF ANY CURRENT CULTURES, OR SOCIETY AS A WHOLE. ANY NEGATIVITY IN THIS PLOT IS NOT TO BE GLORIFIED IN ANY  WAY, AND IS ONLY FOR WORLDBUILDING PURPOSES.

DO NOT TRY TO IMITATE ANY ACTS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY.

Read at your own discretion.

••••

A frail-looking boy timidly made his way through the corridors, clutching a toy bear fiercely in his hand as if it would vanish at any moment. The energy that radiated off of him was far from joyful, and even the moonlight cast over the chocolate strands of his hair foreshadowed a bittersweet fate.

 Despite his eyes being obscured by his glossy locks, it wouldn't take a genius to understand the precise amount of fear emanating from him.

 In only a split second, his head snapped up, and the overwhelming fear tainting the childish joy that was once in those lavender eyes of his was revealed. A small sound escaped the back of his throat—perhaps horror? Yet it only came out as a weak gasp. He quickly shoved his small hand against his lips, knowing that, despite how scared he was, he needed to know what had been happening all along behind closed doors. 

The boy gazed distantly at the elegantly robed silhouette of his father kneeling over a crumbled figure. "I thought that I ordered you to stay in your room, did I not?" 

The boy jumped slightly at the deep voice of his father, feeling chills skittering down his spine. 

Something was off. It was definitely his father's familiar voice that had spoken, but he could tell that the man's words were darkly twisted in a way that only happened when somebody had reached their breaking point of sanity. The boy couldn't speak; he couldn't even bear to look his father in the eyes.

 He focused on the king's elegant robes as they swirled around his ankles while he strolled towards him. It felt like his lungs were being constricted in his chest; he couldn't even breathe properly. Finally, a firm hand clamped on his shoulder. The boy could only flinch. It was painful, but he knew better than to protest with a ruler, even if it was his very own father.

 "Hikaru. Look me in the eyes at once; I did not raise the heir to my throne to be a pathetic sissy." 

His father's words were far from kind, and even his hand felt stiflingly warmer than usual. 

The boy, Hikaru, raised his head reluctantly. Hikaru wanted nothing more than to turn around and run until he was long gone, until he was far away from the thorns of fate. Yet he could only peer up into his father's cold onyx eyes and try to avoid looking at the crimson smeared all over his weathered skin. 

Hikaru finally began to speak, his words barely a whisper. "Where is Mother?" 

The grisly smile that curled the corners of his father's lips up was something that he wished he never had to see. He should've just stayed in his room! He should've-.. 

"I highly suggest that you don't venture into secrets that aren't yours to carry. If it transfers to you as well, don't blame me if you can't even live with yourself."

 His father's words were vacant of any emotion, and Hikaru didn't even realize that his hands were trembling.

 "I asked you a question! Where is Mother!?" 

Hikaru cried out, demanding an explanation, an answer, just... something! 

Why was his father's face covered in blood? Hikaru knew very well that the punishment for raising his voice at his father could be life-costing, but he needed to know the truth. 

As soon as he caught sight of the rage filling the King's eyes, Hikaru quickly yanked free of his father's hand and broke into a sprint towards the collapsed figure. 

He felt his slippers sliding on the ground.. there was something coating the marble floor. Hikaru collapsed on his knees beside the figure, hearing a scream rip into the air. It took awhile for him to realize it was his own. The boy quickly reached out for a lock of his mother's raven hair, the same hair that he almost shared. Her hair, once delicate and full, was slightly stained crimson. Hikaru's scream grew louder and louder as hundreds of arms came plunging towards him, and he could only smell the scent of rotting flesh suffocating him.

 Fragments of marble showered down as he went crashing through an unnaturally bright sky, and he knew that he should've felt at least something when he hit the ground. 

"Ah, sweetie! I thought that I told you not to run in the gardens. It can be dangerous!" Hikaru heard the comforting and light tinkle of his mother's voice when she spoke, and he could feel tears prickling at his eyes. Hikaru raised his head a fraction of the way to gaze out at the white rose being held out in his mother's hand. 

The rose was unflawed, and the whole scene change was not far from being describable as a fever dream. 

Was this reality? Was it a dream? 

He didn't know... He hoped that it was real. Without a single moment of hesitation, Hikaru immediately replied softly while reaching out for the white rose being offered to him. 

"You're right! Silly me. I'm sorry, Mom!" 

Hikaru laughed lightly and took ahold of the stem, but something was stinging his palm.

No, this wasn't right. Simple thorns shouldn't have stung that much. Hikaru's eyes began to widen as the scene fell away right before his eyes, and he found himself clutching at nothing as the beautiful flower turned to ashes…