An OC fanfiction / original story fanfiction.
A non-canon event in Hunt's "The Pink Prince" Universe
For @thornedwitch-art Happy Birthday Hunt!!!!
Word count: 1100 words | Angst Hurt/Comfort
Relationships: Damien/Esmeralda
Characters: Damien, Esmeralda, Sofia, Makena, The Ghost Prince
The more he ventured this forsaken land, the more he lost of himself along the way. Then again, looking back, what parts of him did he lose, if he knew not what those parts were? How was it the others looked to him as though he was someone – someone who knew what to do, yet he had been cast out by his own people like he was nothing. Left to drift, left to die. And dead he was to them, wasn’t he?
— “Damien? Are you alright?”
Concern etched in her inflection, Makena’s voice centred the ex-Prince back,
“Of course,” he lied, “Let’s just keep going.”
A soothing vibration pulsated from the elegant blade by his hip. Esmeralda could always sense his anxiety. He needn’t lie to her. It was not in the best interests of the others to know how he had been shaken to his core.
The venturing party continued their perilous pursuit. Few though they were, the strength of their combined determination could smite the hordes that hunted them. Though there was one threat Damien feared most. It was almost poetic, given his current state of mind, how he himself were an obstacle they must overcome. Which was extremely accurate, even if they were not being haunted by an apparition in his own image.
“There,” Sofia’s voice broke his internal spiral again, “That’s how we get across.”
It would seem the two human ladies in his company had put their differences aside, their joint task of surviving this rotten wasteland aligning them again. If not for the acidic taste on his tongue, there was no residual evidence of their earlier ugly spat.
“Come,” soothed Makena with a gesturing nod, “We’ll follow you, my dear friend. Always.”
Esmeralda illuminated the shadowed stone-cold ground. His shaking fingers reached for her comfort instinctively – gripping the hard metal as though it were a gentle soft hand. Pain rocked his trembling limbs as he tried to climb to his feet.
Wetness coated his fingertips as he brought his free hand to his temple. The disorientation made worse by the dull ache in his head. The distinct metallic taste on his lips; the blank in his memory; the dark silence pressing in from all sides. He had been out for some time. They had escaped the horrors that had found them.
A familiar weep emanated from his weapon. As though she were an innocent child, he cradled her tight. He tried to shush her, to reassure her. Everything will be alright. He will protect her. He wanted to believe his own words; regardless of the way his own voice played back to him like it was not his own—
Had something possessed him momentarily? How could his own voice betray him like that? He swallowed hard, alarmed. He refused to let his insecurity slip out again,
“I am not afraid.” he countered, ignoring the hoarseness that came in with his words now. How could he show weakness in front of the one who gave him the strength to carry on?
“Then how is it you can hear me?”
The voice carried a curious lilt, mirroring the pitch and rhythm of his own. It seeded itself in his skull, burrowing down, rooting deep in his psyche.
There really was no escape this time.
How could he escape himself?
“Relax, little prince. There’s no reason to hide anymore.”
It was no wonder the temptation of pleasant mindlessness so easily pulled the Prince under. His shoulders lifted, the lump in his chest replaced by an empty cavity, the blankness around him adopted the texture of a fluffy cloud.
Something else leaked in. A vivid picture-perfect memory. Or was it his heart’s desire instead? Endless fields of yellow daises. Peace carried on the wind itself. The sunlight beating down on his skin. A delicate hand caressing his cheek.
“Esmeralda…” sobbed the boy, he tried to lean into her touch, but the more he tried to reach her, the further away she seemed to shift.
“Isn’t that what you want?” came the insincere question, “To be free of your responsibility? To escape this burdensome existence?”
His heart ached for freedom. His soul yearned for it.
There was no hiding that.
Esmeralda’s angelic voice called to him. She sounded happy. She sounded free.
He’d give anything to see her smile.
“I can take your burden away. I can set you free.”
Damien was uncertain exactly how or when the darkness had eclipsed his senses. His desires laid bare. Vulnerable and exposed. The pain and discomfort washed away, replaced instead by the promise of relief.
A gentle hum filled his mind.
“That’s it,” the voice reassured him, “It will all be over soon.”
The consciousness he had left tied each of his bodily sensations together as though he were a ball of wire – with no tangible loose end in sight. He just remained there. Not frozen, not trapped but – held. Held by something “other”, yet something familiar. Something that offered him a way out.
He heard her voice again. Her beautiful voice. She sounded further away this time. But her serene pitch cried out to him, difficult to ignore.
Damien tried to call back to her, to reassure her, once again, everything would be alright. It will all be over soon. His emptying mind failed to tell him that something was very wrong.
“You’d give it all up for her, wouldn’t you?”
“Do you not see how weak you truly are?”
“I could be King. The people deserved better than you.”
“She – deserves better than you.”
A single drop fell into a black endless water, disturbing the stillness that was the Pink Prince’s petrified mind. Robbed of colour, robbed of himself, the force of his own sword dealt the final blow. Rippling outwards, in search of him: the boy who was lost within himself.
“I will stay,” he choked out, pushing through the hypnotic grip of his ghostly other, “I will not abandon her.”
More voices crashed in like waves flooding a drought-stricken ravine. Makena’s face formed in front of his eyes. Sofia’s firm hands shook his rigid shoulders.
They were already in the caves. They were already back together. The castle was at least a mile behind them.
His weapon continued to cry in his hands. He cradled her to his chest; he tried to shush her. To reassure her everything would be okay,
“I’m sorry. I will not run away anymore.”
Unsure if the gentle touch to his neck was truly there, against his wiser judgement, he chose to ignore it for now.
Okay so maybe I'm pushing my duality agenda here. Annnd I wanted to make it less angsty and more... spicy? But that didn't materialise ahahaha. Also sorry it's so short. I had no idea what was going to happen so it was just as much of a surprise to me as it was for you!
I hope you enjoyed. It was so much fun spending time in your universe!! Happy Birthday Hunt!!
