Heartstring
No prescribed medication strikes an effect as significant as the reaction generated by the mere rumble of a baritone so gentle, so serene, driving even the most lionhearted of individuals in to a state of speechlessness for a reasonable period of time. Her gaze flickers with a medley of emotions that could weave together explanations far greater than what painted lips could blabber about, yet to even begin assembling the puzzle pieces to a complicated picture proved to be a challenge itself. The crinkling sound of plastic surrounding the bouquet clutched in a shaky grip interrupts the silence in an air so mysteriously heavy — shortly before it’s accompanied by a breathy chuckle.
“—ararara… … Sometimes I wish I had the ability to sleep that long. But, hey, looks like you’re finally up. Sure…took your time, huh? Geez, it was pretty blah around here, you know!”
Crimson lips display a grin that strives to lighten up the mood, yet the chuckle’s vibrance depletes shortly afterwards. Lids descend to a close and a pause arrives once more.
“—time really flies, doesn’t it?”
He can hear the pain in that tone of angel’s singing when her lips parted, agony that he alone had caused her. There aren’t words enough that could even begin to describe how much it pained him, also. To be apart from her side, to have rejected her the way he had. The imitation had done it out of his own selfishness, masking it with the idea that he was protecting her from himself. That monster that dwelled within his center, expanding outward when victims entered his walls. Yet she had become accepted, always traversing those hallways as though she owned it. In some manner, his domain had been extended to subconsciously offer his protection over her.
It was the only reason she was alive.
❝Over and over, you came here. I told you never to return.
But... Why?
Why did you keep coming?❞
His expressions betray the anger he attempts to convey, within his eyes there is only the pain of wanting her near him. He no longer attempts to fight her, only wanting an answer for her stubborn pride. The prince was far too exhausted to keep banging his fists against a brick wall. His knuckles had bled enough, he only wanted to keep sleeping.
She had prevented him from doing so.
