The young Empyrean's figure continued to tremble with the strength of his sobs, ignoring the echoing voice that intended to pull him out of his little corner of lamentation. His entire body ached from the time he had spent on that wooden chair, his face completely buried in his arms as he tried to silence the whimpers that escaped from him from time to time.
However, every tear that fell to the ground was a tear that echoed through the dream palace like an earthquake, disturbing the peace of anyone who tried to rest.
It wasn't as if the dream palace housed anyone alive, anyway.
"Leave me alone!" This time, Miquella tore at his throat as he screamed, casting an incantation in the direction of the voice whispering right in his ear. It didn't do much good, as the incantation hit the stone wall with little force before evaporating. The golden light was engulfed by the flames from the fireplace. "Please..."
The young Empyrean's belly ached, the discomfort caused by his condition keeping him curled into a small ball in the only chair in the Lord's Keep in which he could find sleep. Except that, in those moments, something seemed to have stolen his sleep, keeping it in a box just out of his reach.
Perhaps it was divine punishment.
Miquella flexed his fingers slowly, feeling the burn mark on his finger as if he still had the metal burning him. The area was red, darkened with years, and would never go away.
He slowly raised his head.
The figure had yet to materialize, the arms of darkness keeping away from the bright spark that hovered in the fireplace and had extinguished its fire, leaving the Lord's Keep's room in gloom. The young Empyrean wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his robe, leaving red marks on his whitish face, and waited for the voice to appear again.
The voice, so familiar but so unfamiliar at the same time, came from the bright spark.
Miquella stood up, his trembling legs threatening not to answer him, and the spark moved toward the stairs hidden by curtains falling from the ceiling. The movement was followed first by the young Empyrean's eyes, before he began to follow it with his feet without realizing it. As slowly as possible, Miquella extended his arm.
The spark moved up the stairs again, its red light slowly disappearing.
Miquella hurried to follow the light.
The voice echoed off the castle walls, and as the sound bounced, the timbre changed so quickly that the young Empyrean could barely notice it. Each step he climbed was a step that seemed to add to the long, spiraling staircase, leading to a floor he had never been to before. The young Empyrean's hands brushed the cracked walls in an attempt to keep himself upright in the darkness, until at last he reached it.
The spark glowed brighter in the center of the room.
It was deserted. The curtains were scratched, and the old furniture threatened to collapse at any moment. Nothing could be seen from the windows exposed to the eternal night of the dream palace.
There, on the needle of a spinning wheel, rested his ring.
Miquella closed his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the voice that continued to change rapidly. However, the spark glowed brighter each time he tried to stay in the dark, and his body would not allow him to be still. Before he could realize it, the young Empyrean was in front of the spinning wheel.
And his fingers rested on the gold of his ring.
A drop of blood fell on it, staining it. The young Empyrean's breath caught in his chest.
The spark grew and grew and kept growing until it illuminated the entire room in a dim red light that blinded Miquella for a few moments.
"...Come to me, you poor thing..."
