Where I Belong

This is a Francis Bonnefoy RP Blog for Disneytalia. Tracking tag "Pantheondelarose."

[pantheondelarose]

Your eyes are as blue as my toilet water at home.

...What.

[pantheondelarose]

OOC

Back from undisclosed thingies.

[pantheondelarose]

Jealousy

'Francis crinkled his nose, and made a hard face. No, this really couldn't be happening. “W…Where did you even get those boots?!” Francis literally picked up Arthur upside down to take a look at them, absolutely mesmerised by how beautifully they gleamed in the sunlight. “I must have them!” Plop! He dropped the man as he said it, and so when he got up he wasn't exactly in the best of moods.

"No, you can’t have them!" Said the Brit, crossing his arms and huffing. "Besides, we probably aren’t even the same shoe size. You’ve got frog flippers!"

This made the Frenchman tear up. “B-But…but my feet aren’t that large!”

Suddenly, the boots were pulled off and shoved forcefully into the man’s face. “Fine, fine, have them! I’ve got another pair of them anyways.”

Wait, what? “You have another pair? Ew, non! I do not wish to match with you! That is absolutely grotesque to have the same style of anything as yourself!” And then Francis would stride on out in his heeled boots, looking absolutely fabulous, the end.’

Francis looked to Arthur at the end of his story and waited expectantly for a response. “Well? What do you think? Arthur…wait, don’t go! Can I have your shoes now?!”

[pantheondelarose]

Trust

"Please don’t worry. I have complete confidence in you…I really do. With my very life." Francis placed the reigns in the hands of Alice, Juliette, and Sakura whom he brought together simply for this purpose. "Now, look, we all must pay our dues to society, should we not? And if a certain man happened to have dropped his toy bear down a ditch, it’s our responsibilities to help out! Not only as model citizens, but as good people to each other! Heroes are selfless!" Of course, faking his obsession with heroes until it actually did become a force of habit  made sure that he never went a day without doing something good for someone. This time as it turned out, it simply took the help of three extra people. "Now, I know that you all perhaps…lacking in upper body strength but no matter! No matter! Please simply just…just look here!" 

The moment that the harnesses were in place,Francis pointed out the piano which clearly belonged to Roderich. “I’ve tied the fourth reign to the piano, so that at the very last, there is something sturdy to help you both carry my weight at an accelerating velocity. Simple! And now, you could say that hey, I should use something sturdier like a crane, or maybe even the edge of the cliff itself but hey! I know you both will make sure this goes off correctly! Youngsoo will be reunited with his friend in no time!” And with that, Francis would dash of the cliff and jump down,  and  on the first shot, he managed to get the bear. However, here came the difficult part.

Francis used a bungee chord.

So the force that came from the fall gave such terrible stress that it was only the first time that Francis would come hopping back up. The second time, it was a pure plunge for all of them right into a coast full of terrible, sharp…snow?

Francis climbed out of the hole his body created in his graceful cusshion, only to see Alice looking straight at him. And although then all three of the ladies turned to glare at him, he could only give them a sheepish thumbs up.

"Told you I could trust you with my life!"

[pantheondelarose]

Anguish

Francis pressed his lips together hard, hardly able to  utter a sound at the sight. This man…his friend, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to die like this! His gullet and chest were cut open for all to see and it was clear that someone had placed their hands in that warmness, rearranging such delicate pieces of him the same way one would reorganise their living space. His heart was nestled in his intestines, which not only wrapped around it, but had it’s holes plugged up by the valves. One dare not even mention the cut up sheets that were now his deflated lungs, stretched out into a bed of sorts which homed particular organs that the man seemed to be inspecting and dissecting with a broken off rib cage. Kidneys, stomach, and even his spleen lay under the rib cage, part of an unfinished experiment. His body fluids, including blood were splattered not only all over the floor, but on the man’s person. On his face, and his hands and arms which lay parallel to each other. Who…who could do such a thing?!

Francis was on his knees, clutching to the bloodied hand that had once been warm and filled him with comfort when he needed it. Seventeen years of age, and now he could say without a doubt that he was alone in the world of mortals. His only friend was now dead. Why had he left him here?! Why did he ever go on this quest?! If Zeus really wanted him back…he could have done this himself, wouldn’t he have? Why have him leave at all?! If he had stayed…maybe he could have…maybe…

"Gods…no. No…no no…please no…!" Francis sobbed and slobbered all over the hand, his friend’s blood now staining both his face and his hands. It’d take the strength of three people to pry him away from the body so that the police cover up the grotesque scene. The only reason he’d not fight it of course, was to avoid hurting anyone else. Because he hurt his friend in the worst way, by not preventing his murder.

"There was nothing you could have done about, it Francis. You simply weren’t there, and it wasn’t as though any of us knew that it was coming." His papa put his hands on his shoulders as the three men let go, and his maman too would join into the embrace. In all his hiccuping and desperate gasps for air, he’d look to his hands, and see the crimson and feel something inside of him. It’d flash in an instance, but they were…his hands. No, someone else’s hands in his place. His breath caught,  though before he could cry again, now Papa joined into the embrace, and tried to hush him with words and reassurances.

All Francis was able to do was stare with vacant, tear flowing eyes. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing could be done.

[onewhonevergrowsup-deactivated2]

Tiny Child, Big Castle {open} {M!A: Child}

[onewhonevergrowsup-deactivated2]

"Why would they move here?" He sniffled, but at the thought of having someone to help look for his parents brightened up considerably. He squirmed himself until he was down on the ground taking off up the large staircase, stumbling and falling over his shirt’s hem and sleeves. With a pout he pulled the hem up and began running again up the stairs, scrambling down the hallways,"Madre! Padre! Vino! Marcello!" He called, running up and down, trying doors to find most either lead to empty rooms or were locked. 

He put on a determined face, taking off up one more floor, repeating the yelling and checking of doors. Finally he got tired and dejected and sat down on the floor again, sniffling, “I’m never gonna find them! They left me! They left me like Mama and Papa and Nonno did! They left and didn’t say why!” He wailed.

[pantheondelarose]

"I do not know!" Francis shrugged. Of course, although he was trying his best, he didn't always have the answers. Still, he kept a fairly upbeat attitude and continued to lead the way up. Once the two were on the first floor, he brushed his own hair back with one hand and hummed in thought. "Vino? Marcello? Who are they?!" The moment that the young one begun to look frantically for his family, he was right behind, of course.

It was rather cute, seeing him so bent on finding his family, though Francis couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for being a tease. Each time a door lead nowhere, he'd give a small disappointed sound and an encouraging word or two. And this only lead to good things, of course.

"No...no no no, Feliciano..." He picked up the young one in his arms and tried to rock him whilst humming a bit from a small song he knew. Words of abandonment and discouragement were met with denials. "Of course they didn't, Feliciano! Ton maman...ton papa...none of them meant any of this and they have certainly not abandoned their little bambino, as they say in your country. Trust me! They will return! They shall come here and pick you up!"

[thehippestkingintheworld]

[text] Did you buy it?

[text] Which thing? I bought a lot of stuff the other day

[thehippestkingintheworld]

It took a little while for him to realize what happened. He could have been jailed! This worry was new to him. At home he was on top; he made the rules. Now, he had to follow them. When Francis set the pool down, Feliks stepped out, still in a sort of daze until he realized he was being spoken to.

Right, how to get it in … The door was a little too narrow and a little too short to let it in, even at an angle. Some windows on the first floor were as big as the door, but if he opened two, wouldn’t they get twice the width? “If I open a window, you think we could get it in?” Even if they did get it in, would the pool fit out the room door? Only one way to find out …

[pantheondelarose]

He? No, it would be Francis, who would be jailed for those antics back there. Things that he would try to avoid next time. Considering that he wouldn't exactly take any criminal record well, it was probably best that they made it out anyways. There was almost a moment of relief as it happened.

Francis would make a face at the other's words and instead rubbed his hands together as hard and as fast as he could manage, generating quite a bit of heat, until he couldn't handle it anymore. With this, the man folded the corners (tips) in seamlessly and rolled in the crown. Rubbing hands again, he'd unfold them, the heat allowing for the pool to be fixed up without any creases or odd angles. "Got it!" Francis put his hands on his hips and smirked. It was all in the day of a hero to solve things easily.

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

♣

[text] Do you have any of that powder stuff? I need some. You know, it’s white? And it makes you feel all good?

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

Youngsoo smiled widely as Francis talked about flowers. He must like them a lot. Youngsoo thought flowers were manifestations of emotions and concepts—and he liked that. Though, as Francis rambled, he thought of his own favorite flower—the hibiscus syriacus. It was the flower of his country, but he thought it did not do justice to the people. The flower seemed delicate and frail—unlike the people, but nevertheless, he found it beautiful. 

The Korean also chuckled to himself as Francis talked about cooking; and Youngsoo stole the time to drink his milk as the Frenchman talked, but as he swallowed, Youngsoo had to actually think of an answer to Francis’s own question. 

"I like secrets," Youngsoo said after a considerable amount of silence. He stood up and shed his blanket, cup of milk left forgotten on the table as he went to stand in front of Francis again. "Secrets are daring and fun, and I’m very good at keeping them—honest! And so to prove that—" Youngsoo used a finger to tilt Francis’s jaw upward and pressed a chaste kiss upon his lips.

"There! That’s my promise to keep your secrets safe," he exclaimed before grinning widely and giggling softly.

[pantheondelarose]

Francis loved flowers, surprisingly enough, and as little as he talked about them, if anyone had asked anything about his interests, perhaps he would speak of it more often. Unfortunately, what one is and has done are surprisingly more popular topics than what one likes to do or enjoys in general. If given the chance, he'd speak all day long about flowers, especially the rose, and give in detail not only the colours and understandings, but his own personal analysis of their existence and meaning.

Cooking too, was something he adored, and though it wasn't organic, his interest for it was. It came from helping his maman as a child to make dinner after the work was done, and he'd learnt much from her. His knowledge only grew as he went on the road, and from each country he visited, a treasure trove of  recipes were saved in his mind.

Francis clasped his hands when the other gave him his explanation, simply accepting it for what it was. However, what came next...the action...that was not something he'd have expected. At the same time, listening to him say that it was the symbol for his vow of silence...well, he supposed that he could hold him to it. Furrowing his eyebrows, he really wondered what the kiss was for, but unknowing of his culture, he'd just not say anything about it. "Your silence...that inaction shall be the way I know that you are fulfilling the promise kept between us."

[inboxideas]

Send me an emotion and I'll reveal a memory my character has that evokes that feeling in them.

submitted by thedevilsbartender.

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

♣

[text] Do you have any of that powder stuff? I need some. You know, it’s white? And it makes you feel all good?

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

Youngsoo felt very calm for once. He didn’t have a need to prattle on and on about the differences of tea, or talk about how it’d taken him three hours to get ready that morning, or even that he loved the taste of soju and whipped cream together. No. Youngsoo only felt the need to sit down and be quiet. No jittery, frayed nerves egged him on to jump around; no loose, uncomfortable tongue forced words out of his mouth. Out of his own will, Youngsoo stood perfectly still for what felt like forever.

Eventually, Youngsoo turned away solemnly, hands falling away from Francis’s. “I’ve not been here long,” he finally said as he picked up his teddy bear, snugging it in the crook of his elbow as he turned to the cabinets in search of some other drink. “And since that is so, I do not know many secrets this place keeps.” The Korean flashed a toothy, mischievous grin at Francis. “Would you tell me some secrets?” he asked.

Youngsoo liked secrets. He was great at keeping them! He just didn’t like to keep them for long; he chose to spill. There was always a choice. Gossip was addictive, and Youngsoo liked to fuel the fires and roll in the embers. One could say it was an evil pleasure of his. But secrets that hurt people. Those were secrets he did not keep—definitely not. He forgot all those kinds of secrets. He didn’t like to hurt people, and secrets meant to hurt were not secrets he kept.

Pacing over to the fridge, Youngsoo found a carton of milk. Grabbing the jug out, he splashed a cup for himself and sat back down next to Francis. He produced a packet of cocoa powder from his pocket and poured it into the cup, stirring the contents as he eyed Francis kindly. “So? Secrets! Got any?” he asked excitedly.

[pantheondelarose]

The stillness made for a rather strange atmosphere between them...at least at first. Nerves managed to soothe themselves out not long after and with a cautious yet bolstered  confidence, he would take his coffee again, cold and all and begin to drink it. After all, it would have been rude of him to not follow up on drinking in after having rejected the offer of tea.

The question asked had the Frenchman a little on edge. A secret? Something personal, yet at the same time something that in the grand matter of things did not matter. He was sure he had one or two of those. "I suppose I like euh, making flower arrangements. My favourite one is of course, the rose! A passionate choice which blazes trails throughout history as the flower of romance! Love would not be the same without roses, after all, no matter what those people that like tulips say." This was the first time he actually spoke of his interests to anyone rather than simply things he did or was. It was an interesting experiment.

"I also love cooking, though that isn't much of a secret than it is simply something I haven't done often enough. Unfortunately whomever is the chef at this castle always beats me to every meal, yet I have seen none of them."

No, he needed to give the other secrets! Something a little more personal...though-- wait, why was he giving the other so much of his personal life?  For all he knew, he could be working for the mirror! "Might I ask why you ask for my secrets? It seems a personal topic, and there are surely embarrassing things I have that may prove scandelous. I just wish to make sure I can trust you with the words that come forth from my mouth." Francis believed that with the moment they shared, that Youngsoo would tell the truth about his intentions. There was a level of trust he expected from people he considered to be his friends-- even higher for his confidants.

[tiravel]

Source

[fyeahfrancisbonnefoy-blog]

[pantheondelarose]

What if short hair?

[stuckindisney]

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

♣

[text] Do you have any of that powder stuff? I need some. You know, it’s white? And it makes you feel all good?

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

With a tilt of his head, Youngsoo considered the man before him. A murder! And of his own family nonetheless! Pfah! Ridiculous! He paused and then thought, not so ridiculous though. There had been Hansoo, young and wild—and innocent, he thought. And here was a man, cheerful and kind, so… not so ridiculous. 

Youngsoo set his teddy bear down on the table, not really checking to make sure it was sitting up straight. His eyes never wavered from Francis’s own blue ones until he reached for the large, soft palms of the Frenchmen. They were smooth and slightly calloused, large and very warm—like the heart he knew settled in the man’s chest. Youngsoo tried to image those soft, seemingly gentle hands stained scarlet with madness and bloodlust—and he couldn’t. He could see the wine of life slipping between the fingers, sliding down the thick wrists, but those were not the hands of Francis—no. Those were someone else’s hands. 

The hands that Youngsoo envisioned were merciless and cold. The fingers were strong enough to rip out the heart, the soul; and the palm would cradle that life carelessly, dangle it by the thread of hope and then drop it into the ocean without another thought. Francis’s hands though—the fingers were gentle and sure, always a bit too cautious, he thought. And his palms cradled life meticulously and lovingly, as if he were holding a figurine. That was the Francis Youngsoo had come to know in such a short amount of time.

Finally looking up from Francis’s hands, Youngsoo’s eyes gazed deep into Francis’s, and he said, “This man’s sins is not yours. You died once to wash this blood off you. That is enough.”

[pantheondelarose]

To Francis, those two hands were the same ones as his own. Everyone who knew him as Hercules, as Heracles the man, knew him as Heracles the murderer too. As a victim of something forced upon him, but the man that cast out life beyond the realm of the living and into the deary afterlife. Those deep blues had watched his children and beloved die at the dtip of his blade, and so anguish would following for as long as the bloodguilt remained at his hands. The chains were his alone to pull, and although atonement was his, justice would never be done. At least, that was how he saw it.

“A debt is never repaid when the guilty die. It is inherited until proper payment is tolled. Whether I want to or not, I am that man which needs to pay the blood price. Would a grieving family simply forgive a murderer because they are dead? I have yet to see that in the while I’ve traveled.” Grief and agony ran deep, and from these veins coursed the blood of bemoaners which boiled at the very thought of actions that they were incapable of stopping. Then again, the only pallbearer was him. Why couldn’t he forgive himself, yet think that this was not him who did it? Why did he take responsibility for those actions yet never blame himself for the sword in the hand and the blood on his palms? Francis was both within and without. Hercules himself, and yet, his own unique person. Where he belonged was neither in the realm of mortal souls nor amongst the high societies of Mount Olympus.

There was a reason that he was known to Monaco as the Lone Wanderer.

Francis spoke slowly, yet firmly towards Youngsoo, eyeing him with just as much deliberate action as he gave him. “You call him ‘that man’ yet speak of me washing off the blood of my sins. The weight of those words alone should tell you why you are wrong in thinking we are separate entities.” The corners of his mouth stretched out, and he swallowed what begun to build up in his mouth—dryness. “Youngsoo, thank you so much for listening, but I do not think you could understand it like I do, and I know almost nothing at all about that man. I suppose the only reason I’ve not been driven mad by this is the solace I get in thinking that by the time I was born, they would have been dead for thousands of years.” Living a better life than the last was surely the goal of his rebirth. Francis would never be able to fully identify with it until it happened again, and that was not something he planned to happen.

“Now please, such deep lying thoughts should be laid to rest. Perhaps you and I should speak a little lighter.”

[pantheondelarose]

Louder! // M!A onlyaprincessinpages

[pantheondelarose]

Read More

[onlyaprincessinpages-deactivate]

It wasn’t her livelihood, per se, but she loved the books and the ones in this library were beautiful. Many of them were first editions and signed by their author and she had never thought that she would read a book that had been written in and held by Samuel Clemens. She never thought that she would hold an authentic scroll from the library of Alexandria. It wasn’t that he burned books that she owned, and it wasn’t that she couldn’t get more books, it was that you couldn’t get more history. You couldn’t get more of these ancient scrolls, you couldn’t get more first edition signed copies.

Hearing his fury manifested in the way of putting out the fire, Juliette was terrified of the man. She couldn’t even see him, but her heart was breaking and tearing into shreds because he was just so… violent and scared — or maybe not scared but upset. He was breaking, just as much as she was. Granted, he’d brought it upon himself, and if she really did have any respect for herself, she would have just left him earlier.

Books had been Juliette’s only friends for the longest time ever until she came to this castle. There were great worlds awaiting her within fragile pages and smudged-inked words. Between each line and character, Juliette’s own pathway of adventure unfurled before her—and the journey was always different, always exciting, and in the end, always heartbreaking—which she guessed wasn’t much different from life in it’s entirety. Always never what you want it to be, but books never truly ended like life did. Juliette could always continue the adventure in her mind when she was in bed, or when she was by the fountain, her feet just barely dipping into the crystal water. But with these scripts gone and demolished, what stories could continue? Yes she could think of them again and again, but memory was a devlish thing that liked to forget about itself, liked to fall apart. Memory was not trustworthy of the impressive worlds trapped within leather bound skins and neatly tied ribbons.

Juliette could not forgive this act easily.

Chipped floor tiles intrigued the girl’s mind as she followed the haphazard crack down the corridor. Pillars that held up the roof above her had fist-sized pieces missing, but it had no threat of collapsing. As she paced down the hall she found a strange, human-shaped hole in the floor. “What is this?” she muttered to herself as she stooped down to run her fingers on the jagged edges of the chasm.

A piece of cloth had stuck to the sharp edges of the floor, and Juliette plucked it out, turning the fabric in her fingers a few times before noting the color of it. “Francis!” she exclaimed, casting aside the article and running down the stairs. It was him. It had to be him. That cloth. The color. There was no one else. What had happened? 

[pantheondelarose]

How broken did one man have to be before something like this was forgotten all together? Not enough it seemed, because though he shattered his heart with something that never should have happened. Still, in his mind, he was elsewhere at the moment, in that place where he had been before, with his half brother. So much has happened and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Absolutely nothing. So a witch was the one that caused this, so he had his vindication but where was the justice? The results would still be the same, as there was still the matter of the way he reacted. He was in control of how he explained himself to her, yes? Even if he did do something so terrible to her because it was the softer version of the end result, he could have just said it. It wasn’t him…that he didn’t know what he was doing. No, he put the blame on himself for no reason. And this wasn’t something that the Gods could simply fix for him!

Of course, there was always a deal to be struck somewhere, wasn't there? He’d give up something to someone and…and they could bring it back? All of it? In that land, that realm of ascension within his own mind, he screamed that he'd make things right, and that he do anything for anyone if they just gave him a sign of what to do. His beseech though, didn’t last much longer, as he would wake up in a world he literally killed himself to get away from.

Opening his eyes, he realised he was on the floor and in so much pain. Godhood didn’t fix those pesky nerves, did they? Sure, they were hardened, but he fell right through the entirety of the castle! There was no doubt that he wouldn’t be aching in every bone that his body had! His eyes only opened up when the infernal ringing would stop, and his head didn’t throb too terribly. Putting his hands out before him, he would see that his clothes were entirely torn up and that he was still glowing. Probably the only reason he was even alive after something so terrible, though why if he was still alive did he feel like he was in Tartarus? Physical pain didn’t even come close to the ache his chest still went through, and it only got worse as he heard footsteps rushing down towards him.

Getting out of the small crater his fall caused, he crawled slowly to the corner of the room, and hid behind the heater, though his glow would divulge his location. Of course, hearing a familiar voice only made him freeze up, unallowing him to escape elsewhere. Instead, he tried to clean his appearance, only to bloody up his hands from what was clearly coming out of his head. Indeed, a God but still…like this. How vulnerable was an immortal that they could still bleed?! He ended up finding something in his pocket, and would pull it out only for his eyes to widen.

A medallion, just like the one that he had before (which was given to Juliette) and a small slip of parchment. Though his vision was still spinning three different ways, he would read: “Do the right thing. – Trismegitus Co. 03069 990379”. Pursing his lips at this, he would slowly stand up, and stumbled back to his crater, looking down at it, as he swayed seeming as though he would simply fall into it again. Maybe it was the bloodloss, or maybe the fact that he was dealt the most terrible card of irony in the world, but he simply looked to her, now more dazed than neutral, but more guilt ridden than dazed. He was just barely conscious enough to know that there was something to be done.

“Juliette…” He used his mostly destroyed sleeve to clean up whatever dirt or blood was on his face, and looked at her. His voice was grave. “Juliette, we need to speak.”

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

♣

[text] Do you have any of that powder stuff? I need some. You know, it’s white? And it makes you feel all good?

[teatimewithcoffee-deactivated20]

Youngsoo’s bustling around the kitchen slowed as Francis began to talk. His voice sounded different. When the Korean first met him, he was upbeat, cheerful, and very bright. It almost made Youngsoo’s “not fear” of the dark go away. But now it was heavier, deeper, softer. It was like his voice was hiding away in the dark, scared of itself, or something else. 

His fingers brushed the counter lightly as he walked along the counter’s edge. His cocoa eyes fixated on Francis. He looked… worn; tired. And Youngsoo couldn’t help but feel the same weight on his shoulders. Gripping his teddy bear, he paced over to the Frenchmen and threaded his fingers through his fine hair. 

"I’ll listen," he said quietly. "If you need me to that is. I can listen well—very well. Just tell me." He paused for a moment, not sure if Francis was going to answer, and then he continued: "You listened to me. I’ll listen. You know me now." His throat threatened to squeak at that almost-lie, but he said, "I trust you, Francis. Tell me."

[pantheondelarose]

Delving in things like this always made him nervous, and it was almost scary to revisit this at a personal level. Yes, he'd always heard that it was him and that he was responsible for this mess, though he didn't really feel it to the extent he did now. And maybe recent events werent exactly helping either. Tackling something so...dark like this made him afraid of himself, and what he could do to good people. Francis was not innately good, but he could tell Youngsoo was.

The story already begun thought, and so he couldn’t just stop now! Being urged that he was in good company made him take this a little easier. Would the other believe him? He was vindicated in history long ago that it was not his fault, but he was responsible for the blood on his hands what came of it.   He might as well come to terms to it in a proper manner rather than simply reading his previous life like a text book.

“I…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. Where should he start? How much would someone like Youngsoo believe of him? “Let’s put it this way, Hercules, the man of Roman and Greek history, married once. He was however, also a half god, yes? However, Zeus was a married man, as you might know. He cheated on his wife, another Goddess named Hera. Now of course she couldn’t touch the God of Gods, so she would instead mess around with the son. She induced a madness upon him and well…he…” No, he was separating himself from the story. Wincing at his own actions, he would speak more deliberately now, his voice growing weaker. “I killed my wife. And I killed our sons. And it was only when I finished and saw the blood over me, and the sword in my hand that I realised what I did. I…I didn’t know what to do! Of course, unknowing of who did this, Hera sent me an answer in the form of tasks which were specifically designed for me to either die or fail without redemption. In the end, I managed to do it despite adversity and finally burnt myself in a pyre to ascend to Mount Olympus, where I was born again as the God and Protector of Mankind.” Having said it, he couldn’t help but chuckle, though he didn’t get much louder. “Now you ask, how can I be alive if I killed myself ? It sounds like I am a madman but…hah. I was literally born again, from Hera’s womb. Hades, God of the Underworld kidnapped me for unknown reasons and turned me into a mortal…a demi-god. I don’t know how or why but ah, I suppose that I spent my later years trying to get back home to no avail. I’ve been starting to question whether I should even try…I’m finding myself more comfortable living here and I don’t remember any of my past beyond my own lifetime. Whether I am destined to repeat again or not remains to be seen, but I am comfortable living here. People seem to have interesting lives in the castle…secrets and strange lives just like my own. It’s not as pompous as living up there, nor degrading like living amongst the normal folk.” He’d shrug at this. Somehow, he didn’t feel the full impact he thought he would feel by owning up to it. Perhaps he wasn’t personal enough? In his mind, it was simply a fact of his life, like his favourite colour or food. Yes, he thought it was an atrocity, but not his atrocity.

[hetalianforever]

できたてを今すぐ

Pixiv ID: 17504629 Member: wato