HE CANNOT RECALL HOW HE ended up on the floor of his chamber. there is no heartbeat that accelerates the stagnant blood in his veins, but his frame trembles anyway with a horror that transcends functioning logic. a king should never falter into a kind of madness that reveals frailty, crumbled to the floor in a fetal state, but the overwhelming terror and stabbing guilt preys on him again.
he shuts his eyes tightly to drown it out, any way he can. but he can still picture her sitting there on his windowsill ; the soft, dead eyes of his dear sister and her sad, sad smile. forever imploring, forever insisting that he had made a grave mistake. she could have still loved him. and then she withers away into ashes, her lovely head haphazardly tumbling to the floor to speak no more. but the depth of her love is more haunting than any macabre illusion he’s witnessed, and the renewed sorrow that cuts him like a thousand blades is what triumphs over the rest of his emotions, ringing against the walls of his hollowed, aching chest. he is reduced to nothing. defeated in the wake of her ghost. but even his pride does not hold any value now. all he wants is for it to end.
he vaguely hears tentative footsteps, followed by familiar dulcet tones. a far off echo in comparison to his own roaring demons. he is drowning in his own mind. ❝ forgive me . . . ❞ his own voice sounds strange to his ears, strangled and hoarse, and he is certain the entity he is speaking to has long since faded away. but he repeats it like he’s under a spell he cannot shake, with a grimace that speaks of an old pain. sensing someone beside him, he draws a hand up to press against his eyes, almost child - like in his stunning vulnerability, as tears threaten to spill.
@queenvolturi
