@maligkniqht | Continued from here.
Bitter and burning was the sensation of the salty liquid that streaked down his smooth features, staining his skin, as his fingers combed through his messy hair in an attempt to soothe his raging mind. His loose tunic swayed against his trembling, throbbing sides, as he tried to hold his breath, but the act of doing so was almost more painful than the feeling of his pride slipping through his horribly stiff hands with each second that he allowed himself to be so pitifully vulnerable.
Never once had be considered himself as emotional as his siblings. He was a prodigy. It was his role to maintain a certain level of stability, pride, and strength. It’s what everyone would expect from the talented, and gifted third child of the Nohrian royal family, and he held himself true to the burdens placed upon his shoulders more often than not for failure had never been an option for the young man.
And sometimes there were moments when the expectations placed upon him were far too grand, though he would try to carry them regardless. He hadn’t cried in years; it was something he so freely allowed himself to do. But he had tried. He had tried so hard not to show weakness after their passing. He had drowned himself in work; he had walked away from the pain welling up within his chest at every opportunity that presented itself to him. He was the king now, and his actions reflected all of Nohr; represented the very heart of everything his brother and sister had ever desired.
But no matter how hardhearted he may have pretended to be for the sake of his wounded country, he simply wasn’t capable of being as strong as he wished he was. The halls of this dreadful castle were empty, and the faces that greeted him each morning were solemn. As if someone had extinguished the very flame that provided Nohr its former light, and he was all too painfully aware that he could never breathe life back into that fire again.
He couldn’t take it anymore. His chest was too tight. His words too blunt. His expression too grave. He couldn’t stop replacing the dim chambers of the castle with faces of people he could never see again. He couldn’t ignore everything he had lost; everything that had been stripped from his beloved country. He would be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel the agony of this land, as it struggled to stay above the flood of loss and destruction that consumed it.
And all he could do now was sob for the sake of those who had become nothing but memories; for the country he wasn’t sure if he could save; and for the pathetic individual he had become. No matter how he tried to stop; he couldn’t.
His lips quivered, teeth sinking into their soft flesh, as he felt his sister’s arms wrap around him, and hold him close as she had when he had been a child. Though the act was comforting, and reassuring, it was heartbreaking, and he drew his hands to his face to cover his eyes from her gaze, and the gaze of anyone who happened to pass by. “Forgive me, sister,” He breathed. Overwhelmingly selfish was the feeling of seeking comfort from someone who had lost just as much as he had. He was king now, he should not have to burden his only remaining sibling with his grief.