First, you need a mirror. 🪞| Meet Oliver
tw: anxiety attack
Nothing else, nothing else, only one place feels safe.
His fingers trembled violently, barely hanging onto the soft fabric that covered his arms and chest. Dull, black eyes darted across the room submerged in pitch black, until he could no longer tell whether he was breathing too fast or if he had stopped breathing altogether.
It was dark, and silent. He had to keep it that way, he had to stay still and hold his breath forever, unless he meant for the creature to find him, the creature that roamed outside his room.
Another second passed, the next could be his last. Oliver refused to move, refused to blink, and stayed where he was, frozen. Only his eyes revealed the last remnants of his person be seen, full of terror and confusion. A faint silhouette of what he used to be.
He waited. Waited, as he always did, with his head under his arms and his legs to his chest. The clock on the wall had long stopped ticking, collapsed under the pressure of a big book that had otherwise remained untouched.
'Royal history and spirits' read the title on the cover, sprawled open in the middle of the carpet. Its pages were scattered across the carpet. He looked. Helookedhelookedhelooked-
Oliver wrapped his arms around his legs. He was definitely hyperventilating. Helooked- He. Looked. He- looked.
That was better.
A pair of shoes had begun to collect dust underneath the fallen sheets of his bed. Something about the sight of his bed, torn and bloodied as it was, unsettled Oliver, and he flinched uncontrollably. Maybe he should get some sleep after all. There were bags under his eyes he couldn't see, but feel. Yes, sleep was good.
No. The creature would enter as soon as he let his guard down. He had to hang onto that thought, and resist sleep a bit longer, until he could sense it being gone, until everyone was safe again.
He just had to hold on, hehadtoholdon, hehadto-
There was a knock on the door. Oliver's whimper resonated in the emptiness of his room. His white knuckles grasped his shirt until a sharp ripping sound could be heard. Then, he waited.
"Oliver?" It was his mother's voice. He couldn't see her, he couldn't see anything; the room was drowning in darkness, and his eyes were closed shut. First he needed a mirror, he needed a mirror, he-
Go away, he wanted to tell her. It will find you.
The Queen said his name once more, this time with a sigh accompanying her words. It was different than it had been the previous times she'd attempted a visit; where she'd usually try and keep a tactful, patient tone, the tiredness in her voice was foreign and cruel to him, like a fountain that had suddenly lost its water, or a star that had dwindled in brightness over time.
Oliver knew at that moment, that was what hopelessness felt like. "My son," the Queen called, a third and last warning.
Nobody answered. The door, dark and imposing, served as a wall and isolated him from the outside. She'd never be able to reach him. Not without help.
"We must not allow this- this fear of yours to progress any further, and hinder your education." Though laced with concern, her words lacked their usual comfort.
"That is why we've called upon someone who can help you, that can help cure you of this dreadful condition. They shall arrive at the castle in thirty days, and assist you in your studies." No. No. NO.
A rabbit inside his ribcage; that's what it felt like to him. It was hope, if only brisk and faint, disguised under the overwhelming desire to run away from them. From it.
He'd never meant to bring more people close to their deaths. This newcomer, this professor, would soon be dead as well, no matter how great they were, or how many magic spells they could cast. And then the creature would get angry.
He couldn't intervene. From the inner side of the door, only uneven breaths could be heard at first, that soon evolved into broken sobs.
"...Oliver, dear?" His mother called hesitantly, but she was too far away, and he couldn't hear her, he couldn't hear anything, there was nothing there with him other than it and its threats and its never ending anger.
Don't come here, he whispered to the darkness.
Whether it was meant for the monster outside his room, the Queen that had silently retreated to her chambers, or the person who'd inevitably change his future, Oliver didn't know.
Don't come here, he repeated, clasping his hands together and holding them close to his chest, in an unspoken, desperate plea for salvation. In a voice he himself couldn't hear, he uttered the words.
I'll be waiting.
Thank you so much for 200 followers! 🪞✨
200 people are interested in Birdtown, which is honestly more than what I could have ever asked for! As a thanks to you all, I wrote a little something for you. It was meant as a 100 followers celebration originally, but apparently I took to long to write it, so 200 follower celebration it is. 😅
Meet Oliver! He's the crown prince, and is currently dealing with a... uh, presence, that keeps him trapped inside his room. He's a sad, strange little man, that much I know, but there is a lot more to him than just fear. It will be MC's task (or choice) to help him solve his issues so that he can later on help with yours.
Because MC will have issues in the future. Lots of problems to deal with. A confident Oliver could work as a powerful ally... Or a great RO. Whichever you choose.
You can help him or make him worse (you can also ignore him if you are just here for Diana or Cathy lmao). The way he develops as a character may also change the ending, for better or for worse.
Thank you once again for your interest and support of Birdtown! I'll write a Meet post for Diana and Catherine at some point, so don't worry. In the meantime, keep sending asks! I love answering them.
