Fate

24: Not Strong Enough To Live

It only occurs to me now that is was impossible for them to give me hope, or love, or freedom. The one thing they can give me is imprisonment. That's the only thing they want of me. I always was naive. 

Even as I open my eyes, the frequent thoughts of 'escape' spiral through my head. Always looking for exits, always memorizing the room. A window behind me, a wardrobe to my left. First exit: window. Second exit: door. Though I'm not sure as to where the door leads. 

Memories come in bursts. I know three things. One: I'm here against my will. Two: I'm being kept here by people who talked of caging me. And three: I was injured. Was. So those keeping me here fixed me. That's another thing I don't know; why?

The air is fresh, it comes in waves like that of water. A swift breeze that brings a swift flood of small bumps on my pale skin. I shudder, tears from the unknown brimming at my lower lid. For the better or the worst, I don't know where I am.

In itself, the room is simple. Simple but beautiful. The walls are a dazzling white, stunning paintings of plants and wildlife decorate the walls. One depicts a doe, though the doe isn't just animal. It's dying. That is obvious. Blood seeps out of an open wound in its neck, but the neck isn't furry. It's skin. Human skin. The doe isn't a doe. It's a faun.

I lay in the center of a floral four poster, with winding vines and flowers around each spoke. A laced canopy flows from the top, not concealing me as much as I would desire, but adding to the beautiful finery. The heavenly sheets are begging me to stay, and I want to. Until the intrusive thoughts of imprisonment fight their way into my brain. And suddenly I find myself battling against the sheets to get out.

My hand is on the door handle. My hand is turning the door handle. Yes, I don't know where the heck I am, but I do know I don't want to be here. It's all too...pretty. It's so bright and beautiful but fake. The vines, the flowers, even the fresh air. It's not here because that's how the room was. It's here because of them. It's here because they wanted it here. 

The ground is tiled and a mystical blue and snowy white mosaic. The pattern turns and winds and I stumble along with it. It takes me back to the fatigue I so distantly felt. The sprint, the running that seemed to never end. I couldn't tell which was left or right, I was lost on a journey to an unknown destination. Just like now. Just as I twist and turn along corridors, I have not a clue in the world as to where I'm going.

Not even the crystal chandeliers could stop me to look, but something else do catch my eye. An array of paintings. Only six. In the first one, the deep brown eyes of a handsome man stare into my own. His hair is salt and pepper, dark grey and brown . His eyes are deep oak, gentle but serious. Beneath his frame reads a swirly font with the words: Former Alpha King, Leviticus Greye. So this was the king. This was the king that fought. 

To the right of the werewolf king is another attractive being. The man's hair is silver, but not so that it seems unnatural. His cheekbones are sharp and strong, he looks intimidating. Below his stern features reads another name: Former Vampire King, Vincent Rouge. Another soldier who fought. Though maybe he was more of a commander.

The third King is...scary. With hair like that of the night sky, with streaks of grey with age, and a jawline sharper than a knife he's stunning, but even through a portrait he radiates dominance. Wrinkles in his forehead show years of frowning, but his structure is young. All in all, I don't know how old...Shadow-Lord King, Ryker Vierno is. 

Fire-Lord King, Connel Fyre seems less stern. His eyes are crinkled at the edges, indicating past smiles. A jokester, maybe. His face is riddled with fiery red stubble, and his hair falls in sleek orange curls. A smirk plays at his lips, but it isn't a full blown smile. I presume the artist wanted formal, rather than silly. It doesn't seem like he cared either way.