A Fools Wish

Chapter 2 - Questions of Life

Elios Vennin always had the same dream. Every night.

Or was it a nightmare?

Either way, it happened the same way every time.

A girl with hair the color of pale green. Blood red horns swished around her head rising at the back, like a crown. Bat-like red wings flared from her back. Dull golden eyes stared at nothing.

She was dying.

He had this realization over and over again every night. He would watch as her porcelain skin would drain of color. It came as a surprise when he first had the dream, but it wasn’t the thing that scared him. No, he’s seen death more often than not.

It was the killer.

At first he could only see the girl, but then a shadow would appear. Then wings. White feathered wings.

His wings.

His face would never show, just his wings. White feathers with golden tips. They were very recognizable. He’s never seen anyone else with wings like his.

His eyes drilled holes into the ceiling. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

Night.

It was only a little past midnight. When was the last time he slept through the night? He didn’t remember. He needed to do something.

Not even a minute later he sat in front of a canvas, with paints and brushes laying beside him. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he painted. Or drew. Maybe even sculpted. Anything really, to keep his hands moving. To keep his mind moving.

His hands moved on their own. Pulled by an imaginary force he didn’t bother to reject. One stroke here another there. He repeated this over and over and over. He never got tired of it.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but the sun was already rising. A beautiful twist of color circling the sky.

“Prince, the King wishes to see you.” The King. He hadn’t talked to Elios in weeks. Now he wanted to eat breakfast with him?

“Tell him I’m busy.” The servant's eyes widened slightly.

“I’m sorry your highness I cannot do that!” The servant's voice shook slightly.

“Why can’t you?” The servants can’t lie to the King. No one could. It was treason. He wished someone would.

And it wasn’t like it was a lie. He really was busy. He was busy painting… painting… her.

The girl from his dreams.

He immediately dropped the brush that was gripped in his hand. Those dull golden eyes stared at him once again. Blood dripped down her face, a smirk playing on her lips. Her horns now nubs upon her head. Her crown gone.

Even awake the girl still managed to haunt him.

“Tell him I’ll be there soon.” He watched as the servant scurried out of his room.

He looked back to the painting and the girl stared back. Why was this happening to him? How was this happening to him? He just wanted this all to be over.

He was just so… tired.

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The chair was uncomfortable.

It was slightly slanted forward making his back ache. It was also quite tiny. His knees were hiked up to the point of strain.

Across from him sat his father, King Rowlo. His white-golden hair framed his smug face. The chair was purposeful.