Of Shattered hands and hidden hearts

Ch4: Death, Worth And Pain

Disclaimer: This Novel contains heavy topic of manipulation, gaslighting, flashbacks, depression, suicide, suicidal thoughts, violence and so on. Please read at your own discretion.
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Aristle stared as the blood dripped down from his mouth. It was glinting in the moonlight coming through the crack of the curtains. A river of red, draining his life, drop by drop.

It had taken Aristle a while to decide how to die. The thought of falling is nice. He can almost imagine the road of the wind in his ears and the sensation of flying. Unfortunately, the roof was restricted to him. Hanging didn't seem like a good option at all. Besides, what if someone heard him? He could have slit his wrists but what if he survived? How would he hide wounds like that?

So poison it was. He could have just slit his throat, but for some reason he still wanted to cling to this dream. How pathetic.

In hindsight, swallowing the ink wasn't a good idea. Aristle wasn't quite enjoying the spiked log in his stomach and he was dying more slowly than he would have preferred.

He wondered what would happen if someone found him right now. What would be his father's reaction? He was sure that Pytha and Ari would be happy but he wasn't sure about his father. Would he be disappointed? Indifferent? Sad? Perhaps he would be angry at Aristle for sullying the dukedom's reputation.

He couldn't feel his legs now. He should have done this closer to the window; it would've been nice to see the moon for the last time.

Beautiful, blemished moon. Glowing yet fractured. If he had tried, could he have glowed like that moon? Could he have become beautiful despite the craters in him?

Does it matter? No, he decided. It doesn't matter now anyway.

It's truly fascinating, how in the face of death, everything seems trivial. So what if he doesn't have the courage to face his brother, so what if he was broken, so what if he would never glow like the moon? So what if he was a bother to everyone? He would die, and all his problems would turn to dust.

But there was still that voice that said, 'what if this really was a dream?' Then what? And Aristle had no answers to that question. Would he return to his cell? To his execution? Or would he go to hell? He wondered how hell–

There was someone coming through his window; covered in black from head to toe, the only light coming from the shine of a pair of eyes.

There was an assassin in his room.

Huh

The assassin looked at him.
He looked at the assassin. 

He reacted subconsciously, trying to stand up before realising what a foolish task it was and simply slumping down on the floor again.

There was a silent moment before it broke and suddenly the assassin was rushing at his side.

"What the fuck? Is that blood?!"

"Huh" Aristle smartly remarked again. The assassin had a really pretty pair of eyes. Green like newborn leaves. He wondered why he didn't cover up such a distinct pair of eyes.

The assassin patted his cheek, "hey kid, wake up. Tell me who the fuck attacked you?"

"You shouldn't swear." The words were more a reflex than any thought.
"Yah, sure. Now what happened?"
Aristle could feel the annoyance radiating of the…man, judging from his voice
"I swallowed the ink" Why did he even care?
"Wha- why?" The man, for his credit, didn't assume he drank ink on accident or question why he didn't call for anyone.

Aristle blinked, "what else should i do?"
The assassin grabbed his shoulders. He looked strangely angry.
"What the-"
Aristle shushed the rude man,"Shh, let me complete. What else should i do to end a dream when a pinch doesn't work? I should try something stronger right?"