A forgotten prince seeks to get his throne back, but he has no idea who his enemy is. An enemy unknown is an enemy to fear. Who can he trust? Can he even trust himself?
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
In two dark rooms, a man and a woman sat. Trouble plagued them both, but it worried one more heavily than the other. Only a few sources of light that sat right in front of them and the blemish of an imperfect beauty that ravaged both their minds to a hypnotic state. Each of their focus belonged to the other, trapped in the frivolous lights their laptops emitted.
"So whats up..." Tyla the woman said with sleep still trapped within her eyes.
She asked with a procedural intention as she does with all her clients. Even with her eyes that suggested the hour of time, she still held a poise and charisma that still enchanted him all these years.
Her usual hours were from 8am to 7pm, so why she was awake at 3 in the morning were beyond her capabilities of reasoning.
"Well, I couldn't sleep."
"You tried taking sleeping pills, like a lot of 'em?" She said sarcastically, and tried to rub off the sleep from her eyes.
"Ha ha...Very funny."
She pulled in a deep breath, adjusted herself to attend to the client. 'Haa' she exhaled. Now she was ready. "Please disregard my first comment."
"Don't worry, patient, client confidentiality...and all that crap? Gotch-ya." He replied.
She let out a little condescending smile, one he missed or simply wasn't paying attention to notice. "Exactly, so why are you finding it difficult to sleep? The nightmares?"
"Like I said before, not nightmares.... I've seen them."
"Hunh... PTSD then?" She whispered underneath her voice with echoes that evaded him. Then she continued,
"OK...would you like to tell me about the things you have seen? I know we've had this conversation before, but I feel like; the more you open up to me about, ummm, your reasons for not sleeping, the better I can help."
The man sat back into the darkness of his room, and he too drew in a long deep breath that echoed through the speakers of her laptop. His back rested on his hard wooden chair with a cold facade of peace.
"In the darkness I sit and I sometimes forget how intimate the sun longs to be with us. The moon as-well, how it wishes to caress our flesh on its surface. Like a cat purring and gracing its fur around us."
"You should turn on the lights," the woman said.
"I've always wondered if the moon has any emotions. The sun...yes, but the white glow with a sad often pretentious smile which has never been its own. Does it feel?...Has it ever?...Would it ever? I always relished the stories told. " He said and halted in his speech as though he pondered on the answers to his own questions.
