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?
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The lavish of darkness is a beauty only a few minds dare find. But his mind was too young to comprehend such unparalleled astonishment. The distant sounds of emptiness quenched his wayward soul as he sat on the cold hard floors with only rags for clothes to shield him from the treachery of mother nature's shiver.
The beautiful sound of emptiness relaxed his body but his mind was ravaged by it. His eyes remained shut, not by choice but from exhaustion and pain that forced his eyelids to swell, denying him view of the dark world laid before him.
Though it did him a service, how it came to be was a process an eight year old boy could not endure. However, he did.
Around him nothing lay. Though he moved his weak bones around softly and painfully when his body awoke with life very faintly to feel the walls and the grounds around him, he opened his eyes but his blood still shielded his gaze.
The version of him a few moonlights ago would have lost all his senses in fear and screamed with its echo, but not the new him. He had not the luxury to scream anymore. That was taken away from him and so were some other things appraised by the human desire of kingship and lords of earthly domains.
In the efforts to play with the assumption were his bones were filled with life, his voice had long deserted him. A tremendous tragedy drove his voice to run from him. Even he, knew not when it left him and where it went.
He would attempt to open his eyes regardless of the pain that was too great and it almost forced him to shut his eyes completely forever. His eyelids were swollen much more that it rivaled the size of an Aragog's bud.
His wounds, ripe from a mad man's fist and pummel still remained vibrant in yesterday's pain that prolonged to the present.
While forcing himself to sit against the wall as his bare back brushed against it, he managed to pull the rag over his face of his mouth, and took in a deep breath of the foul stench of piss and feces in the confinement which he found himself. Though the smell of human excrement which were his own, there was a defining odor that stood out in the mix. With barely any sight for the last three full moons, his other senses were kin to his environment. The smell of bodies rallied around the cell, resting in death's harmony, cajoling the dungeon walls and gates that kept the child inside.
The air was warm and cold, soft and heavy with an unsettling taste of decay that rested at the back of his tongue. The buzzing of flies drifting and soaring through the stench of the unseen and the unwanted, the vile and the ugliness of mother nature at her peak. The reek of her perfume that engulfed the cell while his chest expanded to the respiration he took, caressed his senses in the madness of obscurity as he ventured to cover his nose as though it was his first moment in the pit of humanity's darkness.
He sat still; unwavering in his movements, not that he could - he drew in a deep breath of the filth created by death and waste a second time, and in that brief moment in which he exhaled, he found peace.
