♤ •°🥀. ɴᴏᴛ ᴏʟᴅ ғᴏʟᴋ °•♤[BATIM]

🥀.Barried Underground In Peace [1]

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Athazagoraphobia: the fear of being forgotten or ignored, or being replaced.

🥀.

Click Click Click! Fiddling with the rusty, rotten orange key in hand a raven haired teen can't help, but smile. A lonely lightbulb mimics a spotlight glowing pumkin orange somber over him. He curled up criss cross on the wooden floor creaking with every movement he makes. The entire area around him is covered in an inky black abyss a some sort of swamp. Only the area he sits is dry. His amber burning eyes inspect every detail of the decaying key in his hand. In his lap lays a wooden box with a dangling rose gold lock keeping it mysteriously shut. The boy turns the box so that the lock is facing up. His head ticks to the side playfully, his pleased simper fades as he inserts the key inside, but before the key touches the lock it shatters. It splits in to two pieces. The end of the key littering dust, crashes on the wooden floor triggering a disappointed click when it lands. It slightly bounces up before settling. Everything is still, quiet, and only the light swishing of the ink swamp around the boy moves.

The boy stares showing no emotion about the broken key half. He pauses, shortly letting out a sigh of frustration escape. He leans back pressing his palms on the wooden floor arching his neck. He groans combing his messy hair back with his fingers. The boy sits forward glaring at the half of the key in his hand then to the box. He smacks his lips together squinting his glossy eyes at the other key half on the floor. Damn, the word comes once again like it did a million times whenever he screwed up.

The boy exams the piece in his hand. He taps his chin investigating how to solve this mess. He can't just simply glue it. There was no glue around only in the main floor. But if he were to go there his comrades would question him why he came up all this way just for some glue. They would immediately figure out he broke something, he was always the cause for broken furniture. He would no doubt get a scolding by what some might say at first glance 'an angel'. He would then be inspected by his unworthy 'disciple' for any injuries. Finally he would get told on by his own brother to Henry. No, this is not what the boy needed now. Henry was coming tommorow and he had given him a job to find the missing key that would unlock the box, the same box that was in his hand, and find the same key that would fit to unlock a very 'important' object inside. No doubt it was something valuable, you didn't have to be anything else than an idiot not to see the fancy lock displayed on the front.

Weary the boy turns to the inky swamp all around him. A light bulb flickers on in his head as he stares at the steady water flow closer to him. He frowns, the water retreats back. (1)μελάνι...

The boy snatches the second key piece from the floor, and cups both pieces together in his palms. He closes them taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and opens them again. Giving a tense stare at his wrist, he suffocates the pieces in his hands. His arms shiver as a great pressure swims over the boy's head. (2)"αντίγραφο."

(3) "έρχομαι." He prays, his hands clasp firm.

Drops of sweat start to drip from his pale-as-paper skin, and trail down his chin. The orange light starts to burn his skin along with the humid, hot, and damp atmosphere. His eyes start to collect fog the longer he stares at his hands. The boy's muscles scream as something starts to swim through his vains.