Royal Imitation | Kylo Ren

Supreme Leaders

It is hard to stay still when my heart is beating incredibly fast and the flesh where he curls his hand so softly around my thigh, is burning to a crisp. 

The paint strokes are the loudest thing in the room, other than my own heart of course, and with the bristles that scrape the white-canvas, the artist paints Kylo and I, perfectly, or so it seems from this angle, as we sit side-by-side, pretending to be made of stone as she conveys our reflection with pastel and longing stares. 

I am certain, not even her art can convey the chaos inside my conflicted mind, for inside I am brewing a clashing swarm of emotions, which colour's are vivid and burning, almost to the point of garish. 

There's a deep violet inside, a stormy purple the same as the roaring sky and it bleeds its paint inside me with a nervous and guilty hue, based on the events from two days ago, where Anwar suggested that I stay in my imitated position, in close attempts to take down The First Order, thanks to the suspicion of a rebellion.

But there's also a pastel pink that wraps around that feeling, pinching my flesh that same colour as Kylo Ren sits by my side and lives cost-free in my brain. He seemed to be always flooding my mind, as if he was manifesting my thoughts, himself. 

It's a ferocious cling of antagonism and conflict that results with him bringing a passion hotter than a thousand suns, whilst the reminder of Anwar and his words, are only the whispers of why I shouldn't lust after him, the way I currently do.

I hate myself internally, for I know I should desire Anwar, the way I do with Kylo Ren. But it seems they both are pulling me in different directions, or holding onto different hands that grip onto them with different needs. 

The romantic need, perishes away with the longing for Anwar's love. But Kylo Ren has owned the desire and fed my sexual hunger, with every moment spent.

Two very different things, and yet, they should be craving the same individual, but I don't. 

The rain still thrashed as dangerously as my inner hauntings, and the woman who painted us moved like the true artist she was, her eyes taking in more details than the average person, her limbs almost dancing even when she walked to get more paint upon her pallet.

When I first introduced myself, she gave me a weary look, but the birthmark that had been drawn on my skin with a type of staining ink, one much different to the wipe-away pastels upon her pallet, was my saviour always, and it kept her from growing suspicious to my change of voice or perhaps the exiled gleam from my eyes. 

It had been already, an hour and a half of staying so still, careful to change positions and ruin her portrait that would be revealed to the Kingdom people on the day of my, supposed birthday banquet, in a couple of days, where then it will be hung right beside the King's terrifying painting, as Ruby had told me this morning, with dead eyes that matched her dry tone – As we both pretended the last time we had met, hadn't happened at all. For two very different reasons though. 

I still hated her for keeping the Princess locked away from her fate and forcing me to complete it instead, but I only left it now, for Anwar's life, and the request he had asked of me, on behalf of the rioting people of Jorkhan. I just hope when the time comes, one day, I will be able to take the chance to leave this dreadful place and lifestyle – No matter how much the man beside me, tried to make me feel at home in his strong arms at night. 

Suddenly, the door to the left opens, breaking both Kylo and I, out of our streak of standing so still for so long, as we both turn to see who had interrupted the silence. 

It was a raging, orange flame of hair that walked in, making even the sunny colours of the artist's paints jealous, and for a split second, a dread flooded my blood and sunk my bones, but when my eyes dropped to the crisp suit and thin lips, I calmed somewhat when I realised it wasn't the scowling face of Ruby, but instead the glaring eyes of General Hux.