𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 • k. ayato

07

☄. *. ⋆

[Y/N] never liked nobility. It was boring and torturous. Why should she care about calligraphy, poetry, manners, etiquette, or anything other than romance novels and swordsmanship for that matter?

It didn't help that her father was the head of the Kamiyama's—a hated but feared clan which reigned upon everyone else. It was a household of bloodshed and treachery, coups and cruelty. To manage to live past childhood was something to be admired. Everyone had to work hard to earn the respect of even the servants, as they could always stab you in the back and sell you out to the other clan heads. Albeit, part of it was their own fault. The Kamiyama's were never kind to those who crossed paths with them.

In such a clan, the only thing [Y/N] had to rely on was herself.

She alone and her ambitions rooted an inspiration in her little heart that made her want to continue living. Surviving. Her ambition to one day become the head and change her family's ways. But, the news of her father deciding to take away the title of heir from her and give it away to her brother was world-shattering.

Many times did she attempt to order the assassination of her brother, who was never groomed to be the heir, thus was never given proper training. But she couldn't. 

She kept remembering how she once held him in his arms as they hid from the blood and screams of their servants who were being slaughtered outside.

She remembered how scared he was, how much he clung to her, and how hard he wept into her nightgown. In his small world, she was his only power-house, he only had her to rely on. Just how callous would she have to be to do that to him after all they went through?

And how cruel was he to mock her for losing the title she had been promised since birth?

When she watched him stand next to her father as he announced his new heir made her blood boil. She saw the little rise in the corner of his mouth he was oblivious to combined with the cool detachment in his eyes. He was savoring each minute she stood there in humiliation. And her father, though he saw all that happen, he chose to look away.

Perhaps that was the moment the anger within her exploded and all that was left was a shell of destruction from the once hopeful girl.

The loneliness of feeling unseen by her own father was as fundamental a pain as physical injury. It hurt more than anything else. She still recalled how she reached her hand out to him but he only turned his back on her and walked away.

At that moment, he looked far more distant than anything she had ever known. He seemed so far away, and perhaps he was.

As he was walking away, she woke up suddenly. Not because of any noise or interruption, but because her dream had come to its conclusion. No, not a dream, a memory so harsh it left her heart pounding as fast as it did that day, and her mind just as empty. It's as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into her carotid. She strained into the utter darkness, her breathing rate beginning to steady.

She noticed her father next to her, sitting beside her bed.

They studied each other for a moment as she lay in bed, drenched in sweat.

"You were looking for me," he said silently as he replaced the wet towel on her forehead, "In your dream. You were looking for me."

She drew her lips into a thin line, holding back tears, "I'm always looking for you," she let out a whisper as she averted her eyes away from him.