The veil is lifted once the sun kisses the horizon.
A bride's face glimmering gold, a gift to the groom.
But this is not a day of awe and celebration.
This is a day of impending doom.
Shadows creep where light once danced.
Whispers haunt this silent room.
Each step is taken in mournful trance.
To break the stillness of eerie gloom.
Now the sky weeps tears of sorrow,
As thunder roars and dark clouds loom.
Love once sought, lost in the morrow.
A world where hope shall find no room.
── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
As his world gradually faded back into existence, Porchay peaks through slitted eyes at the sound of nearby voices.
Kim stood only a few yards away by the doorway already fully dressed. A silk shirt hung loosely upon his lithe frame, concealing any visible signs of the injuries inflicted the night prior.
Contrastingly, the black corduroy pants curved alluringly below his mid-rif, paired with a leather belt that gripped his waist in a flattering fashion. A look completed by ivory wool socks folded neatly inside a pair of luxurious dark leather shoes.
Despite the war that waged between them, Kim appeared as immaculate as he always had.
It was hardly fair.
Even without peering into the mirror of the bedside vanity, Porchay knew he looked like a mess. With dark tossled hair, he was clothed in nothing but a black cotton t-shirt.
A t-shirt he soon realized wasn't his own.
I'm in Kim's room.
The memories of the night prior flooded his mind with the force of a tsunami.
He had lost count of the times his toes curled in ecstasy as his body was plundered beneath the soiled hands of a murderer.
Deft hands that expertly ripped him apart limb by limb until he could scream out the killer's name no more.
Kim Theerapanyakul.
The infamous name had grown to be a chant in Porchay's mind. Whether that chant was rectified as a prayer or curse was yet to be determined.
Perhaps in the end, his pleas for mercy mattered little when his cries were transformed into moans. When exhaustion grew imminent, his vision faded to black just as the sun kissed the horizon.
He possessed no memory of being taken to bed.
"That boy is a liability," an older man gruffs, drawing Porchay's eyes away from Kim's visage.
The man was one he had seen before, hand selected by Kim's father. He was a tall man, heavy set with stern features and dark brooding eyes. They were the type of eyes that had seen the shadows of death fester a thousand times over.
YOU ARE READING
My Wicked Destiny
RomansaDespite his unrequited love for Kim, Porchay refuses to live beneath the thumb of the Theerapanyakul's. In an attempt to flee from the pain of his emotions the boy risks everything he's ever known to escape from his glorified prison. As the violence...
