──★ ˙🍓𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ̟ !!
❝Did the idea of being a part of a harem sound appealing? No, it didn't. Obviously.
You, a young woman from the real world, transport into a spin-of...
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⇣ 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂？⇡
The first time the two of you had met. How long has it been since then? Only just a few months ago, Claude had one thing on his mind, he wants to kill you and get rid of your stupid face.
When he heard you call out his name, a pit of anger arose.
His first name. His true name. A name that he loathes so much. Why didn't he get a great name like his older brother? His name, one that is horrid and can only be mocked by others. To hear anyone call him by it, made him flare up in anger. Limp? Stutter? Crippled? What person would want to live that way? With such a label?
"What will it take for you to love me?" Claude asked.
"Should I become like Anastacius? I will work ten times harder than he shall ever have to do. Will you then love me very much? Will you then, call me by my name?"
As Claude's eyes, look hopefully at his father's, there are nothing but simple words that leave his mouth.
"You crippled child, a boy born from a fool, never once have I ever considered you my son. Anastacius will take my honor, and achieve great heights. You... you are simply, nothing."
He can remember it briefly, the first time he had learned of his name. His knees touched the rugged floor, as he looked up at a man with a heavy crown on his head. His eyes, jeweled with greatness, saw no worth nor livability in it.
Not only did it cut Claude's heart, his nose drizzled with blood from the impact. Claude could only shake. No sweat trickled down his face, only but a harsh winter snow froze him in place. Though he gripped a furry coat, one that could warm millions, but warmed one. This man, he does not love the young and innocent Claude. He only hates, and will continue to hate, until he sees a worth in someone. Not Claude. Not anyone but his dear court and his older brother.
Love is foreign to him. He had never once touched it, nor felt it truthfully. Though his brother, born from the grace of God, had no love or space left for him.
"Claude." You had said it. After these years, this time, someone had said it. At first, he remembers the voice that last said it to him. "Claude." He remembers it. The last person, the last person he had killed off for good reasons. The last person that had whispered it to his ear, as their head is low, and a ruby red liquid called blood, dripped down from his lips. He remembers it all. In the throne room, where a crown had been stolen, and the cloak has been laid to rest on the floor. It was bright that day. But it already felt so dark. So lonely. So, burdensome.
But under the moon, a moon he swore he would kill, had given him a chance to live once again. A moon so bright and so beautiful, everything stopped, time had stopped, the wind had stopped, all to admire the daisy white sphere that is cratered with flaws. The moment lasted for seconds, but it felt ever longing. Eternal. His soul, one hurt and closed from all eyes, had peeped through the window, right there. And on the other side, it was you.
