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Rain pounded down on the cold castle walls and thunder rolled overhead, echoing darkly throughout the hallways and giving the dining hall a sickly haunted feeling. Candlelight flickered and shadows danced across the barren stone. The air was frigid and empty. Stiff and stuffy.

A Prince sat alone at the large dining table, unmoving. He seemed more like a statue, or a ghost. He was pale, almost sickly looking. He had a cigarette in-between his fingers, the ashes slowly flaking off onto the wooden table. He just let it burn, it was getting close to his fingers, close enough to burn his skin. Only when he felt the sharp pain of firey ashes on his skin did he move.

Wilbur pressed the bud of the cigarette into his ash tray, putting it out before he carelessly wiped away the ashes. Mumbling to himself, he stood up and started for the door, pausing momentarily to listen for any sounds of life from the other side of it. Once he was sure that there was no one there, he walked out.

Flashes of lightning and warm yellow candlelight was all he had to guide his path. Shadows dance upon the walls and left an aura of gloom about the Prince. He stumbled slightly whenever he walked and he practically had to drag himself to his destination; the old library.

The wooden door creaked ominously as he pushed it open, stirring up dust as he walked in. His family had been gone for weeks, Quackity had to go back to his kingdom, and the maids had been neglecting the castle ever since they left.

It was like Wilbur was a ghost amongst the living, forgotten and ignored. He moved slowly about the castle whenever he came out of his room. Often, he'd sit outside underneath the weeping willow. Even in the rain. He found himself in the throne room quite often, tracing his fingers over the intricate designs on the throne and in the stone on the walls.

Wilbur blinked and looked down at the book in his hands that he hadn't realised he picked up. He turned the pages delicately, as if they'd turn to dust if he wasn't gentle enough. He didn't know what the book was, it was in some ancient language. Symbols, odd letters, even hieroglyphics decorated the aged pages. What really caught his eye was the winged creatures. They looked human, seemingly portrayed as a God. The large wings that sprouted from their backs were feathered looking and...and beautiful.

Quackity's words flooded back into his mind. "You're not a curse, Wilbur. You're a blessing." The Prince refused to believe those words that time, but now he had a small spark of hope that perhaps it was true. Maybe he wasn't a curse. What if Quackity was right?

He traced the outline of the figure, pulling his wings close to his body. "I'm not a curse..."

"Oh, don't lie to yourself, Wilbur." Wilbur startled at the familiar callous tone of his Father. He wasn't supposed to be back this early.

He slowly turned around, meeting the cold blue eyes of the King. "Fath—" blinding pain shot through the side of his face, making him stumble to the ground with a weak cry. Then a pair of hands yanked at his wing, dragging him backwards. Agony wracked his body as the apathetic King took ahold of his other wing and started to drag him out of the library.

Wilbur fought and grasped at anything he could, but each movement only sent more pain through his body. He could feel himself weakening at each passing moment but he refused to give up, he tried in vain to get away. He didn't know where he was being taken, and he really didn't want to find out.

The floor turned to stone stairs, down and down and down he was dragged. He let out small whimpers every time his body fell to the next step, he could tell that bruises were already blossoming across his body from the sheer impact and repetitiveness of it. He felt sick to his stomach, as if he would vomit at any given moment.

He couldn't tell if he was still alone with his Father, or if more people had joined. Everything was so loud and dark. His entire body burned with fiery hot agony, and yet goosebumps decorated his exposed skin.

He tried to get away again once they were on level ground, but the King simply yanked on his wings ruthlessly and he stopped as a wail escaped his lips. He tried again, this time he waited until his Father had let go of him. That was a mistake. His Father's shoe collided with his shoulder, pinning him effectively to the ground while the King fiddled with something out of his line of sight. He could hear the familiar splashing of water.

Oh gods, he's gonna drown me...he's gonna... he's-

Wilbur choked and flailed as he was dunked underneath a pool of water. His blood seemed to turn to ice, his limbs numbing as he tried desperately to bring himself to the surface...but he was too weak. Then a hand grabbed his wing again and another jerked his head above the water by his hair. "You're a fuckin' freak, Wilbur. You don't belong here. You're nothing but a stupid affair child, you were a mistake!"

Wilbur coughed and sputtered, spitting out water. "Please..." He begged. "Don't do this!" The brunette sobbed.

"You need to learn your place. You're not a Craft, you're goddamn nothing. A disgrace to the family name." The King sneered lowly. "If I have to kill you to keep you quiet, then that's what I'll do." Then he was back under the water.

Wilbur tried to fight against the hand that was holding onto this hair. This wasn't fair! He didn't deserve this! What did he do wrong! The hand on his wing tightened, making him gasp and suck in a lung full of water. When his Father pulled him back up, he choked out the water he had inhaled. "P-please...I won't say anything..." He weakly grabbed at his hand.

"Bullshit, you'll tell your little boyfriend everything." The blonde tightened his grip, eliciting a pained whimper from the weakened Prince. "If you say anything to anyone...I will kill you. I don't care if you're my son or not." His Father pushed him back into the water, but he let go.

Wilbur flailed around, grabbing at the edge of the water filled container. He was too weak to pull himself out, but he could hold his head above the water at least. He winced at the sound of the door slamming shut. Then he was alone.

He didn't deserve this.

This was wrong.

Where was he?

Who was he now?

What now?

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