"YOU'RE MY KING AND I'LL BE YOUR LIONHEART!" ||
Unknowingly created with immense power from the Great Lion Aslan, Princess Cattia of Telmar grows up in the den of murders and thieves, with only her brother, cousin, and dear Professor to guide her...
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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 of the evening bathed in cold, nocturnal shadow. Minute, distressed whimpers and cries pierced the dark silence of the young lord's bed chambers. Every candle and lantern stood dim, save for one that still burned lowly on the bedside table. Nicolas usually took the habit of lighting one of the several tapers to give him some anchor for reality. 'Twas a clever grace to tether him to his dwindling sanity.
Such was a routine for the man, given the horrendous turn his life had taken in the past few years. Though he finally left his youth behind in favor of adult maturity, Nicolas fell into the convoluted world of paranoia. As he grew, so did his panic. He could never find himself settled, calm with anything that came with castle life. While he was awash in luxury and privilege, to the people, nothing he ever did seemed right. Nicolas thought himself to be a resolute man, unaffected by the belittling abuse of those still endeavoring to break him down. Yet, being the constant subject of ridicule and mistreatment was bound to birth lasting adverse effects upon him. And so it had.
Although he stood seemingly strong in the face of starkly overt cruelty, Nicolas' internal defense wore down. He tried to remain the picture of resilience, but once his head met the soft, satin pillow, Nicolas found himself lost in nightmares, dancing with vicious, malignant creatures, each one tearing into his resolve and destroying him from the inside out. So, here he lay, drowning in a sea of feverish, fluid bedsheets that roped him down into the mattress. Typically knowing of what fit he would likely find himself in, Nicolas had removed his shirt from his body, and kept a dripping bucket of chilled water on the floor, along with fresh linens; such psychological battles left him delirious, parched, and shaking after his ordeal. Dousing himself with the sharp coldness worked to both cool him and clear his head of the terrible dreams. Unfortunately, this became such a routine that his suffering seemed inescapable.
All Nicolas could do was connect these experiences with the treatment he had been privy to for the last twelve years. The mere logic then morphed into a deep hate and blame of the Telmarine courtiers so potent that Nicolas reveled in it. To combat the jeers and damage he received, all the while keeping stonily silent, he cursed them. Doing such gave him a sick sense of satisfaction that soon made his days lighter. If he could do anything to lessen this abhorrence, Nicolas was quick to do whatever it took. Including partaking in darkness himself.
