Once Upon A Dream

1.

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Every night, Ron saw the same dream over and over.

A child somewhere in his age teens under debris of a building with unfamiliar structures. His obsidian hair stained red with his own blood.

He watches every single night as those eyes as dark as midnight turn dull, staring at nothing. His chest that struggled to get sufficient air go still, his skin go pale.

His now cold body a pool of his own warm blood before Ron could even blink.

The child always died a moment after he "arrived" in these dreams.

It also meant that the people he could see enter, who wore strange garments, were a mere minutes away from saving a child's life. Apparently they felt the same way as regret washed over their faces, one in particular taking his anger out on the debris that lay around them. They all left eventually and Ron walked to the child he, regretfully, would never know the name of, and gently closed his eyes like he did every night when he saw this dream.

His neck and shoulder had gruesome bite marks which made Ron clench his fists tighter than before. His cheekbones and ribs stood out too much for his liking, his body was covered in wounds and bruises.

Ron wished, like every other night, that he could've helped the child, or that the child can now rest in peace. A child didn't deserve to die in such a way.

•☾•

A memory plays like a footage, but he doesn't recognize it.

A woman lay in front of him, porcelain skin and scarlet hair that resembled a beautiful sunset, but he couldn't pay attention to that.

She held him close to her, her warm blood seeping through his clothes, her body slowly turning cold, too cold. He didn't have any control over this body, like an audience meant to watch the play unfold, and tears burned holes into the corner of his eyes, sliding down his cheek.

He couldn't sob, he didn't have the strength to. Everything hurt, it was too much for the body of a child to bear. His consciousness faded, but he could remember the faint feeling of lips on his forehead, a whisper in his ear assuring him that he'll be fine. Despite his confusion, he was glad at the reassurance and fading warmth.

He doesn't remember the woman mentioning herself. His vision surrenders itself to darkness before he could ask her why.

•☾•

After what felt like hours, a child with bright red hair winces as he opens his eyes, an unbearable headache eating away at his blurry vision, worsening it.

He's greeted by an unfamiliar room, the sheets and bed far too grand, far too soft than the ground he was forced to get used to. Bandages peek from under the loose sleeves that wrapped themselves around tiny, thin arms that don't look like his.

All memories of the past 6 years rush back and he realizes he's not in his body. He pants and huffs, clothes soaking his blood faster as he struggles to sit up and look at himself.

This body wasn't Kim Rok Soo's.

He was now a 6 year old Cale Henituse, who died with his mother in a carriage that was overturned during a landslide in the rain.

Pain overtakes his weak senses, the sheets fall off his small frame as he groans. They eventually turn to half screams, loud enough to ring throughout the room, but soft enough to not hear it beyond the the doors. Nonetheless, the door opens and a butler somewhere in his late thirties rushes in. Auburn hair, sharp chocolate opals for eyes and a calm expression hiding a complicated story.