KIMCHAY - Traitors and Lovers

Chapter 8

Chay awoke as he had every morning since that day a few weeks ago, with vines wrapped around different parts of his body and a faint memory of strong hands with gentle touches and the lingering feeling of safety.

He quickly cut them off of his body with his knife before laying back on top his bed, breathing deeply. His reasonably mundane life (well as mundane as you can get when you're a prince) had been drastically altered since that day.

There had been changes.

Well first there had of course been the dreams, always different yet the same. A presence that repeatedly switched between a faceless person and a nameless feeling surrounded him making Porchay feel safe and worshiped every night, and then leading to him waking up the following morning with vines of his own creation wrapped around his body in different positions, the neck seemed a favourite though, much to Chay's dismay. He would lie to himself and say it definitely didn't remind him of someone. The prince did not want to grapple with the implications of that in the slightest.

But it wasn't just nights and the following mornings that got increasingly strange for the boy. He began feeling different during the day as well. He set up his painting equipment in the royal garden in an attempt to paint the beautiful cherry blossoms that had just flowered. It started off as any other of his paintings, he was intensely concentrated on each and every brush stroke, incredibly conscious of every aspect of the picture as be started painting the baby pink flowers against a black background. However as the painting progressed it felt as though another hand was placed atop his own, gliding the brush in a graceful manner across the canvas with him.

It wasn't exactly a displeasing experience. Porchay pushed past the initial strangeness of the feeling brushing it off as his own mind playing tricks on him due to his recent stress and assuring himself it was just a figment of his imagination. As he continued, his careful brush strokes began to relax with him and become freer as if something was taking over from him. It felt good to be less in control for once in his life, to have something other than his own thoughts and insecurities guide him. His hand glided over the painting practically leading itself as he found himself in a daze-like state.

Over time, as the painting continued forming upon the canvas when his brush touched the cotton, the presence controlling it, controlling him, started to feel more solid around him as Chay fell further into a dream-like state in which he watched the painting form through a hazy field, his surroundings blurring away. This continued on until Porchay felt noting, knew nothing except the solid presence behind him and on top his hand, guiding him through the painting.

"All done, Angel." A deep voice resonated behind him, abruptly pulling the boy out of his trance and making him stumble back into reality. When consciousness fully returned to him, an involuntary gasp left his lips and the blush fell from his hand as he took in the picture before him. Beautiful cherry blossoms filled the background, contrasting the black background as well as the subject.

In the centre of the painting was a depiction of himself adorned in a shear and flowy white blouse with his eyes closed and lips parted slightly in a sultry expression. That wasn't what shocked Porchay the most though, despite the fact he never painted portraits let alone self-portraits with such a suggestive expression. No what left Chay so fully shocked into stillness was his own-likeness's head being tipped slightly upwards placing his neck on full display, highlighting a branch of cherry blossoms stretched tightly (if the redness peeking through from underneath the plant on his skin was anything to go by) around his slender neck.

His mouth went dry at the depiction. He had always seen himself as somewhat unattractive and undesirable but for the first time in his life he felt beautiful and somehow seen. The onslaught of emotions within him was disturbed by the sound of footsteps in the distance bringing him out of his own mind. He quickly grabbed his canvas and took it up to his chambers, successfully shielding it's front from passers-by.

Chay sat upon his bed staring at the painting for hours, millions of questions flooding his mind. Why would he paint himself like that? Why didn't he fully remember painting it? Why did looking at it make him feel a way he had never felt before?

He analysed every inch of the painting in front of him before sighing and deciding to turn it around in case someone entered him rooms unexpectedly, he barely knew how to explain this to himself let alone another person. As he flipped it over, he noticed a small black marking on the wooden support bringing it closer to his face, his eyes widened at the word written upon it.

'Kim.'