A Curse so Twisted And Cruel.

The Kiss.

Daxon.

I run a hand through my hair for the tenth time, the headache that had been creeping in before, becoming a full blown migraine. The man infront of me pretends not to notice-or care-as he stands with his hands in his pockets, avoiding my gaze.

Or maybe I'm avoiding his gaze. I sigh. "Kesh, if you have something else to say, do so." General Keshev tenses at the nickname that, an eternity ago, would've brought a smile to his face, exposing his now non-existant dimples.

He finally looks up at me, blue eyes hard.
"No, there's nothing else, your majesty." he says quietly, his voice robotic, before giving me a stiff bow and going to the door. His cool tone cuts through me like ice, worsening the sharp pounding in my head, but I say nothing as he opens the door and steps out of it.

But before he closes it, he turns his head in my direction, blue eyes on the floor, not meeting my dark ones. "Although, I would greatly appreciate it if your highness wouldn't call me by that name again. I," he pauses, searching for the right words.
"We, have outgrown it."
And then he leaves, closing the door behind him, his words hanging in the tense silence of my office.

I wince, the pain in my head-and heart-  piercing through me.
Kesh was my best friend since I was a teenager. We would goof off when I didn't have kingly duties, getting into-and out of- all kinds of trouble together. (He was the one usually getting us into trouble, and I would get us out.) We were there for each other whenever things got tough, and got through some pretty rough patches.

But about year after Anna's death, he got fed up, and we yelled at each other. We never spoke again, except for the occasional messages, and even then, it was like we were being forced into it. I hated it. The strained silence between us. The tone he would use around me, like we never swung from trees, pretending to be mystical pirates.

Like we were strangers.

I hated it, but I hated myself more. For making it that way. I hated myself for pushing him away, along with everyone who tried to help me. But they couldn't. And they would never understand.

I crumple into the plush chair behind my cluttered wooden desk when my legs decide that they're too tired to work properly. Like the rest of me.

The ink stains on my desk are fairly new, and increase every godforsaken day I'm forced to spend in here. The treaties, agreements, and shipments I have to sign and approve is like a tower, threatening to topple at any moment.
Like my metal situation. The demented thought crosses my mind, and I chuckle at my own spiral into insanity.

Yeah. I'm fairly sure I lost that battle a long time ago. It's probably the reason Kesh- I mean, Keshev, can't even look at me anymore.
Not unexpectedly, the pang in my heart grows to become another pain-woven knot in my existence. Another of many.

I grab the papers at the top of the pile, and, dipping my pen into the black ink, begin to sign. Anything to stop the neverending ache in my heart and tauntings of my head.

The ink splatters increase with the shaking of my hands, until I have to put the pen down and escape to the balcony for some fresh air. It overlooks a small wood at the edge of the castle grounds, and I lean over the cold stone railing, in an attempt to ease the migraine that claws it's way through my mind, making my head feel like it's splitting open.

I'm almost used to the pain by now, having had it as a companion for almost two years now. Along with the nightmares, inability to sleep, and near permanent heartache. They are my companions, my scars. The reminder of a love that was never meant to be. Of how pathetic I am to be so incapable of simply moving the fuck on.