Markiplier Moments

M'lady (Part 1)

(All dialogue is meant to have British accents except for Mark's mother, who has a Korean flair ☺️~ also, should I put an edit/picture with all the short stories? Let me know~)

The Kingdom of Ohiland. Richly built from a dirt foundation reaching for the sky by a group of four people just over half a century ago. Ruled originally by a man with the vision for great success in creating such a large empire from essentially nothing, ruled by Sir Cliffton Fischbach. He single-handedly fought through the long life of being a serf with an unbreakable, unstoppable positive mentality, to rise higher and later become King of his homegrown dominion.

King Fischbach went on to marry a beautiful young refugee from Korea, and together they had two sons. The noble heirs to his throne. By the time they were born, Ohiland had been complete of construction, already ruling its own middle to high-class township for some years. The King and Queen were highly praised and respected by their citizens for their fair dictation and commendable caring ways, often doing charities for those of poorer areas and upbringing. The Princes were considered precious, they were openly celebrated without order from the Royal Highnesses to do so.

The children were raised overflowing with respect and love. Just as the King hoped and prayed for long before they were born. They grew, peaceful years went on. Success tasted joyously sweet of hard work for the Fischbach royals.

But sadly, as the princes grew into adulthood, the King's health began to decline. Together they carried on holding their father's royal pedestal high in the sky despite his illness. If they had control of it all he would remain the rightful King for the rest of eternity. Unfortunately...they didn't have control over what the Highest Power sought necessary.

On a bright, somber Friday morning, Ohiland lost their creator and King. Leaving behind a nearly golden legacy of blood, sweat, tears and triumph.

As of that day there was no King, and as months went by, the Queen felt so much grief and overwhelming pressure, leading to what no one ever imagined. Soon following the death of her husband, the Queen abdicated her position.

Ohiland was left cracked into pieces...only two young men stood beneath the surface, holding the broken Kingdom together just barely at the seams. The fate of everything they knew subsequently fell upon the shoulders of 20 year old Prince Thomas and 18 year old Prince Mark. Of course the depressed days and months eventually passed, but not without scraping open some grueling internal wounds. After King Fischbach's burial and memorial however, it was time for scar tissue to begin healing the hearts of those affected and things be put back into order.

The Princes' mother kept residence in the castle. They were angry when she left all responsibility to them in resigning as Queen, but soon found no choice but to forgive her after listening to her complex reasons. They often went to her for wise words of encouragement and guidance during moments of fear that blocked their duties for the Kingdom. One day a few weeks following the funeral, Mark and Thomas were reading legal letters and bill recommendations for Ohiland.

They sat for hours scanning stacks of hand-written documents in their father's office. "How many oppositions have you found?" asked Thomas, who had made a seat by one of the cherrywood bookcases lining the interior perimeter. His low voice carried out through the small-scale library, swirling the lofty ceiling and walls before reaching his brother's ears.

"Only one out of four dozen bills," said Prince Mark, "a surprising low amount so far." He sat at the royal desk centered on the back wall while neatly organizing his half of papers. He had made three small towers; one for pending bills and oppositions, one for messages from citizens, and a discard stack, each weighed down with a hardcover book. Needless to say there was a perfectionist in the making.

As he went to sit at his father's desk for the first time since entering adulthood, Mark thoughtlessly took careful notice to his perspective. Everything. From the untouched adjusted height of the chair where his shorter legs nearly didn't touch the floor, to the crooked angle of a feather pen by his right hand, as if his father had just used it, to the specially selected books on the desk Mark used as paperweights. He took time to look at them; a tarnished blue dictionary, a novel that as he read the introduction looked to be a fantasy of some sort, and a Bible. Mark's eyes focused in on the Bible for a moment. He starting having old flashbacks of being read passages of that very Bible at night when he was young. An indistinct smile trembled over his lips, he traced the cross engraved in gold lace on the cover before gently lifting it off the desk.

II Corinthians 2, 10:4-5
"The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."

The Prince was reading the page where a bookmark made of white silk separated it from the rest. He read it, oddly enough, in his father's voice. This particular passage spoke a number of things to Mark on an individual level. One before anything, he was always taught to put God first in his life. But aside from that was an underlying message he put together to fit his current position; Mark and Thomas were very young to be running an empire by themselves. As expected, they felt quite nervous about messing up. Even through such pained minds as theirs at the moment, he realized they mustn't forget the power that flows through their veins alike. That of a mighty King.

"What were they for-- Mark..?" Thomas appeared abruptly at Mark's side. This pulled him out of his brief mental seclusion, to notice a slight watering of his eyes that became a bothersome distraction. He wiped them immediately. "...Mark, it's okay. Though I've never really seen you cry before...but you don't have to feel cowardly about it."

"We've never truly had reason to cry, have we brother?" He looked up into his brother's thin eyes full of loyalty and acceptance, but by the slight dull shine they emitted he knew Thomas was suppressing sadness as well.

"Hey you found the old Bible!" he exclaimed leaning on Mark with a warm hand on the shoulder closest to him. "Father always said he'd had this since his own childhood. And yet, somehow it's still in fair condition." Thomas handled the book caressing the edges in awe. A second of silence fell before Mark would close the Bible, leaving the silk string in its untouched position. It was his way of metaphorically shutting down the deep immense pain that ached to spill. His now withdrawn aura radiated as he handed over the documents requested by Thomas.

They worked in the office for another couple of hours as high levels of boredom began to alter their work efficiency. Behind the King's desk was a grand window overlooking Ohiland and all of its glory, the castle sitting high above everyone else on ground level. Anyone lucky enough to witness found themselves pulled into the stunning view. When the cloudless sky just barely started to transition from pale blue to warm yellow, it was a sign they'd been stretching their troubled minds long enough. Thomas left after placing his organized papers next to Mark's. The Prince found solace.

Mark systematically made sure everything was in place; pushing the chair back under the desk, releasing the ruby red drapes that were pinned from the main window with golden rope, straightening any crooked corners. Perfect and pristine. He gave the mahogany Bible one last good glance before stopping everything.

In an unclear spur of the moment he searched for a clean piece of paper. One jumped out at him of a scattered few inside the desk drawer. His scatterbrained hands clenched open and closed before he dipped the feather pen from earlier into a half-dollar sized jar of midnight ink with slow precision, blotting off the excess. The ink painted a trail of words being almost hauntingly replayed in his head.

"Never lose sight of who you are, and Who's you are, my son."

To be continued...