THIRTY: Villages and Stones poison can be as sweet as it is deadly, darling
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"MY LUNA? YOU Must eat your meals. It would bring us great ease to see you do so." Louis hears the frail voice of the fair-skin elf ask once more to add on to her many other failed attempts.
Bright light spewed out like a thick brew from the window, pouring out onto the dining surface as spilled milk would. Louis sat on the chair that was placed at the very head of the table, eyes fixed on the many seats that surrounded him.
There were many faceless alphas with their many faceless omegas, silverware scratches the surfaces of their nearly empty plates to take the place of small talk.
The entire room was adorned with gold, a crystallized chandelier hung with fairy dust lighting up each jewel to bask the area with light.
Whether it was breakfast or even a thin slab of meat for a filling meal in-between, he would be begged for his presence.
It was usually customary for Louis to be dining with the nobles of the castle, a form of respect from the Luna for all the services they have provided the Highlands (and all the services they denied for the Lowlands).
Louis loses his gaze to the merciless affair of a trance; watching the empty seat across from the elongated table. One that belonged to the King; never used.
"I.. I'm sorry," Louis looked down at the yellow yolk on his plate, still held in place in the middle of the thick slab of brown bread; daring to leak across to the mashed potatoes that were beginning to get cold. "I am not hungry."
"Well, now, that's just ridiculous. Starving is for the lower class-" Celeste said, pausing for the other wealthy nobles to spur out bubbles of laughter at the ill joke, holding her morning champagne glass in the air with a smile made of pearl, "and we are not lower class people, I dare say!"
The people clinked their glasses with small cheers of enthusiastic agree, allowing bubbling alcoholic juices to coat their hands and skill in small puddles on their plates.
But Louis felt everything in static.
The Omega felt his wrists blaze. He felt a ball of fever roll down his spine; warming the surface of his skin until his cheeks flushed a dusted pink.
His vision blurred slightly the room beginning to appear in dimensions of two. The wolfing laughter of the dining table began to seem distorted; like slow motion phonic.
