Connor Pallitan isn't normal, he's known that since the day he was born. Left alone in the woods, cloaked in protective fire, its a wonder the boy survived for a year. But eighteen? A miracle.
But then, all hell breaks loose, and it's up to Conner t...
⠀⠀⠀⠀Gracyn was led from the courtroom with a servant's hand on his back. "Where are you taking me?" He asked, but the man didn't reply, his face remained stern and focused, "wait, I have things I need to get!" He panicked, looking at Felix who was freely exiting the palace. "Felix, my bow!" He reminded him as the doors of the palace were opened, he glanced back and nodded as Gracyn was led away.
"You could be a bit gentler." Gracyn mumbled as he was led down a hall covered in oil paintings of what appeared to be members of the royal family. He'd seen similar paintings, his grandfather had a portrait of himself and his wife, Gracyn's grandmother, in his office, just above a couch that seemed to always be covered in old, musty books.
And while looking at the portrait, he didn't seem to notice that the man had stopped moving, and had opened the door to a guest bedroom. Large and extravagant, covered in a lime green painted walls, with oak wood flooring, and a large, dirty white rug in the middle of the floor. Gracyn stepped in, inhaling as he noticed the room had a nostalgic smell to it, like old books.
And just as he took another step to grab his bearings, the double doors to the room slammed shut, startling Gracyn. Panicked he walked back to the door, banging on it profusely with one hand, and attempting to twist the door with the other. "Let me out!" He demanded, feeling panic rise up in his chest, "let me out, now!"
But his actions and pleas went unheard, not a single soul answered his cries for help. Only the cruel companion of silence. Gracyn hated being alone, he hated silence, and he hated being stuck in one room. So all he could do his feel the golden knob of the door press against the spine as he took in his surroundings. The room was getting dim as the sun quickly set, leaving Gracyn with only the fireplace, window, and candles as a source of light and warmth. This truly was a nightmare.
Hesitantly, Gracyn walked to the bed. A dusty shade of green with intricate golden patterns. Gracyn traced the patterns with his fingers in an attempt to occupy himself from the current situation. Though he was glad that him and his friends were making progress, he couldn't seem to focus on that while he sat alone. The silence was deafening. His eyes glanced to the vanity, and the poem that was sitting in the mirror, wrote in elegant but readable cursive. An abstract drawing of swirls bled through the corner of the paper. Slowly Gracyn picked it up out of the corner of the mirror, reading the scribbles on the paper;
"There once was a gentle knight His motives good and pure. And then he asked himself 'What good comes from those... Aware of their own grandeur?'..."
Gracyn read the writing over and over. Something about the small poem seem incomplete, inactivating. He couldn't take his eyes off of it.
