ꜱ ᴀ ᴜ ᴅ ᴀ ᴅ ᴇ

ρ я σ ℓ σ g υ є

     There was a story that had been passed down from generation to generation by words of mouth.

     In bygone days, there used to live a warlock who was fear by all, he was the very definition of evil; his hair, the color of (h/c), was often portrayed to be dripping with blood of his victims, his eyes, the color of (e/c), were portrayed to be cold and inhuman.

     If one were to see a portrait of him painted by an artist who only heard about him from the description in books or people’s mouths, then he would be no doubt the spitting image of Lucifer himself.

     Once, there was an infamous story of him killing the royalties of the South kingdom and taking over the throne, making himself the King of that kingdom until he was betrayed by his heir himself. Eventually, the kingdom was called the « abandoned land » by the people, for there was no one who was braved enough to step their foot in that place who was known to be the biggest cemetery in the world.

     Parents often told this story to their children to make them afraid of going into the woods, for it was told that the warlock was actually still alive and was healing himself in the woods to take revenge, but no one knew if it was true or not and no one dared to investigate and go into the woods unless it was for hunting.

      After all, why provoked evil when you can live in peace?

      Eventually, this story had become nothing but a scary fairy tale.

      And no one could’ve guessed that’s the warlock was actually living amongst commoner as an old man who sold medicines.

 — ♪ —

      You were infamous; known to be the greatest villain in history.

       Your daily routine when you were younger consisted of practicing witchcraft and swordsmanship, killing and slaughtering, bathing in blood and listening to the piercing cries of people as if it was a soothing melody to your ears.

      You were blinded by hatred, power, and fame, convincing yourself that the evil one wasn’t you, but rather the people around you who turned you into the kind of monster you were.

      To you, they only had themselves to blame.

      But as you grew older, meeting with various kind of people with different behaviors, collecting wisdom around the world either by accidents or by mistakes you once made, you gradually realized your wrongs and how arrogant you had been, how you had tainted your hands with the blood of innocents just to vent out to the world who had made you suffered once. In the end, you began to question yourself;

       “ Was I really the right one?”

      With rue laden your heart, you’ve decided to change for better; stripping yourself from all the hatred including the ability you had, burying your swords that had taken many lives of the innocents. You decided to start a small business in a town far away from the place you’ve committed all your sins, selling a self-made medicines for a low price to save people who are in need of it.

      In that small wooden shop, you met many people, some were rude while some were kind to an elder like you, but your favorite customers would always be little children who came to you in order to hear stories from you or stuffed themselves with candies that you gave for free to customers or people who came to visit.

       Indeed, there’s no denying that you liked children.

       And you were thankful that children also liked you.

       In that short moment of happiness, you could’ve never guessed that children were going to be the reason for your demise.

— ♪ —