twoset oneshots

10: A prayer for Cupid

warnings: victorian era, expletives, soulmate au, homophobia, domestic abuse.

summary: a fairy tale for the romanticist, and brutal war for the lawful. welcome to the land of Milram, surrounded with stunning nature, a river of mountains, families of nobility, prestigious academies, and a population in love with books.

for pretty faces, their woes and miseries are nothing but a cry for help. but for the commoners, they simply cannot mope around and feel down, for the rich gets to be richer with no effort, the poor get to be poorer despite working hard.

so, shall both statuses be so inclined to be soulmates in an unfair battle against law and love?

but as the legends say, all is fair in love and war.

-

I faintly remember the words I wrote on my arm. I reached out to you, and it pains me that you never wrote back. I apologize for the scratched words, I am well aware that the writing is not at all graceful.

If you are somewhere in Milram, please, would you send a letter? Meet me at the Academy? Write back? Anything.

I have been waiting for you all my life, please do not fade away like the rest of them.

Please, talk to me.

Please . . . I have been all alone.

Please-

-

His memories as a child are a haze.

All he could remember was trying to ride a horse on its back and watching the sun die down together with his younger brother and his father.

All he could remember was the giddy feeling of the possibility that your soulmate can reach you through writing on your arm.

All he could remember was questioning why people have different statuses, why can't all people be rich? Why can't all people be poor? Why are they born differently? Then he recalls how harsh his mother slapped his mouth, silencing him.

All he could remember was the delectable pastries his mother and her servants baked and he tried to put them all in his mouth before trying to shut his tears down because his mother found it immature.

All he could remember was the bruising patches of red and blue that took abode in his arms whenever his father would hit him.

All he could remember was when his fingers pulsated a worryingly bright red when his mother would punish him, slapping his hands with a slab for crying like a baby.

All he could remember was when he tried to make his little brother happy, they were chuckling their little tummies off before being scolded at by their parents to tone down their voices.

All he could remember were the memories he didn't want to remember.

His parents will always remind them, as children,

"You do not need emotions in everything you say or do."

And he grew up to be like that. Quiet, timid, not speaking a word nor trying to initiate a conversation. No one knows what's going on inside the mind of his.