The Rusted Crown
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- Parts 1
He was crouched there, like a demented gargoyle, with an even more demented grin on his face. His skin was scraggly and spotted, dry and cracked. His clothes, almost non-existent. threads barely clinging to his wrinkly and pale skin. On his scraggly, bald head sat a rusted crown, with a clean and opaque gemstone in the middle. And then he finally spoke.
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#712
post-apocalyptic
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I was foolish and young, and I had gotten myself neck deep into this assasiantion plot, and into this - whatever this was, between myself and Darius. He was a betrothed man, that I knew. He was to marry, and that was that. I could never come between him and his Queen, not when I was no more than some low - bred peasant, good for nothing but service. "I don't love Princess Ophera," Darius began, his voice wavering. I looked up then, and our eyes locked. Navy blue met cerulean in a dance of colour, as beautiful as the rolling waves or the bright blue sky. "I have never wanted this life for myself. Ever since I was younger, all I wanted was - I know this will sound stupid -" A bitter laugh. I leaned forward and gripped his hands in my own, willing curiosity into my face, hoping to comfort him. It seemed to work, for he continued to speak. "I love to play the violin. I wanted to be a world famous violinist, renowned for my art." I smiled at the vulnerability, even as pain tugged through me. How could I be so stupid, to never consider that he might have hobbies of his own? I had not painted since my book was stolen, but that didn't mean I couldn't start up again. "Will you play for me sometime? The violin?" "I will. My Mother loved the violin as well," His gaze turned distant, somber. I squeezed his hands in reassurance, and he smiled slightly. "Tell me about your Mother."
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