“All in all, you truly don’t mean anything to the rest of the world. I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Not the symbol you bear, but you” the antagonist cooes, cupping the protagonists cheek.
(Tagged with dark, creepy, possessive character. And just kinda sad and scary)
Jason doesn’t remember what he looks like. The days pass by in long smears of darkness, of words grating up his throat, of his hands clenched too tightly around his sword, of lights going out and out and out. Mirrors don’t reflect his russet skin, his buzzed hair, his strong nose, his full lips. Instead they yawn in front of him, eternities of endless space with no stars and no trace of his brown eyes.
He watches the world like sand passing through his fingers and wonders why they think he can save anyone. Because he’s a prince? The prince? Because his father never wanted him on the throne–and yet here he is? Or maybe it’s because of that damned prophecy Gilbert, the court sorcerer, once whispered over his head as a baby.
The people have always loved Gilbert. Immortal and timeless Gilbert who’s been a constant leader in their lives, their parents’ lives, their grandparents’ lives.
How much more blood would stain Jason’s hands if they knew? The Sorcerer’s Council–the highest magical body in the land– is only their ally because they think Jason has Gilbert’s full support. They provide aid to the parts of the country Jason’s limited army can’t reach, they hold the borders against the monsters and the hungry thrones beyond the sea, they do what Jason can’t since his father fucked off with nearly the entire army to fight a useless war for land.
Jason breathes deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, as he tries to push the black feelings down and down and down.
His father may still be King, but Jason is the one who sits on the throne in his absence. And he’s got work to do.
————————————————————————
“The people are calling for a coup,” Gilbert says from the shadows of Jason’s office. Jason doesn’t even look up from his reports, though he’s no longer reading them. The letters had started swimming hours ago and it’s only been through sheer force of will that Jason has even attempted to make sense of the pages in front of him. “They want you to be King.”
“You know why I can’t do that,” Jason says. He signs off on a diplomatic meeting between his country and their neighbors to the south and then looks up, leaning back in his chair. “Father would just turn around and kill us all. He’s got control of the army. I thought you were staying out of this.”
Gilbert’s long, black hair slides across his shoulders as he leans forward to tap Jason’s finished paperwork. “I’m staying out of this.” A small smile flashes across his face. “Well, until you ask that is.”
When he was younger, Jason hated Gilbert. Hated how it was his prophecy that led Jason to growing up in a tower, in exile, all alone.
Now?
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