Hans often stared out the small barred window of his prison, wondering at how it could be hot outside, and yet how absolutely freezing it was inside. The air was heavy and the walls practically seeped water, it was so damp within. The whole atmosphere of his one-roomed cell was oppressive and choking.
He would lean into the bars, hating the unnatural cold shock that coursed through his body when he did said action. But it was worth it, to reach his fingers out of the cell, allowing his pale skin to soak in the warm, much-desired rays.
He felt lucky that he hadn't been sent to the dungeons or somewhere so far underground, that he'd forget what the outside looked an felt like. But then again...Hans's brothers wouldn't have put him in any ordinary cell. His "talents" would have proved troublesome in that environment.
This cell, his "special" cell, stifled him in ways that were unimaginable to anyone else that did not possess the abilities he did. In the beginning of his imprisonment, he shouted for his brothers to release him; begged them, to at least move him to a cell less torturous.
They didn't listen. They ignored him, not even visiting him to see if he was okay.
So day after day, he sat in his cell, as close to the heat of outside as possible, shuddering under the thin blanket some pitying guard had gifted him.
He felt his sanity waning.
Some nights, he would stand up from the hunched over position he found himself in, going to stand in the middle of the small cell. In an eery voice, shaking with his body, he would whisper a quiet lullaby his mother had sang to him when he was a small child, before her death.
"When the days are cold, and the cards all fold, and the saints we see are all made of gold," he would whisper, the light of the moon casting lined shadows of the bars on his window throughout the room. "When your dreams all fail, and the ones we hail are the worst of all, and the blood's run stale..." Hans's voice would steadily grow stronger, around that point. Old bitterness and anger would start to invade his minds, damned memories making themselves known.
And then thoughts of the princess would invade his mind. Her red hair. The white streak. Her bright eyes. Her dying breath.
"I wanna hide the truth...I wanna shelter you..." He would always choke on that part, some emotion he wasn't entirely familiar with, taking over. And then, in spite of the tears burning his eyes, he would laugh.
"But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide. No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed. This is my kingdom come..."
And then the laugh that had bubbled up previously, with all it's bitterness, would burst forth once more, a cackle full of only the most insane and evil elements imaginable.
With a smooth movement, Hans would flip his hand, allowing a deep red fire to dance across his fingers. With shadows cast across his face, he would whisper the last words.
"This is my kingdom come."
A/N Oh, this is so creepy. *shudders* But I love Hans. Or...rather what he could have been in "Frozen". What the writers could have done...sigh. I love fireverse!Hans. The song, by the way, was "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. Once again, a song that's awesome, but waaaaay over-played on the radios. So...yep. Hans's mom sang him "Demons," when he was a child. No wonder he became messed up. XD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!
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