I'm BAAAAACK!
Hello, my wonderful readers! Avatarinuyasha is back on The Albino and Golden Rose!
Chapter 1 is ready for you to discover the enchanted story of a cursed prince, who must learn how to love again to break the spell. Your basic Beauty and the Beast story, but with twists and additions that you're not familiar with in comparison to the original story you know so well, especially the Disney version.
We will also keep the idea of having ONLY DreamWorks Animation characters, instead of combining with Disney Characters. (Sorry, not sorry for Jelsa fans, lol!)
I plan to be more active as I can for my story updates, especially now that I'm free of school (graduated college last month) and I don't have a job right now (got to work on that). Expect changes from the original fanfiction, but also similar ideas and characters. And, by any chance, you see any grammar mistakes, please bare with me. I wanted to upload this as soon as possible, and since it's early in the morning, my mind is not fully functional right now, so checking to edit isn't active at the moment.
Anyway, Happy Pride Month and have a great summer!
(NOTE: There's a possibility that the title will also be changed. I'm thinking about it, anyway.)
(NEW NOTE: Title changed. Originally The Albino and Golden Rose)
Enjoy!
This was a sight that can be shown in a museum.
The environment was a negative sight that can have viewers feel the emotions spread all over. Pain. Anguish. Depression. Rage. It could send a shiver down one's spine. It was a frightening view, more than the time from your childhood with the monster under the bed or in the closet.
The only difference? This monster exists.
It roams in dark couriers. It growls with irritation and quick anger. It aches to scar anything in its sight, fragile or not. Its heart pumps with both energy and anticipation. Its marks remain everywhere it destroyed. And every time it stared at them, the anger builds up again, faster than boiling water, and the actions are repeated until it eventually stopped, exhausted.
It huffs upon the damaged floor, covered with scratches, cracks, and colored streaks from dragged objects. An athletic track runner couldn't have enough energy to compete against its own. It lost track of time after it started, but by noticing the now current white glow in front of the blinds, it was over five hours, it believed. Maybe eight.
Now, that it was done, it blended with the environment. With the ruffled fur, the ears flat down on its head, the claws still stuck out from the worn-out paws, and the dead nature in its eyes, it was the perfect pelt rug.
A wrecked pelt rug for a damaged royal's bedroom.
Before the damage was done, it was a sight to awe while feeling envy. With the small size of the decorative room, it was most suitable to a heir of the king and queen. While it contained the basics such as the wardrobe, the wooden desk for a private work area, the drawers, the second door leading to the private bathroom, a balcony with doubled glass doors with the blinds, and, of course, the full sized bed with blankets and pillow covers made from the finest and most beautiful of fabric, the room also hold up personal values of memories.
The floor area between the side of the bed and the balcony where the heir drew multiple drawings on paper, and played with his toys. A corner of the room, parallel to the front door, where the heir had time out. The stressed-out part of the bed where the heir's mother repeatedly sat for years, becoming her storytelling spot…
The single portrait on the wall, right in front of the bed for the heir to see every morning. Unlike the other portraits in the hallway outside of the room, this one was a natural drawing. No stiffness, no blank expressions, no perfect posture, none of that. In these days, it would be considered a hidden photo shot that was later drawn and given to the heir.
The portrait was a memory, a private moment filled with relaxing, fun, and wonderful company. It happened in a meadow, over a mile away from the castle with a comfortable trail, no need for a carriage. It was a fun day; the king and queen finally got a break from being the serious and determined royals, and focused on being mother and father to their only heir—no, their only son.
They had a delicious lunch, ran around on the fresh grass, played ankle deep in the water, talked about ideas and places to go if given the chance to travel the world together, read a few stories, and eventually fell into a gentle slumber under the large and shading tree. Thus, the creation of the family portrait.
Resting on the tree and sitting on the blanket, the small royal family bundled up together as they slept. He rested on his mother's lap, her bosom as his pillow, and his mother rested in between his father's legs sideways, his shoulder as her pillow. Her arms wrapped around him, and his father's arms wrapped around the two with one hand on his wife's shoulder and the other on his son's. Each one had a peaceful expression on their sleeping faces. It had been so long since the king and queen looked truly relaxed, but for the heir, the prince, his happiness on the day was strong to have a remaining smile on during his slumber.
It was done by a servant, who had a private hobby for art, checking up on them and saw how adorable they were. Instead of doing the drawing while they were sleeping, the servant had a strong memory and was able to sketch out the sight days later. A friend of the servant somehow found the sketch, and soon convinced them to make it as a portrait. It was then given to the heir as a birthday present. Speechless and touched, the entire family loved it. The queen even shed a few tears as she felt the peaceful emotion from it, while the prince happily hugged the servant as a thank you. Seeing the skills were better than the others they hired before, and were informed about the strong mental ability, the servant gain a second job as the royals' personal artist as part of their appreciation, especially from the prince.
Throughout every unforgettable moment in his youth, that day will forever be his favorite. Not even his past birthdays would be better than that.
However, there is one that was just as unforgettable. As well, the only one he wished he could forget...
.
.
.
"Bring me my presents!"
Puberty has done well on the prince. No longer was he the small, energetic, baby-cheeked child as his twenty-first birthday made its arrival. His small stature lengthened to a height of 5'8, keeping the slim appearance with a developing athletic feature. The white skin, easily capable for sunburns when he was young, suddenly gain some yellow within, giving him more color and a possible tan if he wishes. His oval head claimed his thin lips, his small and short nose, those blue eyes, his sticking out ears, and his dark brown eyebrows he got genetically from his parents.
However, there are two features that surprisingly became unique parts he claimed as his own.
The first was something that grabbed multiple people's attentions, his hair. Instead of being a dark brunette like his father—his appearance was closer to his father to compare than his mother—it was a bluish platinum, capable to stand out in the winter season, even when covered in snow. It currently grew out as it now rested at shoulder length, its straight look brushed, combed, and laid out instead in a low ponytail with a ribbon holding it.
The second was his eyes. His parents were both brown-eyed, but his mother believed they were genetics from her mother, his grandmother, who was born with blue eyes, but the type was lighter than his. They were a handsome cerulean, darker than the sky and lighter than a polished sapphire. Whenever he was full of life and happiness, they were reflecting a blue lake, glistening under the sun. He was a winter lover, but his fun-giving self was like enjoying a day of summer every time...
Oh, how they missed the soul in his eyes.
He was filled with innocence, excitement, kindness, and, most importantly, filled with fun.
But, no. Not anymore. That child was long gone, and everyone in the castle knew just by looking at his eyes.
No longer were they cerulean, but a blackish indigo. They were dark as the abyss at the bottom of the ocean. Dark as the black pants he wore now with his white shirt and grey boots. Dark as the night environment in the woods without one tiny source of light.
Dark as his very soul, tainted by the harsh scars given.
It has been ten years since his parents' sudden deaths, and since then the prince fell into the darkness of reality and never left since.
The prince's dark eyes kept their glance over to the young servant to him. He recalled the servant being an awkward one with his buck teeth, struggled communication skills, and clumsy positions. However, he had a strong quality of being a hard worker, either on personal goals or chores and duties in the castle, improving his worth and dignity that had him step up from servant to inventor.
He had created simple but impressive things for the prince and to others, but the most impressive, something impossible to handle let alone do, was his prosthetic leg. A fire had him lose his leg when he was fifteen, and ever since the first making during the years, now twenty-four, advanced improvements were done, better than the last. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III—the prince still questioned his parents on the name—have placed a strong mark upon this castle.
However, just because he accomplished so much doesn't mean he will be treated better than others.
(Not that he wants it.)
Puberty did well on him too, as his awkward state grew out into that familiar saying: Tall (his height at 6'0 exact); dark (he's a dark brunette, his hair short and layered, with his freckled beige skin tanned); and handsome (slightly muscular from doing his projects, teeth straightened, light green eyes darkened to a forest tone, charming smile, and a long-lasting good heart within). He currently wore his three-piece suit with the black vest, almost matching dark green jacket, and brown trousers, one black buckled shoe on. The prosthetic muffled its regular metal clinks with a cotton, knitted cover he made, the color matching the shoe.
Hiccup, walking with straight pose and posture, soon was close enough to go down one knee, and present the gift with a head bow.
"King Jackson," he spoke before the gift was taken.
Days after the royals' deaths, the king position was immediately passed down to Prince Jackson of Amala. And during the years, the position was taken not only seriously but more sternly than his parents could handle. Hiccup had a good eye with a strong mind; instead of presenting the gift while sharing the humble from the servants' hearts to him, he simply presented it unless he was questioned on who wished to give this gift.
Now was not the time.
Standing up and bowing again, Hiccup then walked back to his place the same time King Jackson opened the rectangular, blue paper wrapped gift with a silver ribbon, wrapped and tied neatly before removal.
In his hands now lied a brown leather-covered literature book. A French story book, the title in golden calligraphy. La Nuit des rois. Twelfth Night, a French version of William Shakespeare's play.
His finger traced over the words, a blank expression on as his eyes followed. The blizzard rushed with the howling wind outside the window, and the fire crackled in the large hearth attached to the wall. The two sources of nature were the only usages to handle the silence in the room.
"Hiccup."
Jolting from the silence's disturbance, the said servant then stepped out and in front of Jack by a few feet away. He stood in attention with a bewildered look. "Yes, your majesty."
Silence returned in the room as Jackson looked at the cover, let the pages run through with his thumb from beginning to end, and held it with both hands. He then looked up, and Hiccup held back from widening his eyes. Those dark eyes nowadays rarely showed a gentleness in them.
"... Thank you."
It was also rare to hear those words towards anyone who wasn't a royal.
Hiccup's eyebrows jumped slightly before clearing his voice and bowing. "You're welcome, your majesty." The room felt more comfortable now.
"Maestro," he then called out. Everyone's attentions were sent over to the said musician, Jackson returning to the book.
Just like the king, the gentleman also stood out from the others among the castle. Actually, he stood out from all of Paris because he was a Spanish native, and he travelled from his home country, thus the reason for his natural tan skin and Spanish accent with his French wording, and was accepted as a paid servant once in need of money, and offered his services to the king and queen.
Among his muscular structure, with a height of 5'5 and growing raven wavy hair, were certain types of clothing that he refused to leave behind. With his maroon three-piece suit was a belt that held a scabbard for a sword, currently encased up in his bedroom; famed leather boots instead of the shoes with white stockings; and the most remarkable one, something Jackson admired as a child, was his leather hat, board-brimmed and lined in red with a single golden feather.
Jackson has never seen anything like it from other visitors or royals. When he asked about it, Jackson learned not only the ancestors that held onto it, but also the adventurous stories the current owner went through before his arrival to the kingdom.
The king longed for adventure, but sadly, that idea failed to last...
"Yes, your majesty," the maestro, Antonio, responded, his Spanish accent smooth and respectful.
The king traced his finger over the words again. He didn't look up. "Do you have a piece for me?"
"Si, your majesty," Antonio answered. "I have been working on his piece, and this occasion is the perfect time to reveal." He then moved over to the piano bench, and whipping his coat tail back, he sat. The hat was then removed and placed on the grand piano, letting his silk back ponytail be shown fully.
No music sheets were laid in front of him. He knew all of the notes by heart after months of working and practicing on the completed piece.
Fingers curved on the keys, he closed his eyes and breathed softly. The notes, the sounds, the tempo, and the feel of it... He knew it all. And now was the time to perform them.
The wind outside whistled through.
Jackson closed his eyes the same time Antonio opened his.
A key was pressed down. Four times.
At the fifth time, melodic keys soon appeared, beginning the instrumental story. The single key played alone, and then the second time the melodic keys repeated, but with a different note at the end. Deep low keys then created the buildup before joining the rest of them, building up the suspense until he paused.
The king's dark eyes reopened, showing a rare calmness as he glanced over to the concentrated pianist, repeating the beginning notes but in minor first, and then back to major. His eyes then trailed over to the audience, viewing some watching in admiration and the rest with eyes closed as they soaked in the majestic piece.
With a silent sigh, he rested his head on the throne and closed his eyes once more, soaking in the song himself as the suspense was repeated. At that part, a sudden imagery came in mind where he saw himself, riding a speeding horse across a beautiful meadow with trees lined at the side, the sun shining above, and a bright smile on his thrilling face.
"... like this... king and queen... still alive."
His eyes shot up and anger immediately arrived.
BANG!
Antonio mentally thanked his instincts for pulling back his left hand in time before the thrown book hit it along with the keys, creating a sour note. The book then fell to the floor, the top of the spine now bent.
The startled audience then darted their attention to the thrower, his position in place with his arm stretched out for the throw. And then he straightened up and made eye contact to them.
The room suddenly got colder.
The king was in a good mood today, only for a fool to ruin it for him and everyone else.
"Who. Mentioned. Them?" He hissed, venom slipping out as his dark glare deepened. Quivering in fear, some broke contact and either showed vulnerability or looked anywhere other than the king, as if searching for the culprit.
"I said... WHO MENTIONED THEM?!"
His roar must have attracted the blizzard, because it pushed a window free from its tight lock, letting itself in. The single trail was cut in half by his throne, making him look more frightening as the blizzard headed towards the servants. Shouts filled the room by the panicked servants. The fire flickered sharply, and was losing its long length. Jackson, however, was undisturbed by this. With the wind flickering his clothes and hair and the cold not bothering him, he could be called the Ice King.
Three males, however, were able to get away and shut the window, cutting the trespasser off of access. The servants voiced out their distress and annoyance while wiping the snow off before it could soak through their clothes.
STOMP!
They immediately froze and straightened up, remembering what they were doing before the intrusion. Instead of giving contact again, all heads were down parallel to the floor, bowing in shame. Just how he wanted.
It now felt like a military experience, with the servants as the new enlisted soldiers and the king as their commanding officer. It was appropriate, indeed, as King Jackson walked calmly with every straight step with his arms behind his back.
"There are rules in this castle that I highly stand for," he started, the anger clear with his serious tone. "And there are plenty that are suitable to handle, even for a child... But, apparently! Someone dared to break the sacred rule of this castle. A rule that can sent any fool to an eternity of Hell. A rule that I demanded not to be mentioned, not even when one's outside of the castle: Do. NOT. Mention... The former royals in this castle.
"I heard you," he said, glaring at a maid, whose knees lost strength from the glare. "I don't know who." The glare then darted at a butler, who jumped with budging eyes. "But I heard you." It sent shivers down another butler's spine. "I demand you confess now." A quick glance at Antonio threw him off guard, his hand slamming on a few keys accidentally as he shook. "And maybe the punishment—" Due to the slow turning towards his direction, Hiccup immediately straightened up, standing at tensed attention. The turning paused for a few seconds before looking back ahead, not looking at him. The king was oblivious to the silent deep breath, being released by the inventor, who then slouched in relief. "—could not be as bad."
After the single pace led him back to the throne, he turned back around to them, the glare on a strong hold. Everyone rearranged their relaxed positions before he would notice.
"Now, confess. Who mentioned them?" His voice now showing a deadly calmness. A few glanced from left to right. No one spoke up.
"You have five seconds to confess, or else all of you will suffer the consequences. Five."
No one answered. The tension rose in the atmosphere.
"Four."
Eyes dashed side to side, hoping to spot the culprit. Anxiety began to grow as it was clear in their eyes.
"Three!" his voice raised, losing patience.
All maids quivered sharply than before. Antonio gripped his hat tightly.
"Two!"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Attention went straight to the exit as the door opened. A guard, undisturbed by the sudden given attention, appeared and bowed. "Your majesty," he announced, his voice clear and deep. "Your presence is requested at the front."
Jackson clicked his tongue and tightened his made fists. "Who dares to disturb my birthday?! Stay where you are, I will deal with this matter alone," he growled. The guard bowed a second time and extended the exit for the speed walking king.
"When I return, I expect the perpetrator to confess, or I will have all of your heads!"
Passing by the portraits in the grand hallway, his speed walking had him reach the front doors under thirty seconds. He grabbed the golden handles and forced them open. The cold touch that hit his skin, cooled his temperature, and pushed back his hair did not change the expression as he spotted the second disturbance.
"Please, sir," the elderly man spoke, his voice shaking and fragile like his pale and wrinkled self in this storm. "Would you please take this gift in exchange for staying the night from the storm?" The wind then blew harshly on him, roughly fluttering the tattered coat he wore. Even with the somewhat thick fabric, the elder shivered sharply at the contact. Jackson stayed silent as he witnessed this.
The elder then reached inside his coat, his hand shaking as he took the gift out in front of the king.
It was a rose.
With white and yellow petals.
It was still healthy. It must have been cut from the rose garden hours before the storm, so it was a surprise to see it beautifully strong. The harsh weather barely caused any damage on it, only pushing it and planting snowflakes.
"Please, sir," the elder begged and urged him to take it.
The dark eyes stared at the plant before reaching out, and gently took it from his grasp. The elder clutched his coat tightly with both hands, bothered by the fluttering. Just a little warmth is all he desires, nothing more. A place to stay away from the storm. It was too much for him in his condition, and he was too far to make it home. He just needed to rest to refuel and continue his travelling. A throat clearing broke him away from his thoughts, and the elder man looked up.
White and yellow flying petals kissed his face and joined the blizzard.
The abandoned stem also flew out from the former grasp, rolling on the snow ground. Wide eyes stared in shock and horror as they followed the stem until it disappeared. They then looked back to the king. His dark and blank expression was frozen as the rain falling down.
"S-sir, what–Why did you...?"
"Death has been kind to you on extending your lifeline." The elder stopped. "It's about time to accept it: your time has come. You cannot escape from him any longer. You are not as young as you think, and you're a fool on coming here for safety, rudely interrupting an important event. However, I'm sure that it won't be a total loss..."
Jackson leaned forward, and soon their faces were inches separate.
"I've been told that it's quite warm in Hell."
The elder's eyebrows rose and eyes widened. The hurt and shock face was the last thing he saw before shutting the door, satisfied then remembering. Now, to deal with the servants.
BAM!
Before he could react, Jackson found himself pushed off his feet by the force of the cold, whistling wind, rolling across the hallway with no chances to stop himself.
"Your majesty!"
Good timing, indeed. The guard heard the slam, and immediately opened the door. He jumped back, letting the king roll into the room until his back hit the seat of his throne. Screams and shrieks returned, but louder than before as the snow-covered wind roamed about in the room. The small amount of snow that was melting and wiped away was replaced by the intrusion as it rummaged around; along with decreasing the room temperature in seconds. Everyone either held themselves, each other, or a large object as the wind's shield. Confusion overshadowed Jackson's surprise and shock.
Thinking about the situation was forgotten when the wind suddenly began to slow down, no longer whistling and had a gentle flow around the room.
While taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart, the king was focused enough to analyze the room. All flabbergasted servants were present, so the wind wasn't startling enough to throw them off their feet and out of the room—No, wait. A few servants were missing, hopefully in the kitchen by going through the flip door. The snow covered almost every corner of the room, having large amounts in those places than burying the people. The figure with the glowing eyes stood at the doorway with a serious look on instead of being startled like the others. The fire place and chandelier were out, but along with the furniture, they weren't damaged—
Wait.
Wait a minute.
Figure? With glowing eyes?
Going back to the being, he then was frozen shocked as he stared at it–him–He wasn't sure. The being must have been waiting for his attention, because he began to take a step forward, entering. A burst of light then shot out from him as a visible wavelength.
"AAH!"
The servants didn't notice the being until the flash was done. Almost all the servants exclaimed the same, startled by the unexpected action, but everyone including Jackson shielded their eyes. After a few seconds, Jackson then chose to check if the light was gone. He slowly opened his eyes, only to widened them when there was light back in the room.
Only, except it wasn't golden as the flames blazing before. It was a soft lavender, giving a relaxing atmosphere to contract with the pressuring moment.
"... How was this...?" Those were the only words he could let out from his lips, personally shaking with his voice a whisper. This was too much for him to handle, king or not.
"King Jackson of Amala."
Now, he was the one tensing up instead of his servants when called out. Was this what the servants felt when he called out to them: like a child, about to be scolded harsh by his or her parents? If it was, unfortunately, this was worse, even with that tone sounding calm yet serious, but was booming and echoing upon the wind.
If this is what a god is like, Jackson can believe it.
It must have been his title that gave him a little confidence to, while shook, bravely returned his contact to the god-like caller. He then noticed that some of his tension were oddly released as he stared up in awe,
It—He was terrifying beautiful.
He was over eight feet tall. He had flawless pearl skin, blending with the thick gold hair. The elbow length strands were flowing about in mid-air. If what he wore was a gown, it wasn't exact to the ones Jackson seen, especially on women. Instead of gowns with tight corsets and bell-shaped shirts, it was most similar to a nightgown that hugged his slim and lean figure. The fabric, from what Jackson can confirm at a far distance, was peach-colored silk with a solid pink wrap around his waist. The bottom covered everything, including his feet as it touched and fluttered on the floor, limiting the chances of tripping as he continued walking towards him. The top had a low neck that showed both his neck and the top half of his torso, along with long and wide-gapping sleeves that stopped at his wrists.
A god, a sorcerer, Jackson couldn't figure out. All he did know was that he was the real deal, an enchanted being that came straight out of a children's storybook.
The question, however, is... what was he doing here?
The enchanter—Jackson was going with that—finally stopped a few feet in front of him. Jackson's eyes squinted a tad at the body halo, the yellow color brighter than his hair. Jackson also took note of his glowing eyes, matching the lavender light in the room.
"King Jackson of Amala," he then repeated.
With his close position, his voice felt stronger to Jackson, jolting his heart again and his hands starting to grip on the throne's seat. His close presence also made him incapable to speak. He stayed frozen in place, his body shaking visibly as the eye contact was kept. His eyes were filled with fear.
The enchanter's face then softened.
"Jackson." His gentle tone matched his face. "You have let yourself go down a path that has your heart turn cold and black. Your words and actions showed a massive change within you."
The wind began to pick up. The servants noticed first, and a small shriek from a maid had Jackson notice, second.
"You are no longer the son your parents had given their love to." Jackson's heart slammed his chest. "Their love, care, and happiness has been blocked in your heart, abandoned while creating a monster as it grows overtime."
The wind reverted to its harsh nature from the beginning, frightening the servants once more as they reacted. Jackson tried to shield his whole body, breaking out entirely from his cracking frozen state when the wind brushed over him repeatedly. The enchanter was untouched by this nature, as if the halo was his own body shield.
"Jackson," he started, becoming more serious. "Your parents have been watching over you, and are deeply heartbroken on what they saw. I honestly believed that it must be a phase when I was told about it, but from what you told me... I was sadly wrong. I now understand why they are suffering for you."
"What are you talking about?!" Jackson then shouted over the wind, invading his space. He got back on his feet while the enchanter was speaking. "I never said anything to the likes of you!"
He blinked once, and he jumped. One moment he was looming over him; now, he was inches away from his face, giving a close definition of his handsome appearance. The wind went around his face still.
"I guess you're freezing, now. Am I right?" He whispered. "But, do not fret. From what I've been told..." He then leaned closer, widening Jackson's eyes, only to bring his face over to his ear, his lips close to it.
"It's quite warm in Hell."
Jackson suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't breathe. A constant statement ran repeatedly in his head: I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead...
The enchanter pulled back and straightened up, taking a few steps back. He resumed to loom over at the panicking king. "King Jackson," he announced, the booming echo returned. "I am Tsar, the Man in the Moon and the Guardian of all childhoods. Your childhood has been destroyed by the invader of darkness, and you continue to become one with it instead of fighting it. I refuse to allow it go any further!"
Tsar's hand waved in a single circular motion; the wind immediately left the position it was in, and headed towards the king, capturing him before he could escape.
"HEY!" He yelled out then looked down, witnessing his feet being separated from the ground. The wind lifting him up began to morph into a spherical form. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Jack demanded, more anger than scared.
"What is best for you," Tsar answered calmly.
Jack hit his fists against the wind, solid as a wall to pound on. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE DEALING WITH!"
"Oh, I do, your majesty. It is you, who doesn't know and will deal with it." He brought his hand up.
Snap!
Jackson immediately pulled away. "Ooh...!" He moaned then hissed loudly. "Aaah!" He groaned. He fell to his knees, curling up with his arms wrapped around his stomach. "What... Aaarg, what did you do?!" He shouted. Anguish was heard in his voice.
"Your majesty, until you learn to love again, what you become within will be brought out to all eyes. Only true love can break this."
Gritting at the pain, Jackson was somehow able to widen his eyes. He did not like where this was going.
"Until then... Jackson, you will forever remain... A BEAST!"
Jackson's face morphed into horror, only to immediately groan and clutch on to his stomach. "Oh, god!" He cried. His eyes were closed tight, so he failed to see the glowing light blue orb appearing and growing from his stomach. A cold sweat started to bloom out of his skin and his breathing became rapid. The unbearable pain was a hot, unstable core, beginning to spread quick in his body.
"Ah–Aaahh—AAAAHHHHHH!"
"Your majesty—GAH!" The guard called out, only to be bombarded a second source of the snowy wind. The servants were going through the same, getting used to its presence but weren't relaxed as they tensed over the feeling. Either by the freezing touch returning to the skin, or the high-spirited fear of what Tsar will do to them, it's unknown why the tension was made this time.
"You all must take care of him," Tsar called out, claiming their attentions. "Despite everything that has happened during the years after their deaths, he needs you all. He always has, and he'll need you more than ever."
"STOOOOOOP!"
Jackson's pain-filled cry sent shudders down the servants' spines. They never heard such a cry before, even when his parents were still alive. Tears shed down his distressed face, drool pouring out from the side of his lips, his skin turning red with the high emotions taking over his body, and his muscles straining to fight the pain inside as he screamed and repeatedly sat up then bent over at the pain, wanting it to fade already. The glow spread from his armpits to his knees, sending him down sideways. Sobs escaped out of him. The sweat began to soak him, despite the cool wind surrounding him.
"It... h-hurts!" He called out.
Crack!
A sharp gasp came out. His eyes shot up in shock.
Crack!
Crack!
A silent scream was made as he closed his eyes again, turning on to his back. The glow completely consumed his body, overpowering his look and clothes but kept his body figure. Abnormal cracks and pushes from within his body sent his body in twitches, moving in directions he didn't thought were possible. His silence was done by the overbearing white, hot pain, but eventually short and loud gasps repeatedly sucked in his invisible mouth. During those gasps was an increase in audio.
Audio that seemed somewhat... low.
The glow continued to spread, now making the figure disappear and expanding the size of the wind barrier. Not one body part was spotted inside.
"Do not leave his side." The horror-filled servants were too focused on the barrier to listen to Tsar. Not all of them, anyway. A few, such as Hiccup and Antonio, still horror struck, broke away and returned to Tsar. They got to see the pity on his face. "It's for the best."
He lifted his hand and the wind circling them formed into miniature snowy tornadoes. The whistling blocked out their yells, making them silent to him. Tsar then looked at the barrier, the seriousness back on.
"This is for your own good. This is your only second chance... Do not ruin this chance."
He was answered by silence. The barrier was becoming twice the size of the small chandelier in the room.
"Happy Birthday, Jackson... and Merry Christmas."
Tsar snapped his fingers once more before disappearing from the active room. The barrier grew further, ready to burst, and the glow started to be transparent. The figure was becoming solid to see.
Only the figure... wasn't a human.
"ROOOOOAAAAR!"
BOOM!
The explosion had the glow cover not only the room, but every part of the castle from the inside. The light lasted a few seconds before fading away. Everything was pitch black in the end.
.
.
.
Recollection of waking up was unknown. Any words expressed and actions done after were unknown. What was focused, and still was every single second of every day... was that.
To anyone else, it was a lovely sight that was irreplaceable.
To them, to it, it was a memory. The opposite of the family portrait. A reminder of a nightmare confirmed as a cruel reality.
The card attached to it was read aloud.
Take note: it will be a matter of time until it glows. Once it does, it becomes your clock. When the last petal falls, the spell is forever. I will be watching over you, but I bless you with hope more than luck.
The sender left no name, but they knew. It knew, and it rests in its room.
The white and yellow rose reverted back to normal, as if the damage on it never happened. The plant, however, floated about two inches above a small, rounded table while a long, bell-shaped glass case covered it.
It was the only thing, along with the portrait, that wasn't touched by the monster's destructive actions.
Although, it wanted to destroy it again, but since it couldn't the room (except the portrait) had to go through with its anger.
Its body then got up, removing itself from the pelt rug position. Back on its feet, the dark eyes placed the contact back on the glass, looking direct at it. Eyebrows furrowed, teeth gritted on the inside, and hands curled into fists and tightened...
Crackcrackcrack!
The tight hold loosened, and the growing anger started to fade off its face. A defeated sigh escaped from the lips, and it sat down on the side of the bed. Hands covered almost the entire face with elbows planted on the knees, slouching.
It felt the pads from its hands, and the tail being sat on without a care.
They were mainly focused on.
A sudden dampness came upon the pads and fur on its face. It wasn't long for the dampening to increase with the body shaking, and soft choked sobs spilling out.
Monsters don't care, it told itself that—it made it feel even worse. The sobs became cries, loud enough for it—no, him to hear.
He gave up. He can't keep calling himself an 'it' until the curse is permanent.
He knew it well, and he couldn't do anything about it. He has to learn to love again...? He was sure he forgot how, and knew no one outside of this castle will save him from this living nightmare. No one inside the castle would help him, either. No one was going to save him—
"AAARRRRRGGGHH!"
He fell to his knees, and slammed his fists against the floor, creating new cracks.
Frost immediately bloomed out and covered the entire damaged floor, a few snowflakes fluttering in the air.
Hiccups escaped with the sobs as he pulled back, slightly curling up. His heartbroken voice was the only sound the walls listened to.
If this room was a painting, there was a perfect title he came up with. It was the one that repeated over and over again, sinking him further into a hole of despair. A question that was impossible to answer, and most likely never will.
Who could ever love a beast?