Her Death : The Beginning
"Where is she?!"
Prince Glenn, his chocolate brown hair deplete of its usual luminescence burst into the single occupancy room, his royal attire, still wet from the rain dripping relentlessly. There was perspiration evident on his forehead, accompanied by tell-tale trails of pained tears reminiscent upon his flawless skin. He solemnly scanned the room before him, ignoring the agonized gazes of the other three princes and affixed his eyes exclusively on her immobile exterior.
He quickly dashed over and succumbed to his knees, his chocolate grey irises scrutinizing every curve of her still form. Those lips, once rosy with effeminate grace were now deemed bloodless, her life force carried away by final autumn wind. Those eyes were once his favorite shade of violet, but were now concealed by the as if transparent skin of her eyelids…she radiated death, everything about her was hopeless, save for the weak, cadenced beating of her heart monitor and her ethereally shifting chest.
He cupped her hand in his and raised it softly to his own face. He wanted, so desperately wanted to shut his eyes in grief; but somehow, he couldn't. The combating senses of sorrow and the desire to savor what he knew could be her last moments were unbearable, rendering Glenn powerless. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to think except for the single, worthless action of encompassing her hands in his. How did this happen?
"Don't be overdramatic." Prince Roberto's voice was uncharacteristically cold as he leaned against the pale walls, his expression comprising of sadistic, almost mocking scintillations. Prince's Glenn's eyes immediately adverted into Roberto's, the latter laughed menacingly at the youngest royal,
"She's fine, you realize. Maybe you're the one who should stop overanalyzing things." he sneered, and watched in triumph as Glenn's expression contorted in contrite indignation. Truth be told, whether or not Roberto's words were lies of comfort, or a mechanism of defense he assembled to escape the cruel reality, he no longer knew. All he cared about at that moment was the sound of her heart monitor, the redundantly beating noise remained the only thing he heard.
The Altarian prince was the first who arrived at the hospital. The moment he had heard the dreadful news, his mind blurred into a nebulous swirl of voices and faces, the people who passed him no longer important as he ran breathlessly to her side. He couldn't bear to remember the heaviness in his heart at that terrible moment – when the doctors informed him that she would only survive under the most miraculous circumstances.
Only under the most miraculous circumstances. When the doctors left, he couldn't stop himself from grasping her barely conscious body, neither couldn't he contain the iridescent tears that shamelessly slid down his cheek as he tried to shake the remaining fragments of life out of her. Why? He had asked himself repeatedly, the manifestations of his sorrow no longer constrained within in his head. Why? Why did, once again, someone he truly cared about abandon him? He shook her body like a madman, but was greeted only with the quaking movements of her colorless curls. Why?
Why did they leave? Why do they all want to escape from him?
His thundering screams were finally silenced when Wilfred's calm arms pulled him back from his useless persuasion.
"Prince Roberto." The golden haired prince had enunciated with unnecessary clarity. Through his trembling fingers, Roberto could sense the paralleled desperation reflected in Wilfred's feigned nonchalance.
"We'll have to wait, there's still hope left." His whisper was barely audible as he leaned himself against the walls and closed his eyes. From then on, the Philippian prince remained remarkably still, the only evidence of his existence was his regal penumbra replicated against the horrifyingly white hospital sheets. Roberto slumped back, his liquid brown eyes faltering, his heart heavy with the weights of a thousand earths as he frantically tried to even his breath. This wasn't happening, he had continued to mouth to himself. This wasn't happening…
She couldn't be gone.
She wouldn't do that to them.
"Overanalyzing things?!" Roberto's relapse had rendered him completely vulnerable to Keith's approaching exasperation. Raising the unresponsive man before him on his opulent collar, the Libertian Prince hauled him up with one arm and glared at him vindictively, flaming emeralds to aversive brown, "How dare you speak of her like she's some worthless commoner!?" He bellowed, his commanding voice reverberating violently against the confined space before him. Roberto remained adjourned, incapably in air, but his eyes had nonetheless regained some of its previous fury as he stared Keith down,
"How ironic, Keithster." There was untainted amusement in Roberto's tone, his voice so enchanting that every being in that room shivered involuntarily. Prince Keith barely had the time to releases Roberto before the latter sized his wrists, his uncharacteristically sharp nails digging mercilessly into Keith's skin. "Weren't you the one who tortured her with the title 'commoner' when you first met her?" He innocently inclined his head, his ebullient eyes appearing as if he was laughing heartily,
"Aren't you being some a hypocrite? Especially now, considering the fact that you're boasting near her death bed?" Wilfred's expression immediately regained some vivaciousness, and was just about to intrude when Keith wrathfully slammed Roberto against the hard walls, the power he utilized shaking the grounds beneath them.
"ENOUGH!" Keith roared, his angry face now inches in proximity from Roberto's, while the latter didn't appear frightened at all as he continued to taunt the emerald-eyed prince,
"Why are you getting angry?" he shrugged as he supressed his threatening tears. Shrugging contentedly in his usual insouciance, Roberto smiled at Keith, whose eyes were uncannily augmented with a conflation of emotions, "Could it be that I, Roberto Button, finally succeeded in striking the mighty crown Prince Keith Alford where he really hurts?"
Roberto didn't flinch when Keith's fist landed deafeningly on the wall, barely centimetres from his face. Instead, he lowered his eyes onto the ground, suddenly profoundly interested in the fine leather polish of his dress shoes. Keith's chest huffed with ragged fury, his anger growing exponentially by the second as he glared at Roberto's sudden muteness. He removed his knuckles from their unsuccessful endeavour, and turned away from the mocking traces of striking crimson now adorning dull beige. What insolence, he thought while Wilfred quietly approached them from behind, and had softly placed his hands on their nearing shoulders,
"We're all here for the same reason." Roberto turned his face away from the Philipean Prince's consoling words, "Don't start something useless."
There was a brief pause when Wilfred stole an ephemeral glance towards her petite form, his gaze longing, defeated, hopeless.
"She wouldn't want that."
Keith's body trembled noticeably at Wilfred's statement, while Roberto shoved away from the two and slumped on a nearby armchair, grasping his strands tightly in his fingers. Wilfred narrowed his brow at the force Roberto employed, and almost contemplated reassuring him before his conscience warned him against it. Physical pain was a distraction for Roberto, Wilfred thought with a bitter taste in his mouth,
It was perhaps his only method towards salvation.
Amidst their erratic noise, Prince Glenn's gaze didn't shift away from her. He knew what happened, and had already traced down the vehicle that brought her into this state; however, for some reason, he just couldn't accept it. It was as if the knowledge of her lying before him became a forbidden chant, one that was irrevocably near but at the same time, incredibly faraway. He needed to reach it, he needed it to move on, but every cell in his body screamed at him not to. He wanted to walk away, to escape the inevitable verdict that would at any second bestow upon her. He wanted to cry, but somehow, he had emptied his tears.
The memories of their childhood flashed before his eyes with impeccably cruel timing. There she was, perched happily in fields of blooming efflorescence, weaving flowers delicately into a crown that she would later place on her cascading hair. Her presence had ever since then become a wonder to her, and even despite his naïve age, he had sworn in resolution that he would protect her smile for the rest of his life. When he told her of his wish, she had blushed ever so lightly before embracing him tightly, knocking him over as they tumbled in the beautiful meadow. He couldn't forget the dulcet kiss she softly planted on his cheek – for years, that very action provided him the strength to survive in the ominous Oriens castle.
Their second encounter had been unexpected, but nevertheless fated. It was her first dance at Nobel Michael castle, and he had immoderately recognized the niveousness of her hair, the glorious amethyst luster of her eyes; it had been more than 10 years, and her adorableness as a child had transformed into a glorious, divine beauty that was deemed the cynosure of the holy grounds. Prince Wilfred had chuckled at his gaping form, and he recalled shooting him an angry look before stumbling over to her and asking for her hand in dance. To his astonishment, she had graciously complied, and together they…
"…" Glenn's head turned rapidly towards the warning signal upon her heart monitor, his dampened bangs whipping painfully against his skin. He couldn't tell whether the remaining three princes were still present within his periphery, and he couldn't give a damn whether they persisted. Tightening his fingers around her hand, he held his breath as he watched, unblinkingly at the diminishing force of her heart beats, the gradually shortening lines.
They became quieter and quieter, the air around them crystallizing with unspoken tension, looming anticipation. Four pairs of dreaded eyes, four pairs of unanimously thumping hearts directed their unwavering attentions to the machine before them; soliciting, begging, praying, pleading, requesting, imploring towards what may now be an impossible miracle.
They watched as the last arc disappeared from the screen.
The watched as the green line became continuous at once, constant for eternity.
"No…" Roberto's faint whisper blew close to Glenn's ear. It finally ended…he firmly shut his eyelids and turned his back towards her now distant existence, the tears ruthlessly trailing his cheeks contorting his beauty. Wilfred followed, his chest heaving in a coarse cacophony. He wanted to comfort Roberto, and only extended his hand halfway towards his shoulder when Keith forcefully knocked it sideways with his body.
The Libertian Prince's shadow was brutal as he beat against the hospital's interior, his previous wound now streaming with new, unembellished paths of blood.
"Damnit!" frustrated immensely with the lack of power he possessed over fate, Keith pounded his fist repeatedly against the solid surface, the strength of every blow reverberating into the depths of his soul. He couldn't bring himself to stop, even when the impact of his blasts tore his skin open and whitened his knuckles, even when his blood had trickled and blossomed into fiery poppies against the granite tiles, even when his vision was completely obscured with his pathetic tears…
Roberto and Wilfred merely watched, their figures frozen in place.
To Glenn, everything had become irrelevant. Everything. The line on her heart monitor no longer made sense to him as he stared perplexedly at the machine. Perhaps it was due to the grief he so stoically carried this entire time; or perhaps it was the irreplaceable position she held within his heart, none of that mattered anymore. He held on to her cold hand, but he no longer knew why. It was as if time, space, all of the vibrant colors of reality had dissipated into indifferentiable pastels, vague watercolors that bore no visible linings…For in that moment, he was the only one left, the only one left in a forgone, meaningless world.
…
He didn't comprehend the value in piecing beep the box before him produced, nor the niveous light the walls dispensed. There was touch…within his fingers, something soft and tangible, something that reminded him of pudding…He looked absently at the girl before him – her unblinking eyes, her expressionless, portrait-perfect features, the pink bandages that wrapped securely around the upper portion of her chest. There was something nostalgic about her, something that he couldn't quite put his finger upon; but a voice inside his head screamed not to find out.
He didn't move. He couldn't feel. He only stared, unmoving at the still depiction before him, his heartbeat steady and rhythmic, as it had always been.
"Prince Glenn?" Wilfred asked, his voice weak with concern.
"…Yeah." The youngest prince replied, shaking his head and once again mustering his typically detached disposition.
"Prince Wilfred" he enquired upon spotting both Keith and Roberto's slumped forms.
"Why are we all here?"
…he said as he let go of her hand, letting it drop flaccidly to her side.
—-
"Prince Joshua!" Edward exclaimed as he spotted the fierce DresVanian prince traverse just opposite of him, his heart immensely relieved to finally locate a companion in this dreary hospital. Joshua nodded briefly in recognition before continuing his path, to which Edward quickened his pace until they were walking side by side,
"…Do you think, that maybe…" Edward gulped before saying, his slim fingers quivering with apprehension, "Maybe, we're too late?"
Joshua stopped dead in his tracks and contemplated, his heart also dubious, but his customary coolness dictated to only appraise the most optimistic possibilities. With that, he placed his palm on Edward's shoulder, his voice as tranquil as he could possibly manage,
"She'll make it."