In the late days of the Kingdom, it seemed not even the ivy could hold color.
The vines which once had a stranglehold on the stone walls of the castle now hung limp, black and brown instead of vivid green. Their support, the crumbling castle, was nearly in ruins, but the patient work that was evident in every inch of the architecture seemed to suggest that there was a time when people once cared.
Outer walls of the castle held tattered flags that appeared as if they would come apart at any moment. They bore the image of a dagger crossed with a golden rose, the symbol of the Kingdom. A symbol that would inevitably fade in memory like many aspects of the old Kingdom had.
The surrounding land was in no better condition. There were thick fields of thorns where beauty once sprouted, with one exception; large, yellow flowers that sporadically rose from the thistle ground. No other Kingdom could ever grow those strong, persevering buds, for they were loyal to only one Kingdom, and would shrivel in any land that was not their birthplace.
Forever faithful subjects they remained, even when everyone else had strayed.
Inside of the castle walls, the young king of the Kingdom would often reflect on the wretched state of affairs. His people had abandoned him, fled the place which they once crowded for protection. All he was left to do was to mourn until his last breath.
In the beginning of the Fall, the pain of being alone tore the King apart. Dishes were smashed, paintings were ripped from the walls, tapestries burned; any form of destruction the King could think of, he performed. His golden robes would be stained with red after the fits of rage and sorrow that would often strike him.
The King would allow the precious deep scarlet to leak out of his body more and more in the later years, if only to try to strike up some emotion in his darkened heart. Plans hatched to try to save the land, once commonly thought up by the gold eyed royal, were all but forgotten.
At least, up until one fateful day, when the King received his first visitor since the Fall.
The King snapped to attention from a drowsy state when the sound of footsteps reached the throne room. His mind raced with the possibility of who had entered his castle. Perhaps thieves who had believed him to be passed, the King thought.
A smug smile formed on his face at the idea. Any thief who would brave the grounds to raid his castle would be sorely disappointed.
There was nothing left of value but his crown.
When the doors to the throne room opened, the King readied himself for his guest, putting on proper royal airs that had always been expected by the commoners.
"King Hibiya?"
The King's face fell at the male who was in his doorframe. A boy with dark red eyes and spectacles, paired with blonde hair and the silliest suit the King had ever seen. What man makes his tie into a bow? When he noticed the boy slowly begin to descend on one knee, the King scoffed.
"I am the King of this land, but there is no need to pay me respect. It is the equivalent to spitting in my face. Haven't you done enough in leaving my side?"
"M-my name is Tsukishima," The boy blurted, intent on finished what appeared to be a rehearsed speech. "I am a messenger for the Kingdom!"
A/N : Not really sure where I'll be taking this, if I do go on there will be lots of the alternates paired unusually, for example Tsukishima/Tsugaru, and yeah.
