I know what you're thinking. . .what the heck is she doing? She just keeps starting stories and never finishing them! I know, I know. But when inspiration strikes you have to write it down you know?

Bear with me, okay?

Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't make me say it again.


Sweat drenched his face as he slumped forward with exhaustion. His arms were bound to the wall behind in by cuffs of iron and steel, making the soft skin of his wrist blister and redden. His hair was limp from the amount of moisture it had absorbed and his heart was beating much like a rabbit's. The sound of expensive shoes clicked the floor as his captor came forward. A laugh echoed through the stone-walled room, a laugh full of bloody and tortuous promises. Air wheezed past his teeth as his rib cage ached, bruises pasted to his body like tattoos and stickers. Each ached and throbbed with every breath. Air was the one thing he needed to continue and it was the one thing that was causing him so much pain. A hand curled around his hair and pulled his head up. His legs had all but given out and his wrists screamed in agony as the weight of his body were rested upon them.

"We play this game...you and I." The man said in a sophisticated voice. He spoke with a cool drawl, with an accent that wasn't quite German or quite Russian. It was something close to the middle of the two; his breath fanned the prisoner's face and he weakly tried to move his head away but the hand to his hair only tighten. His scalp burned as the roots of his hair were being pulled tighter and farther from their home on his head. "It would be a shame to break your pretty face anymore than I have to. But it doesn't have to be this way." He released his head and the prisoner's head lobbed back down. He used the only energy he had left to lift it and meet his captor's black eyes. The man before him had no pupils; his whole eye was consumed by a blackness that no doubt lied in his heart. "See? We don't have to do this. All you have to do is tell me where the girl is and you're free to go."

The prisoner laughed, though he was in no position to. It was a velvety sound, beautiful and melodic, that immediately made the tension in the room increase drastically. "What? And we part as unlikely friends?" He shook his head, sweat droplets falling from each strand of hair. "Now, you're just hurting my feelings. Do you take me for an idiot?"

The man smiled coolly, it made the air around them icy cold. "I would never . . . to insult a Prince? Never," His tone was mocking and the boy narrowed his eyes. The man, with the onyx eyes, grabbed the boy by the face roughly and pulled him closer. "This is not your kingdom and I am not your servant."

The boy laughed again and threw his head back for extra effect as he dislodged the man's hold on him. "But the title remains the same, does it not? I will always be a Prince and you will always be my servant."

The man brought his hand down harshly against the boy's face. The sound of skin meeting skin was echoed throughout the room. The mockery that had resigned in the man's dead eyes had left as a hot flare of anger came and disappeared. "Where is the girl?"

The prisoner spit at the man's feet. His shoes, that had once been shiny due to waxing, were shining because of blood now. "I just told you 5 minutes ago, I don't know who you're talking about. My knowledge and answer still hasn't changed from the last time you asked that question."

A flicker of anger took over the captor's face before he smiled and took a step forward. "The girl of the prophecy. The one who will rain fire down from the heavens." The prisoner's face remained blank, the description obviously having no effect on him. "Where is she?"

The prisoner smiled, his teeth covered with gore. "I don't know." He said it slowly as if talking to a toddler, who wasn't listening. He would never say, he would die first.

The captor smiled as he ran a large hand down his tailored suit as if it weren't covered in the prisoner's blood already. He walked slowly to the table in the middle of the room. On it sat an assortment of instruments that no one had seen in ages, things that no one even knew existed. The man went for none of the fancy looking weapons on the table; instead he grabbed a simple dagger. He ran his thumb gently over the dagger's blade and it sliced into his skin as if it were paper. "Do you know what people use to do in Salem Massachusetts? When they thought someone was a witch but they wouldn't confess?" The prisoner remained silent as the man smiled. His white teeth glowed in the darkness of the room. It seemed funny; he was the lightest thing in all the darkness and yet he was the one who was causing it. "No? Well, let me enlighten you." He brought the blade to the prisoner's chest and as the boy heaved the tip of the dagger cut the skin over his fast beating heart. "They would set a flame, drown, and torture them into submission. If the person who was set on fire did not burn, they were a witch. If they did not drown, they were a witch. But before each ritual each person would plead for their lives and say whatever it was that their accuser wanted to hear."

The blade inched closer and the prisoner had to hold his breath to keep the knife from plunging into his heart. "I like to think of myself as an old fashioned man. I like to stick to traditions, even if they aren't my own." He grinned again; his straight teeth looked like fangs as he brought his face closer to the prisoner's. "I will ask you one more time and do remember I am not a patient man." He moved the blade away and the boy sucked in a large breath he had been holding. His lungs screamed in relief and his chest ached from the bruises he had just received early. Blood ran in tiny drops down his chest and spattered to the floor. "Where is the girl?"

For a moment the prisoner could hear absolutely everything. He could hear the blood that was rushing through his veins; he could feel his muscles shriek in pain. He heard his heart beating clear in his ears as if it had been ripped out and placed by the side of his head. He listened as the blade in his captor's hand, so sharp, cut through air as he lifted it and placed it against the boy's chest. He felt the shallow wound as it began to open, the skin tearing like butter. The hilt of the blade shined brightly through the dark space as a ray of moon light shined through a far window in the cold room. The captor's black eyes waited anxiously for the answer as the boy met his gaze.

"I don't know. And even if I did, I would never tell you."

The blade cut down his torso, skin splitting open like a banana peel and with it came a fiery hot pain. Blood poured from his body and soaked the floor as the man's shoes became saturated with it. But still, they remained just as shiny as when he had first walked in.

"Sir!" A man in black stepped into the enclosed space. He didn't give a wayward glance at the boy who was struggling for death to consume him. "We've found the girl."

The man smiled and pulled his dagger from the boy's body with a tug. The boy let out a scream and felt his body start to tremble. "It would seem that I don't require your services anymore, Prince." He brought the blade up high above his head.

The boy laughed, fighting his way to consciousness as his eyes dropped closed. Pain vibrated through his body like electricity. "I welcome death."

The man stopped as he studied the boy's handsome, fearless face. He glanced at the guard who he gave a nod to and scurried out. He smiled before lowering his blade. "I might have use for you after all." He grinned wide and sick. "There are worst things than death, dear boy."

The boy's nostrils flared as he swallowed. "I would never help you. A prince does not offer his hand in assistance to dirt." He said it purely to make the man angry. He succeeded.

"Once I'm done with you, dear Prince." His voice was a hiss. The prisoner choked and gagged on the blood that was free flowing from his mouth and body. The pain was intense as wave after wave of torture and torment hit him. "You won't even remember whom the servant was and whom the prince was."


He took a shuttering breath, the amount of pain his body ached from was intense but he couldn't remember why. His eyes searched the area around him with the curiosity of a cat, his pupils landed on a table in the center of the room. On that table, the only thing covered in blood, was a single dagger. He glanced down at himself, dried blood covered him like a second skin, though he had no clue how it had come to be there. He reeked of body odor and iron as he wrinkled his nose against the scent. He could smell the fresh and cold wind as it rattled the small window to his left. He walked forward with careful steps, his whole body screaming in protest. His legs were shaking from the effort and he had to grab the wall to keep steady. His fingernails were broken and dirty; he slowly squatted on the floor to run a finger down the claw marks that had indented themselves in his cell.

Who was he?

His hands skimmed his skin, his ribs clearly showing. Well, he knew he was a man but what was his name? Did he have one?

He stared up in the washing of moonlight that poured through the small strip of window. Outside he could hear birds calling out to one another and the rustling of the trees as the wind pushed against them. He heard the digging of animals underground and the slow steady beat of his heart.

"Ah, you're awake." The teen turned and looked in the entrance of his cell. "I was afraid after what happened that you wouldn't be coming back to us." The man before him wore a tailored suit with a crisp white button down underneath, his shoes clicked on the floor as he approached. His teeth were a brilliant white and his eyes were so brown, one would have mistaken them as black. The boy frowned, this all seemed too familiar. But he couldn't place a finger on it. The well dressed man pulled him into a hug and for some reason; the boy thought it would be wrong to return the gesture. "I was so worried that we lost you, my son."

The boy blinked and focused on the man in front of him. He studied him closely and frowned in confusion. "Father?"

The man nodded with a sweet smile. It seemed forced on his face, like the muscles of his mouth had never done it before. "Yes, my boy. It's me."

"What's happened to me, Father? I can't remember anything?" The teen let out a shaky breath as the man took hold of his shoulders. "And why am I in a cell?" He asked suspiciously.

"It was awful, my boy. I was going to bestow the crown to you but a woman cursed you before you could gain your rightful place as the head of our kingdom." This sounded false and fictitious.

The boy frowned. "I am a prince?"

The man's brown eyes twinkled with excitement. "Yes, you are my son and I am the King." He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "It seems only fitting, does it not?"

The boy nodded absentmindedly. None of this was getting any clearer in his mind. Everything seemed so abstract; he just needed something concrete to focus on. "But why am I in this cell?"

"After you were cursed you were a danger and threat to everyone." He pulled his gaze to his son's. A sadness laid in his eyes as the man took a breath. "You went out of control and savage. Your poor mother tried to stop you but…" He let his voice trail off in agony.

The boy blinked, dread flooded his stomach as he bent over because of the pain. "You mean…I…" He trailed off the question as the man brought his gaze back to him and nodded.

His mother, his sweet mother; he could remember a flash of her now, her sweeping blonde hair, shiny and silky, like a waterfall and a smile that could brighten even the darkest of rooms. She had been beautiful and her own creation had killed her. Tears gathered in the boy's eyes for a woman he could only remember little of. His mind may have known little but his heart knew more and took the loss hard. "Why can't I remember anything?"

The boy turned frantically to his father as the man sadly shook his head. "It's part of the curse I assume." A tear rolled down the boy's cheek as his father grabbed his face. "But fear not, we have found the key to breaking this wretched curse. I have searched and searched and found a seer whose power has seen the future to breaking your enchantment."

The boy looked up fast, hope flared in his heart though it felt fake somehow. "What must I do?"

The man smiled, not a sweet smile but a finalizing one. "You must bring this girl." He held up a picture of a smiling teen, no older than he was, beside her sat two others but they had been crossed out and her head had been circled in red. "She is the central cause for all your problems but she is also the key to making it all disappear."

The boy studied the girl a moment before looking back up at his father. "I will bring the girl, Father. I will make you proud." This was just the thing he needed to focus on, the girl, concrete and simple.

"I know you will, my boy." The teen nodded in head in respect as the man gestured for him to follow. "Oh and there is one more thing. The time is not as you have once known it to be."

The boy blinked. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two hundred and eighty six years, my boy."


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