A/N: It's been so long. I've lost so much, and gained back a little more. My writer's block is gone for good, and this story will go on. I apologize for my absence; I've been a lifetime of emotions and things going on all at once. I'm sorry if my writing style is different, though I think it's alright. I will be posting another chapter later this week with Fionna and Marshall Lee packed fluff. This chapter is based mainly on Gumball.

It is very important and I hope you enjoy.

"Hush now, hush my baby. Everything will be alright, for one day everything will be grand.

One day you will end your father's reign, one day you will possess the land

So don't you weep my little sweet, weeping is for the weak,

No… weeping is for me.

But you cannot apprehend, you cannot grasp what cannot be seen

Your daddy is a malicious man, and I am his wicked queen

I watch in silence as he slits their throats,

As he demolishes their hopes,

Oh my little darling, I can perceive the identical look in your pretty eyes

The same look your father gets when they fall for his lies

Oh, and you have a bit of me in you too

I just know all the magnificent things you will be able to do

Oh how you will deceive! Just like me!

They will bow down at your feet!

Just remember, my little prince

That like your father, you have a single weakness

A human, my little bastard girl,

All your plans to devastate the world will unfurl,

Be cautious my love, be so very careful,

Let your hatred burrow deep and grow

Let it overflow!

Just like my hate for your father,

And all the dreadful things that he has done and will do

Loathe the world as much as I loathe you."

It's an impending loss. He can occasionally recollect the essence of her honey sweet voice, the way it soothed his heart and warmed his soul. Her voice dawdled in the obscurities of his dreams, flooding along in all his horrendous nightmares, resonating in the back of his mind. He recalls her instantaneous tongue, the way she reassured the fuming spirit of his father, the way it swayed and mellowed, delightfully soft and light like a feather, seemingly void of any emotion other than affection. It tickled his ears as a child, her lips murmuring lullabies, lulling him to a tranquil and quiet slumber.

Her voice was the melody of spring, the shade of a summer kissed cheek. She used to relish in symphonies, her voice was a breeze carried graciously in the wind, caressing the hope of her people, easing their minds and enchanting their hearts.

As the older he grew, the more he listened to her voice. His beloved harmony that used to cause the sun to burn brighter, the grass to seem greener, the colors more pleasingly remarkable, now oozed of deceit. It took him till the age of eight to apprehend why a warm spirit like his mother, could ever be in love with such an unsympathetic and desolate soul that was his father. It was then that he realized she was not as different as his father, as she made herself appear to be. Her lyrics and rhymes and melodies all pulverized together, bleeding like ink, staining the once impeccable family portrait.

He became conscious of this the day everything transformed, when the warfare devastated the earth and toxic gas roamed about in the air, finding and claiming its next victim, through the lungs of human children. He committed to memory the crack in his window seal, sitting and sulking about, confined in his very own bedroom. He would sit for hours on end, glowering out from behind the window boarded with dense metal bars, observing in bewilderment and dismay at the new world developing around him, just out of reach. He's unfortunately unable to roam outside his miserable room, his door being impenetrable and locked on the outside.

This is all he does whilst being imprisoned and sheltered from the chaotic world, days turning to weeks, weeks turning to months, months turning to a year. He tries to captivate and consume his mind with anything distracting, such as burrowing long lines into his desk, or prying at the collars on his worn out shirts. But overall, nothing can divert his attention from the bitter loneliness and throbbing ache that forms and cultivates in his heart, due to isolation.

She never, not once, comes to visit him. Neither does his father, yet his father was never caring and appreciative of him anyways. The agony of her absence hurts profoundly. She never comes to share her milk and honey voice, never comes to cease his nightmares and lay beside him on his sleepless nights. She never comes to hold him in her arms, never to lift him up and kiss his forehead. Never whispers sweet nothings that expressed hope and affection. She never graces him with her delicate smile, never chases him around the room giggling tenderly and joking that she was a big bad monster, and that she was going to, "get him." He counts the hours, and the days, hoping and wishing desperately for his mommy, but she never comes.

He remembers lying there pathetically, frantic and breathing the same air for four hundred and seventy two days. Desolate and crying, his ear pitching scream and drawn out scratching at the door resounding throughout the castle, he like a shackled animal, pleading for his mother. But his mother never came. So the nights strained on, and the days seemed to never end. The fog threatened to lift, but it's hazy and yellowish gray hue stained everything it descended upon. The mouths of those who used to praise his mother and father now were left with foam trickling down the side of their cheek from their parted lips. They had their eyes bursting out slightly, laying in eternal distress outside the kingdom walls. He begins to count the lifeless bodies that build up outside the gates of the kingdom to pass time, their once screeching screams haunting into his nightmares.

In the beginning months, entombed in his tall tower, he feels the sweltering hatred for himself grow, his heart toughening and his eyes becoming dull and blank. He has already begun the process of blaming himself for his mother and father's absence, thinking in terms of, "if only I deserved their love, they'd come and save me." This loathing stays burrowed in every crevice in his heart, until the last few months, where insanity stares to rear its ugly head.

His fingers twitch on occasion, his hair has strands of gray. More abhorrence consumes him, not only for himself, but for his mother. His mother, with her sickeningly sweet voice acquainted by her angelic aura, now nothing but a temptress; deceiving and venomous. Her voice, taunting and jeering his mind in every moment, his head pounding at the remains of her sweet songs, now so sweet that he felt the blood rush up into his head when he remembered it, causing his body, not only mentally, but physically try and reject it.

It's an appalling memory, the vomit and the repulsion, slathered all into the right corner of his royal room, and alongside his king sized bed and hanging mirror. Beside it is the body of a young boy, tormented and flimsy, his sobs resounding and subsiding on deaf ears.

"Save me, save me! ...make it stop! Please! Make her voice stop!"

Trembles wrack his body, drool dripping and forming a small pool, his head draining blood all across the floor, and its slight dent from being bashed mercilessly against the tolerant cement that covered the room. He was already on the brink of insanity, mumbling incoherently, quivering and crying, when they finally unlocked the door. His maids followed in on cue, their outstretched arms rushing in, their lengthy hair descending from their shoulders, gasps of astonishment and horror followed by panicked promises dwindling off their tongues. But all he hears is her voice, turning and swaying in his heart. All he perceives is hallucinations of her kind face, her flushed cheeks and her crooked smile.

This is as far as he allows the memory to play out. It's far too painful to recall what occurs next, its train wreck of events being permanently engraved in his mind. He buries the memory deep inside himself, holding it there in a deep dark trench to wallow in, compelling himself not to ever get close to it. He blocks it out, trains himself to try and forget the non-forgettable, to try and pretend and go on with his life without having to remember. But in the darkness of the night, almost being followed carelessly by the rising sun, it awakens; it comes to life and thrives off his hopelessness, festering on his brain with its lasting cruelty and terror. He can't escape it; it's there, like a parasite feasting off on his sanity. With all that is left, the scraps of his heart that still lay around somewhere, forgotten and thrown about, try to steer him away from the following memories. But it's never enough. The memory thrashes about in his very soul, making its way into the blood stream, violating every passage way until it reaches its final destination, that being his heart. It pumps up into the brain, manipulating his mind, fogging his morals and ridding of them completely. Revenge, self-loathing, pride, and blistering anger, all of his emotions mulled by the taste of hatred.

With an abrupt thump, his knees collide against the lush grass beneath him. His hands find their way to his aching head, cradling it in their pressured embrace. Clear and foreign salty drips cascade down his flushed pink cheeks. A sensation and rush of tremors course through his entire body, his shoulders hunching over, and his hair sagging down in front of his quivering eyes that hold a fair amount of tears. His lips shiver, his fingers spraying out through his hair, threatening to tug, like they always do in times like these.

Sobs and despair follow suit, leaking out and pouring down onto the earth.

"Forgive me… forgive me…" his utterances of apologies coming far too late, for the person he is speaking to, is well over six feet under.

Her tombstone remains silent, not daring to answer him. Its stony gaze pulling and tugging at his heart even more so, the words engraved upon it seeming to scream at him.

Queen Ralza.

1957-1990

Beloved Voice

Of

An Angel

RIP

He slowly manages to get himself up, composing himself in a matter of moments. His once mournful eyes lack any kind of emotion, whilst his hunched shoulders stand broad and tall. His chin lifts, his head held high as he maintains a regular breathing pattern. His hands fall to his sides, releasing strands of shimmering pink, descending to the ground in a swift motion. They clench in renewed anger, his mind reeling, his jaw tightening and locking. His lips pulled into a straight line, his nostrils fuming.

There she goes again, making him weak even beyond the grave. More anger, more twisted hatred, more pain, more devastation.

He ruthlessly spits on her grave, his eyes narrowing and glowering.

He swiftly turns around and traces back to the kingdom, passing through the overly stretched garden, through the stern gates that protect those inside.

He has visited her as long as he can remember, every year that marked the date of her death. Some years he stayed silent, some years he screamed, and some years he wept. He could never resist coming, even if he plagued himself with the same excruciating thought, "She never visited me, why should I visit her?"

Each step he makes home is heavy, each moment filled with repeated thoughts, regrets and shame, loathing and regret, aching and loneliness, anger, anger, anger…

This is how he remains.

Spiraling into these reminiscences

Swear to me

For if you lie, my wrists will bleed

Their tears red

Maybe one day you'll find me dead

Don't ask me to believe

I still grieve

I gave everything

I was not enough

Your words used to hold so much meaning

Now they are meaningless

I'd grasp onto

The idea of you

Coming back

But like a brutal slap

I was awaken from my ignorance

Your indifference

Unbearable to handle

And for you I would have died

All because you lied and lied

Oh and how I keep dwindling into the past

How long will this vacancy last?

I don't miss you anymore

All that time wasted as I implore

But my begging and sobs fall on silent ears

I can cease these tears

But I cannot cease these fears

Never was I enough

Never did anyone genuinely love me

And it's you that made me see

It's you that made me believe

That to be true.

A/N: A better look inside his mind, and the events of his childhood, that will also affect Fionna and Marshall later on. I think we all have a piece of Gumball in us all, maybe not so much as a traumatic experience, but maybe we do. I think everyone holds onto pain. Please remember, that forgiveness is not for the person that hurt you. It is for you, the person that was hurt, for if you forgive them, you can finally move past it.

Please review.

Much love!

~ Secret Scarlet Lilly.