Dorian wasn't sure when he had given up, but he knew it didn't take long before he did.
He had tried to be defiant, out of principle rather than actual hope that he would make his father change his mind, but he just didn't have the will or energy to keep it up.
He refused to accept the situation, refused to look at his father, but he complied as much as he could while trying to think of a way to solve his… predicament.
His father, naturally, had ideas of his own. They spoke, or rather he spoke, often about Dorian's future. About what they had to do to repair what had happened, what Dorian had to do to show what a good man he was.
He would come into Dorian's room on most evenings, just to speak about what was going on. He never asked Dorian how he was doing and Dorian never spoke back. He merely stared at Halward, his face unreadable. Listening, but not contributing.
He was told of the new rumours that were spread to cover over the ones that existed, blaming illness, sadness over the loss of the Alexius-family, exploitation of a grieving soul; everything and anything to shift the blame away from Dorian and to someone else.
Even if Dorian could protest it, he wasn't sure what good it would do so when his father gave him updates, he merely shrugged and replied with a dry "How wonderful", if even that. In truth, he just didn't care because he knew that he had no say in it anyway. He was a prisoner in his own childhood home, isolated and trapped inside the house with no contact to the outside world.
His father would tell him that he received letters from time to time; well-wishes for a speedy recovery, inquiries about how he was doing, updates on what was going on, but Dorian would never see the letters themselves. His father took it upon himself to pen them a response, brief and to the point, keeping every letter as un-personal as he could.
Dorian had protested that at first as well, of course, just like he had protested everything, but he soon realised that there was nothing he could do.
He was kept in his room, shackled with mana-draining cuffs and surrounded by enchantments that prevented him from breaking out. They had made the mistake of leaving him with a mirror, something Dorian had smashed out of anger in the early days of his entrapment. He had considered ending it then, bringing a shard of glass to his throat, but in the end he hadn't been able to; too afraid of the pain and what would wait for him on the other side if he did. The noise had not gone unnoticed and servants had flooded into his room mere moments later, removing the shard, healing his bloodied and cut-up hands, and replacing the mirror with a new, enchanted one.
Because the Maker forbid that Dorian would be denied the pleasure of his own reflection.
Meals were brought in by a servant, his chamber pot emptied thrice a day and the only company he had was himself, save from the times his father came to speak to him.
It was pure agony.
With the isolation and complete lack of freedom Dorian found himself slowly giving up.
He because quiet, obedient, not speaking unless spoken to and keeping himself calm and collected. When he looked at himself in the mirror, Dorian found it hard to even recognise himself. Yes, he tended to himself as he had very little else to do, but his eyes were dull, there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked thin. Pale. A walking corpse more than a man.
Time was completely lost on him and he couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt the sun on his skin.
At this rate, he was little more than a husk. He just happened to still be alive.
It was late one night when the door to his bedroom door opened and a familiar figure came into the room.
"Misha?"
The elfen servant placed her finger against her lips before approaching Dorian, smiling softly as she carried a small tray. "Be quiet, my Lord. I am sure your mother or father would not approve of me being here, but you have been alone for so long now, my heart could not take it anymore."
"Don't be silly, Misha," Dorian scolded, frowning some. "Do not get into trouble on my behalf."
"Nonsense," Misha said before placing the tray down onto the table. She removed the cloth covering it, revealing a plate with cookies and a glass with red wine.
"It is not much, Master Dorian, but I remembered how fond you were of these little treats when you were younger," she murmured, smiling warmly at Dorian. "I hope they can bring you at least a little bit of comfort until…" She trailed off as she bit her bottom lip, eyes cast downwards.
"… What is he planning," Dorian asked, his voice low, hoarse. "Do you know?"
"Afraid not, master Dorian," Misha said. "He sends many letters and for the last week, he has been away to Minrathous."
"Probably trying to wipe away the shame with money," Dorian snorted before smiling some, reaching out to take one of the offered cookies, picking one up. It was still warm to the touch and when Dorian bit into it, he felt the soft, slightly moist centre as he chewed on it.
"Thank you," he murmured softly. "For bringing them to me. Please, share one with me."
Misha hesitated for a moment before smiling, nodding as she took one of the cookies from the tray. "Thank you, master Dorian," she murmured before biting into the cookie, chewing on it slowly as she savoured the taste.
"How long do you have before mother will grow suspicious of your absence," Dorian asked while taking the wineglass, taking a small sip from it.
"I believe I have an hour or two to spare."
Then, would you entertain me with a round of chess?"
"I would be delighted, master Dorian."
xoxoxoxox
It had been the only thing Dorian had looked forward to. The only thing that had brought him a little joy, made him remember that he was alive. That there was someone out there who cared enough to defy his father and mother, just to bring him some comfort.
He should have known it would not last.
He should have known that the punishment for such obvious insolence and disobedience would be grand, but he had expected to be the one to pay the price.
He should have told her to stop, but the temptation for comfort, for contact with another person, for conversation and just a glimmer of happiness had been too much.
He should have known.
He should have known better.
He should have seen it on her face, in her eyes as she carefully opened the door to his room, giving Dorian a careful smile as she carried in the usual small tray with treats.
She didn't do it often, only once or twice a week over the last few months, but Dorian had treasured it all the same.
This night had seemed no different. It had been a while since her last visit and he did not think about it as she came into the room, closing the door behind her before approaching Dorian by the window.
"No cookies tonight, Master Dorian, but I hope some kheer will be okay."
"It is a warm night tonight. Kheer will be welcome," Dorian replied, smiling as he watched Misha put the plate down onto the table by the window, letting Dorian see the treat. A simple desert, a pudding-like treat made from rice, milk, sugar and dried fruit, but enjoyable in all its simplicity. A childhood favourite.
"Freshly made, master Dorian."
"Of that I have no doubt. You continue to spoil me," Dorian said as he sat down. "Will you keep me company?"
"Of course, master Dorian."
Misha smiled and carefully sat down onto the chair across from Dorian, watching as he picked up the spoon and scooped up some of the creamy pudding. She said nothing as she watched Dorian eat it, though she smiled a little from the pleased noises Dorian made. "I am glad you liked it, master Dorian."
"You, my dear, have never failed in making my taste-buds dance with joy," Dorian smiled, happily scooping up more kheer before eating it.
Misha didn't respond, merely smiled as Dorian continued to eat, watching him with a distant look in her eyes.
Dorian paused, gently placing his spoon back into the bowl. "Are you alright, Misha? You seem distant tonight."
"It is nothing, master Dorian," Misha replied and it was only then Dorian noticed how… flat her voice was.
"Misha?" Dorian said as he carefully reached his hand towards her. His fingers accidentally knocked at the stem of his glass, which made him frown, halting his movements. When had his hand started to feel so… heavy?
"Misha," he asked again, looking up at her before realising that her appearance seemed… blurred.
"What… What was in that-" he started as a sudden feeling of nausea spread through his body, his vision blurring more and more. He tried standing, only to fall over onto his side, his body feeling as if it was cramping up. "M-Misha…"
"Everything is fine, master Dorian," Misha replied as she stood up, walking over to Dorian before kneeling down. "Just relax."
"W-why," he asked, desperately trying to figure out what was happening. Was he poisoned? Drugged? What for? Why? The elfen servant had been like a second mother to him since childhood, why would she do this to him?
That's when he saw it. The red rim around her eyes, barely visible as she leaned in closer to stroke his hair away from his face. And he could see the tears that welled up in her eyes, a clear sign of the internal struggle inside her.
She was being controlled. Controlled by blood magic.
"M-Misha…" he gasped again as his eyes finally fogged out, leaving him in a daze as he felt darkness starting to slip over his mind.
"Everything will be okay," Misha replied in the same flat voice, her true feelings betrayed by the tears that were running down her cheeks. Her hand kept stroking his hair back, as if she wanted to soothe him. Just like when he was a child, waking up from fade-created nightmares with cries for his parents, tears running down his own cheeks.
She had comforted him then, come to him and laid with him in bed, taking him onto her lap and stroking his hair as she hummed for him. Whispering sweet, comforting words until he fell back asleep again, making him feel safe.
"Your father will make everything better now."
He wanted to believe her.
But he couldn't.