notes: I know it's called a fluff week for reasons, but honestly I can't do fluff fulltime and I need to get some angst or at least hurt/comfort out, haha. It's still Kinabra though, don't worry. And I swear the last prompt (happily ever after) will be fluff. The prospect of fluff makes me shiver, but so be it.

Happy Monday, nevertheless, everyone. Written before my first coffee:


the five senses

She paints a picture so bright, it's almost like he had never lost sight.


Dressed in the moonlight, she would come to him and every day he'd regret giving up the last of his sight from his left eye to fight for his freedom.

At the time, success was tangible. The end of the world was near and he still hadn't found what he wanted. It seemed like all the other Dragonslayers knew their purpose, knew their intention, what they were doing, and so they combined forces to achieve their 400-year dreams, but as usual he was left smacking his dry lips at the dust they left behind. He didn't participate in the grandest battle of the world, but he found something else—

Power. Beyond the power to simply bend sound. With that power, he would not only manipulate the sound that was already there, he would control the entire sense, create a completely new world and build an empire where he had the monopoly on what everyone perceived.

He gladly gave up his second eye. Happiness was just at the tips of his fingers, and so was the knife that he brandished against the last remnants of his vision.

Shrouded then in an infinite galaxy of night, he lay his plan into place, cocky and confident that this was all he ever needed to get what he wanted.

And he was right.

For years, he was the rumored standalone Dragonslayer that no one ever dared to touch. He ruled lands, conquered peoples, commanded wars—all of which he won, all of which he won alone.

And that was when he learned that happiness was not at his fingertips. Happiness was actually at the sunset horizons he could no longer see.

So he spent another eternity trying to find his right eye again, thinking that it would lead him to the answers of the questions he had since he was a young child carrying towers of bricks and stone and cement on his back.

He found her in the middle of his journey to find his sight, and by the time he found what he was looking for—and realized that his wishes were with her all along—he had already forgotten all the color in his life, resorting to faded memories of warm and cool shades that language had never properly provided him words with which to describe.

Every day he regrets giving up the last of his sight because he can't see the love of his life.

But every night, she'd kiss him goodnight, she'd send warmth and goodness to his lips—enough to make his eternal nothingness dapple with colors, with light—and remind him that he doesn't need sight to see her.


end notes: I believe I have just two more to upload before this is all over! My little excursion with Kinabra will come to end very soon. :(

thir13enth