The king sat alone in his workspace deep within the cold, shadowed dungeon. The flickering light from candles and torches was a striking contrast to the oppressive darkness that pressed against the stone walls outside the room. It was the only place in the dungeon that had light—a space Ogron considered sacred. He didn't mind the cold air that seemed to grip his hands like an icy breath whispering, I'm here. Dust collected easily, and cobwebs were abundant, but this only added to the sense of isolation that he craved. His desk, surrounded by shelves lined with potions, enchanted books, cursed artifacts, and the spoils of countless victories, was a testament to his power. Yet, despite the trophies of conquest and the proximity to his precious, deceased teacher, a heavy sadness clung to him, a weight he couldn't shake.
Ogron's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk as frustration boiled within him. He thought of Anagan—his little rabbit—and the way the man had trembled and cried under his touch. Confusion twisted his thoughts. Why had Anagan pulled away? What had he done wrong? The punishment he had administered was mild, far less severe than what he was capable of, and he had done it out of love, to protect Anagan's pure eyes from the grotesque sights of the world. Yet, instead of gratitude, he was met with fear. The king slammed his hand on the desk, the sound echoing in the dark chamber. He had only tried to keep Anagan safe, to show him that obedience would shield him from harm. But now, his little rabbit was slipping away, and the thought of losing that control gnawed at him.
"I need answers," Ogron muttered under his breath. His voice echoed off the stone walls, hollow and desperate. He called for one of his most trusted servants, and it felt like an eternity passed before a voice responded from the shadows.
"You called, my lord?" The servant, designated simply as 'Three,' tried to sound steady, but a slight crack in his voice betrayed his fear. No one had ever been summoned to the dungeon without reason, and the servant's heart pounded in his chest, certain he had done something wrong.
"My little rabbit is upset with me…" Ogron's voice lacked its usual authority, replaced by a tone of pitiful bewilderment. The servant blinked, taken aback by the king's demeanor.
"Forgive me, my lord… I don't understand."
Ogron stood abruptly, his frustration boiling over as he glared at the servant. "My rabbit! My Ana!" he shouted, his voice sharp with desperation. Realization dawned on the servant—Ogron was referring to Anagan. He had heard whispers that Ogron had punished the man, though the details were shrouded in secrecy, as was customary in the king's court. The servant hesitated, choosing his words with utmost care.
"I don't understand… I didn't do anything wrong, so why won't my little rabbit look at me?" Ogron slumped back into his chair, his hands clenching into fists. If they were at a pub, he would have drunk it dry by now. The servant shifted nervously before asking for permission to speak. After a moment of sulking, the king gave a curt nod.
'I must tread carefully,' the servant thought, knowing that a single wrong word could cost him his life. Then, an idea struck him—one that might explain Anagan's behavior without directly criticizing the king. "Have you ever owned a rabbit, my lord?" he asked cautiously.
Ogron tilted his head, the question catching him off guard. What did that matter? Still, this was one of his most loyal and trusted advisors, so he would at least listen. "No," he replied flatly.
"Well, my lord," the servant continued, choosing each word as if walking through a field of landmines, "one of the most important things to remember when you first have a small creature like a rabbit— is to leave them alone for a while, let them come to you at their own pace… they can get easily overwhelmed, being prey animals and all."
Silence filled the room as Ogron silently scrutinized him, the flickering light casting long shadows across his stern face. The servant shifted uncomfortably before daring to ask for further permission. "May I speak more openly, my lord?" The request was made with the utmost caution, the words carefully chosen to avoid offending the king.
Ogron's face contorted, a mix of reluctance and curiosity warring within him. He didn't particularly want to hear whatever the servant had to say, especially if it required permission. But he needed to understand, to get Anagan back. He nodded once more, bracing himself for the servant's words.
"You… um… I haven't been around him much since his arrival, but from what I've observed, and from what others may have whispered, it seems his coming here wasn't entirely his choice. Your presence, my lord, while undoubtedly commanding, can be overwhelming. It's possible that, under the circumstances, you may have been… overbearing, and that might be pushing your little rabbit away already." The servant hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. "And though I do not know the details of your disagreement, I believe that not everyone may understand how you show love. He might not… er, fully comprehend that what you did to him was, in your own way, an act of kindness. It might be in your best interest to… give him some space, my lord, just for a little while…"
Ogron stood up sharply, his displeasure radiating through the room. He began to pace, his face a mask of dissatisfaction as he processed the servant's words. The thought of leaving Anagan alone, of stepping back from the control he so desperately needed to maintain, felt like a bitter defeat. But then, his steps faltered, and he sank back into his chair with a huff, arms crossed like a petulant child.
"It's not fair," he grumbled, the words dripping with frustration. The servant waited in tense silence, feeling as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ogron let out a heavy sigh. "Fine," he conceded, his tone sour. "He can have space, but I still want him to know how much I love him and that I'm always there if he needs me. Find three servants that look like me. Of course, they won't be an exact match—I am quite the handsome man, after all—but maybe having people who resemble me around will help him understand how much I mean to him."
The servant inwardly sighed, knowing this was far from the ideal solution, but he wasn't about to argue. He bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord." Just as he was about to turn and leave, Ogron added another request.
"And I want a small, cute doll that looks like him—something to remind me of him in his absence. It's only fair, since he gets servants that look like me."
The servant nodded again, suppressing the uneasy feeling in his gut. He had seen the king's obsession take many forms, but this request felt particularly ominous. As he left the room, he couldn't help but wonder how much further this twisted love could go before it broke entirely. He took a deep breath once he was out of earshot, his heart still pounding from the tension of the encounter. The king's love, if it could even be called that, was a dangerous thing, and he pitied the man who had unwittingly become its object.
Back in the chamber, Ogron sat with his arms crossed, staring at the cold stone wall in front of him. "It's not fair," he muttered again, but there was no one to hear his complaint. The darkness seemed to press closer, whispering of things he didn't want to acknowledge, and he pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the doll that would soon be his—a small token of the love he could not understand.
