[Tiny hands curled on the edge of the door, peeking through that small opening, Taair catches a glimpse of his parents.
But they are not alone.
A man is holding his mother up by the wrist, her body convulsing and choking and gurgling due to the sword currently impaled through her chest. Blood pours out of her mouth. She twitches, eyes rolling around wildly as if trying to find anything, anyone who could possibly save her. But she only finds Taair with his tiny 6-year-old hands — and then she falls limp. Her eyes remain fixed on him, empty and unseeing.
Taair's father is slumped over the couple's bed. The previously white sheets, hideously expensive, are now stained with red due to the growing pool of blood that is slowly seeping out of the man. There is another man standing near the corpse, wiping the blood off his weapon.
the men - they must be familiar. taair has a growing love for history, even at this age, and he's grown up around these people. soldiers, the king's army - and his father, the king, slumped over on the bed, a splatter of a dynasty on white sheets, on white marble.
he locks eyes with his mother on the sword. reflexively, his hands tighten on the door, like he might throw it open or scream or run to her, but the sight of the light leaving her eyes, nasir family blue, roots him to the spot in silence and utter, abject horror and fright, and all he does is suck in a breath - a tiny, sharp, horrified gasp.
but he doesn't scream.
the world statics out. but he has to run, doesn't he? he has to. he has to run. his memories are a mess of this place, blurry walls and burning buildings, sir leonide's broad shoulder, blurry faces and fire and blood. he takes one step back.
and then another. and then another, a hand over his mouth, his legs trembling. and then he turns -- and he takes off, like a coward. he runs. ]
Could be the that tiny, horrified gasp. Could be his hurried footsteps as turns and runs away. But whatever it is, it causes the men to snap into focus and give chase.
He needs to run. He needs to hide. He needs to do something, because otherwise he will die.]
[ at this age, only six, taair doesn't want to die. why would he want to? there's a whole world out there to be learned, a whole life to be lived. someday, a kingdom to rule. iria is wonderful and his home, and he wants to know it, and love it, and he wants to live.
so he runs. he runs as fast as his feet can carry him, down the carpets and rugs, ducking around a corner, past priceless family heirlooms and statues. it feels like he's trying to run through water, like all he can see in his tunnel vision are his mother's lifeless eyes and the blood pouring from her chest.
there's - there has to be somewhere he can hide. there's got to be a room open, somewhere?! the handmaids, the palace staff, the guards, someone? he runs, and runs as fast as his legs can carry him, and throws himself into the first open room he can find in desperation. ]
[He runs and runs and runs, and throws himself into the first open room he can find! Just in time, it seems, because the two men chasing after him stomp down the hallway shortly after, completely oblivious to the fact that they missed him.
Taair can take a moment to catch his breath... It seems like he's alone for now?]
[ this is why he hits da bricks as an adult it's learned behavior!!! not actually but that would be funny
he throws himself into the room and rushes all the way across from it, far from the door, ducking behind the nearest piece of furniture he can put himself behind and curling up in a ball. what kind of room is this anyway, god....
his hands are shaking and his breath comes in short, desperate pants, but he puts both hands over his mouth and sinks to the floor. death is not something he's ever had to deal with, before. why would anyone ever want to hurt his parents? why would the soldiers and the guards want to hurt them?
the tears come fast, and he just sits there, hidden, hands over his mouth and shaking like a leaf, full of questions and fear, terrified, and tries to make himself smaller and smaller. at least now, he's alone. ]
[A room for the handmaidens, perhaps. Dark and bathed in shadows. It is the perfect hiding spot for a very frightened, very traumatized little prince.
He cries alone for what feels like an eternity. Nobody comes looking for him. There is simply no one around to help.
Except, at some point, the shadows shift. A pair of slender, white gloved hands appear in the periphery of his vision. Reaching for him slowly and carefully.]
[ there' s no one around to help - right up until there... is? maybe?
he barely registers it at first, wiping his tears with tiny fists as he finally pulls his hands away from his mouth. when taair looks up, though, he sees the gloves and lets out a tiny gasp, jerking his head up to see whatever... or whoever is reaching for him? white gloves. surely, surely that person must be safe. ]
[He looks up and sees a beautiful woman dressed in white. With a gentle touch, she cups a hand around one of his cheeks and swipes her thumb under his eye, wiping away his tears. She is almost ethereal in her beauty. A divine vision, sent here to save him from his misery.
[ anyone in iria would know this face, let alone a child of the royal family. the ethereal beauty of bishop caris, voice of the hierophant, the one who brings the radiant's light to the nation. normally, he sees her giving church services, or talking kindly to his parents.
there is no reason to be afraid. (even if somewhere, maybe, deep in his core, he knows he should hesitate.)
the tiny baby taair's face crumples against the soft silk pressed to his cheek, and he hiccups, reaching his arms up to be taken to her light, to her safety. ]
[She wraps her arms around him in a warm embrace, gently running her hands through his hair to soothe him. He's not alone. He doesn't have to be alone. The radiant has sent someone to save him.]
You're safe now, Taair. [her voice is soft. a welcome break from the horrors he has just witnessed.] Come with me, and you won't have to worry about a thing.
[ he says, voice tiny and reedy - baby bird song - but curls his fingers into caris' clothes, into fine familiar fabrics, into the light of the radiant. she will keep him safe. she can't bring his mom and dad back, but, surely, she'll keep him safe. ]
[There is a lack of shock and horror in her tone, knowing that the king and queen have died. Not even a hint of sorrow. But that's alright, because her arms are warm and safe. Nothing like the terrible men who struck his parents down.]
It's time to go home, Taair.
[And still held tightly in her embrace, Taair will feel himself beginning to sink. The darkness begins to cannibalize the room, shrouding it in shadows while his surroundings take another shape. The only hint of light comes from Caris herself, bathed in the light of the radiant, and the glittering gold columns that now loom over them.]
[ this is home. isn't it? it's the last thing he thinks, a question whispered to the wind of the darkness as the palace begins to fade. there's nothing to do but to hold onto lady caris, to curl his fingers tight in her clothes.
competent jailers never answer questions, after all. he buries her face in her shoulder, in safety, in the light and warmth of the sanctuary, of the radiant and it is only when he sees gold that he finally looks up again from beyond her shoulders. ]
[Over her shoulders, he sees opulent columns of gold and pristine white walls. His savior sets him down then, patting his head before she leaves him completely. Like a beloved pet.
And it is at that moment that Taair realizes that he isn't looking at gold columns, but the gold bars of a gilded cage. Caris now stands on the other side of them, smiling at him with empty eyes.]
You're safe here, Taair. You don't have to worry about a thing ever again.
[Who needs a puppet who can think for itself, after all?
Before he can react to this, though, the ground falls away from under his tiny feet and he finds himself falling into the abyss. Goodbye.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holyspirits) wrote2025-03-23 03:12 pm
no subject
But they are not alone.
A man is holding his mother up by the wrist, her body convulsing and choking and gurgling due to the sword currently impaled through her chest. Blood pours out of her mouth. She twitches, eyes rolling around wildly as if trying to find anything, anyone who could possibly save her. But she only finds Taair with his tiny 6-year-old hands — and then she falls limp. Her eyes remain fixed on him, empty and unseeing.
Taair's father is slumped over the couple's bed. The previously white sheets, hideously expensive, are now stained with red due to the growing pool of blood that is slowly seeping out of the man. There is another man standing near the corpse, wiping the blood off his weapon.
Neither of them have noticed Taair.]
no subject
the men - they must be familiar. taair has a growing love for history, even at this age, and he's grown up around these people. soldiers, the king's army - and his father, the king, slumped over on the bed, a splatter of a dynasty on white sheets, on white marble.
he locks eyes with his mother on the sword. reflexively, his hands tighten on the door, like he might throw it open or scream or run to her, but the sight of the light leaving her eyes, nasir family blue, roots him to the spot in silence and utter, abject horror and fright, and all he does is suck in a breath - a tiny, sharp, horrified gasp.
but he doesn't scream.
the world statics out. but he has to run, doesn't he? he has to. he has to run. his memories are a mess of this place, blurry walls and burning buildings, sir leonide's broad shoulder, blurry faces and fire and blood. he takes one step back.
and then another. and then another, a hand over his mouth, his legs trembling. and then he turns -- and he takes off, like a coward. he runs. ]
no subject
Could be the that tiny, horrified gasp. Could be his hurried footsteps as turns and runs away. But whatever it is, it causes the men to snap into focus and give chase.
He needs to run. He needs to hide. He needs to do something, because otherwise he will die.]
no subject
so he runs. he runs as fast as his feet can carry him, down the carpets and rugs, ducking around a corner, past priceless family heirlooms and statues. it feels like he's trying to run through water, like all he can see in his tunnel vision are his mother's lifeless eyes and the blood pouring from her chest.
there's - there has to be somewhere he can hide. there's got to be a room open, somewhere?! the handmaids, the palace staff, the guards, someone? he runs, and runs as fast as his legs can carry him, and throws himself into the first open room he can find in desperation. ]
no subject
Taair can take a moment to catch his breath... It seems like he's alone for now?]
no subject
he throws himself into the room and rushes all the way across from it, far from the door, ducking behind the nearest piece of furniture he can put himself behind and curling up in a ball. what kind of room is this anyway, god....
his hands are shaking and his breath comes in short, desperate pants, but he puts both hands over his mouth and sinks to the floor. death is not something he's ever had to deal with, before. why would anyone ever want to hurt his parents? why would the soldiers and the guards want to hurt them?
the tears come fast, and he just sits there, hidden, hands over his mouth and shaking like a leaf, full of questions and fear, terrified, and tries to make himself smaller and smaller. at least now, he's alone. ]
no subject
He cries alone for what feels like an eternity. Nobody comes looking for him. There is simply no one around to help.
Except, at some point, the shadows shift. A pair of slender, white gloved hands appear in the periphery of his vision. Reaching for him slowly and carefully.]
no subject
he barely registers it at first, wiping his tears with tiny fists as he finally pulls his hands away from his mouth. when taair looks up, though, he sees the gloves and lets out a tiny gasp, jerking his head up to see whatever... or whoever is reaching for him? white gloves. surely, surely that person must be safe. ]
no subject
There is a promise of safety in her arms.]
no subject
there is no reason to be afraid. (even if somewhere, maybe, deep in his core, he knows he should hesitate.)
the tiny baby taair's face crumples against the soft silk pressed to his cheek, and he hiccups, reaching his arms up to be taken to her light, to her safety. ]
L... Lady Caris...
no subject
You're safe now, Taair. [her voice is soft. a welcome break from the horrors he has just witnessed.] Come with me, and you won't have to worry about a thing.
no subject
[ he says, voice tiny and reedy - baby bird song - but curls his fingers into caris' clothes, into fine familiar fabrics, into the light of the radiant. she will keep him safe. she can't bring his mom and dad back, but, surely, she'll keep him safe. ]
no subject
[There is a lack of shock and horror in her tone, knowing that the king and queen have died. Not even a hint of sorrow. But that's alright, because her arms are warm and safe. Nothing like the terrible men who struck his parents down.]
It's time to go home, Taair.
[And still held tightly in her embrace, Taair will feel himself beginning to sink. The darkness begins to cannibalize the room, shrouding it in shadows while his surroundings take another shape. The only hint of light comes from Caris herself, bathed in the light of the radiant, and the glittering gold columns that now loom over them.]
no subject
competent jailers never answer questions, after all. he buries her face in her shoulder, in safety, in the light and warmth of the sanctuary, of the radiant and it is only when he sees gold that he finally looks up again from beyond her shoulders. ]
no subject
And it is at that moment that Taair realizes that he isn't looking at gold columns, but the gold bars of a gilded cage. Caris now stands on the other side of them, smiling at him with empty eyes.]
You're safe here, Taair. You don't have to worry about a thing ever again.
[Who needs a puppet who can think for itself, after all?
Before he can react to this, though, the ground falls away from under his tiny feet and he finds himself falling into the abyss. Goodbye.]