"Forgiveness is granted to she who seeks it. Redemption is granted to he who earns it. Retribution is given to those who deserve it."
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Weak Prince.
Useless Prince.
Frail Prince.
They whispered it in the halls as they passed by his room, these attendants who couldn't bear to hold their tongues. So what if they thought he couldn't hear? Wasn't this a vile act, a terrible thing to curse his name with?
Then again, were they gossiping, if they were only speaking the truth?
At least, the truth that they knew.
Artemis curled up under the silken covers, nestling his face into his smooth pillow as he cursed. He cursed them so that they might leave him alone, leave him in peace, only so he could forget who he was, who he had become.
Just leave it alone, on today of all days…
…just let me be…
…this weak Prince I am…
…without your judgment…
The corners of his eyes creased, wincing as the grandfather clock at the edge of his room struck an even hour, erupting with the sound of harmonious bells. For most people, this was a joyous sound, even if it meant waking up at an early hour.
But to Artemis, it was the grandest reminder that he could not just wake, he could not dress himself in his wardrobe of fanciful clothes and waltz out into the halls, ignoring the ireful gazes of his attendants, and dine with his own father. This was the father who often called him useless in the absence of his own brother, his father's prized son…
…his only real son.
When he could bear to drift back into his nightmarish slumber, ignoring the insults of those outside his door, he dreamt of the faint visage of a woman. She had pale-red hair that flowed down her shoulders and back like rainfall, and a pale face of freckles like stars on her cheeks.
And she wore a cloak, a yellow cloak, as vibrant as a field of sunflowers.
When Artemis would chase after this enamoring woman, she simply shrunk further and further into the backdrop of radiant light, cast in its brilliance, illuminating his way forward.
Then, there were shadows. Fearsome as soldiers, with piercing crimson gazes. They stood like a wall between Artemis and the woman, brandishing a plethora of weaponry, as if meant to scare him away. This bastard obstacle, they were his barriers, his shackles, his prison.
That he could not strive for greater things if he remained in the darkness.
The ink marking on his back pulsed with fiery pain as he suddenly awoke, sweat beading on his neck and forehead. He felt dizzy, nauseous, and was sure he had only fallen asleep for a moment.
Screams echoed from the hall beyond his room. Although he was awoken by it, he wasn't angered by the disruption. Under the covers, Artemis smirked.
Curses are double-edged…
Certainly, one of the maidservants had fallen, dropping whatever they had been carrying to the ground. With luck, it had been a serving platter of teacups, with the richest red tea that the Palace had. Or… even his father's morning wine, which had become his habit in recent years…
Certainly, either of those would stain that gossiping maid's pretty dress.
Artemis let out a hollow chuckle, feeling the tough knot in his heart thicken.
What good are my… terrible wishes?
I am already a blight on this marble palace of good faith.
My presence is staining.
Indeed, it meant nothing to wish the attendants ill-will.
Because he was the worst of all curses.
Another scream suddenly resounded past his room.
Has another attendant fallen? What an unfortunate day…
And then another.
Artemis threw the sheets of his bed off, suddenly standing up to investigate. He nearly tripped as he did so, carefully lurching backwards to regain his stance.
Because it was not a bed he had been sleeping on.
Artemis felt the sudden nausea rush up towards his throat, keeling over as he released what little he had eaten the previous day.
Bones.
A pile of bones. Not hard and harsh, made soft and malleable by rot and decay. These were what he had been sleeping on, not his warm bed, but cold death.
Under the aqueous light of the moon, Artemis's form was laid bare. His bones did not peek through the tightness of his skin, and his muscles were not withered and emaciated. He was not short and youthful, with a pallid expression that suggested he might die of illness at any moment.
He was tall, lithe and firm. His shoulders were broad, and his forearms pulsed with vitality. Even through his night clothes, which consisted of a fine silk shirt and a slender robe, he was clearly not frail.
Because the truth that others often spoke—of a person that cannot be readily perceived—can become false as quickly as that person changes in his solitude.
And in that solitude, Artemis had been cursed. Cursed to never be weak, but to always be distant. Distant from his family, his friends, those he loved and cared for.
Because if they ever found out what he had become, they would revile him more than if they thought he was just a simple, useless recluse.
Artemis raised a hand as he blocked the light from seeping directly into his eyes. He was quickly roused from sleepiness, glancing ahead of him.
Under the backdrop of a towering black palace, he had entered a small courtyard bordered by stone planters of long-withered flowers. Harsh, craggy sable spikes jutted out of the stone of the buildings beside him, piercing the sky high above.
And amidst the rubble, a figure stared at him. Violent, pulsating crimson irises peered through an ivory skull, mottled and decayed skin barely clinging to its surface. A bony hand clutched a series of chains that wrapped around the blood-strewn necks of similar figures, all who had fallen to their hands and feet like dogs.
Artemis took a step back, his right eye widening.
This clearly wasn't his bedroom, this was not the Palace he resided in.
What the hell is going on…?
Before he could come to terms with his sudden appearance in the terrifying palace, the skeletal figure ahead released its grip on the chains. Multiple vile shrieks pierced the air as the dog-like skeletons lurched forward towards Artemis.
One of the terrible creatures leapt high into the air, cascading downwards toward his face, while another unlatched its jaw in a monstrous manner, biting deep into the flesh of his ankle. He let out a shout, batting at the air-born monster, knocking it away.
The teeth chewing at his flesh were like dull, jagged razors. Each subtle movement he made caused them to tear away at his skin and sinew.
He battered down on the skeletal creature, cracking into its skull. It quickly pulled back, taking the skin of his ankle with it. Artemis let out a shrill cry, stumbling backwards.
But there was no time for him to pity himself and lick his wounds, as the remaining skeletal beasts had dove at him.
In his bedroom, for the past two years, he had locked himself away from his world. But he hadn't wasted his days away, not entirely.
Because his laziness wasn't the issue.
Artemis grasped the neck of the air-born beast, stomping down on the other. It cracked underneath his foot, shards of bone digging into the sole. He let out a painful huff, bearing the agony as he threw down the beast he had caught, cracking its skull against the stone.
Shattered corpses lie at his feet, his blood trickling into the soil. And his eyes, furious, glanced up at the figure who had set the deadly beasts on him.
The reason he had secluded himself in his room was because he was fearful of what his family, his friends, his people would think of him if they had discovered what he had become.
This Prince was more of a beast than the creatures that were trying to kill him.
His left eye pulsed with pain, concealed by a thick black eyepatch.
What was the story he had given, that he had injured his eye to the point of disrepair?
When the scholar who had taken to tutoring him gave him the cursed opportunity to welcome a Spirit into him, to allow it to fester in his body. To use its power to strengthen himself, and at the same time, accept the price that it sowed.
The strength of this Spirit came at the cost of a life, it was a devourer.
And it had devoured his teacher whole.
Lark, I'm going to effectuate the contract. If you want to eat something, eat this fetid Monster. Bastard Spirit. If I can't rejoin my family because of you, then at least be useful now.
He lifted the eyepatch away from his eye, gazing at the skeletal figure ahead, his gaze filling with bloodlust.
His left eye churned with silver, rampaging like an eternally stormy sky.
Are you the one who summoned me here…?
The skeletal figure took a step forward. It raised its right hand, and crimson began to collect at its fingertips. The skin around its jaw constricted…
…into a crooked, terrifying smile.
Then, its head was severed clean from its body, falling to the ground as it shattered.
And terror stepped out of the shadows, wielding a fearsome onyx blade.