1. The night was calm and the only sound he could detect was that of his younger brother studiously
sssspracticing his violin. It was an eerie sound, a sad sound, in such a large home; its song was brittle in
the lengthy hallways, against the high ceilings and tall windows. Why now? He wondered. Surely Ntiye
wasn’t’ doing it to impress their parents, they were out of town. The housekeeper certainly didn’t care.
Something broke the tranquil loneliness like a jackhammer on thin ice. Falling, scrambling...Coming from
his room? Impossible. Who would be in his room at this hour? He had told the housekeeper to stay out,
he was studying but there it was again, the shuffle of feet and something—a hand?—being dragged over
the wall.
The cup of coffee in his hand felt frigid. It numbed his fingers. His heels felt cool through the soles of his
slippers as they moved across the waxed floor towards the door, indistinguishable from all the rest,
which was his. The hinges breathed silence as he opened it, bright eyes peering around the edge of
door—the coffee dropped, the cup rolled along the expensive carpet briefly. Their cleaning lady would
have to slave to get that stain out.
Blood entered his nostrils, paralyzed his lungs.
No. They would have to replace all of the carpet in this room. It was everywhere.
Stricken with horror, he stood a moment, heart catching like a rabbit in a snare. He felt sick suddenly
and he managed to choke out a hacked sound: “B-Booker?” He rushed forward, reached out.
And the wallpaper too.
“My God, Booker, what happened?”
Seysehad pulled a jacket off the nearby hook and was trying to find the wound, to press it there to soak
up that sinful colour. It stank, he couldn’t bear it. [d]
Why was he being pushed away? That couldn’t be right, he couldn’t… Wasn’t he afraid to die? There
was no way someone could lose that much blood and not die. Even Booker couldn’t break that rule.
Facts from biology streamed through his head mercilessly.
Violin still played down the hall, unhindered by the commotion. He willed it to stop. It didn’t.
Seyse’s mind raced and there was a great flood of rage down his veins, heating the cool tips of his
fingers. He scarcely recognized anger. “Don’t. /Don’t/ push me away.” The jacket slumped to the floor

2. and he reached out to grab at Booker’s arm, holding on. The pressure made his fingers ache but that
wasn’t difficult. He was weak, wasn’t he? “How dare you come here and refuse help!” [d]
“Why me?” demanded Seyse, trying to sound severe. He couldn’t, it sounded more like a plea for an
answer. This was sadistic and unusual. Why here if he didn’t want help? Just talking… That would weigh
on his conscience for the rest of his life because he couldn’t /do anything/.
One by one the fingers of his hand loosened and he released Booker’s arm. He made a sound near the
back of his throat to clear it, making it obvious he didn’t expect the answer.
“We went to that movie you hated. The popcorn was burnt and the soda was watery—there was an
older couple who kept talking…Remember?” Seyse’s voice was even, almost business-like, and his face
didn’t betray the wild panic and fear because he bore the expression of someone explaining something
very carefully. “It was so late. The buses had stopped running.”
The times he dared to act like an average person was around Booker. It was gone now, nowhere in sight.
“So we walked all the way back.” [d]
"The one with the shitty actor--with the moustache." He listened, eyes focused somewhere else
because he was filtering through the sounds of his own body threatening to collapse. He looked past
the sounds of his heart, his lungs as they wheezed for air, everything. All that Booker wanted to focus
on was Seyse's voice, because that gave him some time, it made things feel better in a sense. Bringing
his hand up, he clenched it into a fist, felt the cracking of the blood and would have smiled had it not
hurt to do so, had he not even been the type for that.
"First time we actually had a decent conversation, yeah?"
The wound had closed. The bleeding had stopped. Lifting the hand, he showed the palm to Seyse,
finally got it in him to crack a bastardous sort of smile. Reaching over, he grabbed the other by the
shoulder, shoved him against the wall--and he didn't know why he did. "I remember--it was nice."
He leaned in to press his lips to the other's cheek.-done-

3. Today had been a bloody mess. His younger brother had decided to ride to the market, to look
at the things he found so fascinating—the commoners’ wares. At some point he had taken off at full
speed on his chestnut mare and Seyse, responsible for his sibling, had gone after him. That, as you could
possibly determine, did not end very well in the least. There was much damage done and the ruckus had
alerted people in the palace; Father would be furious.
Ntiye was nowhere in sight.
The Prince had been dragged off because this was a direct attack on /him/ and to keep /him/
safe was the priority. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been injured; when he appeared again things were calmer
and they had managed—barely—to subdue the subject. A handful of guards were murmuring that it
would be a better idea to go back to the palace and he’d waved them off. This was his partially his own
doing and on top of that he was /fascinated/. No commoner knew that kind of magic! There were spells
there even he, as the Crown Prince, had never seen before in his life. Besides…
Aquamarine eyes locked on his attacker and lit up as if recalling something. No, not quite. It had
to have been imagined, like déjà vu or a fabricated memory. Even with the mechanical greeting of the
gathered guards he didn’t seem to acknowledge them immediately.
“Your Highness?”
“…Captain.” Seyse cleared his throat and looked away. This was absurd, it couldn’t be what he
thought it was. That was only in story books. “Have him arrested and sent to the dungeon.”
“Highness--!” someone protested.
“I’ll have him dealt with myself.” [d]
This was uncanny. Of all the people and all the politicians he had met thus far this one made him
the most uncomfortable—not because he felt threatened due to the attack but because he /didn’t/.
Whoever this was, he was intimidating and obnoxious but it felt familiar and Seyse detested it. No one
acted that way to him, not ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to remind the commoner, if that’s what
he was, of his position and its affiliated manners.
The guards were just as baffled as he.
The Captain’s face was tense. “..If I be so bold, my prince, I’m sure you’ve been too lenient with
this crook.”
“I’m certain I have,” Seyse responded easily. “Good day, Captain.” As he approached his horse,
still spooked with one of its hindquarters set to kick, an elderly woman with thin limbs and silver threads
of wispy hair came to him. A smile folded the corners of her eyes and she reached out to take his elbow.

4. “Such a fine young man, Seyse; you have a weak heart when it comes to him,” she said, voice
knowing despite that he hadn’t seen her before either. She chuckled softly and nodded her head.
“Pardon me?” he returned, trying to shake his arm from her grip. The guards approached
menacingly. “You are mistaken,” muttered the Prince as he swung himself up into the saddle, dislodging
the hand from his arm. But what she said left an oily feeling in his mouth like he’d been eating plain
butter. She chuckled again as he rode off, returning to the palace. [d]
Ntiye hadn’t gotten anything but a verbal slap to the wrist and was sent on his merry way. It was
to be expected though, wasn’t it? Seyse couldn’t’ recall the last time his younger brother had been
punished for initiating a mess. Actually, today he had gotten in more trouble for taking off without
guards or supervision than he did for nearly running over several people and knocking over a couple
stands in the agora.
But right now? He wasn’t being a nice prince like everyone wanted him to be. Seyse was jogging
down the hall, a disk of light floating ahead of him to light his way down the old hall of the ancient part
of the palace.
“Ntiye!” he called. “I need that scroll!” Hearing feet, seeing a head of dark hair, he followed
after down the stairs.
Down these spiralling stairs was the cramped space of the old dungeon. It had the smell of old
metal bars and fungus. Malinda was drifting down them casually, as if this were an everyday trek into
the bowels of the castle. She was humming to herself and had a shawl pulled around her shoulders.
None fo the guards knew she wasn’t Booker’s grandmother—and oh, that Crown Prince! He was kind
enough to allow visitors, which worked perfectly with her plans. [d]
“Come along now, Franz, my friend. There is much to be said and not much time to say it.” The
woman seemed to be talking to something flapping along beside her leisurely, its legs hanging down
limply and eyes glowing a startling shade of yellow-green. She entered the dungeon just as it all fell dim
again and she smiled. “Booker, my dear boy, you seem to be handling this quite well.” Behind her she

5. heard the light feet of Seyse rushing down the stairs, calling out for his brother again. Was he just that
dull? She wondered.
“Please wait one moment, won’t you, dear? We’ve one more person to join us yet.”
At just that moment a transclucent figure came down the stairs, Seyse right after it—his
expression dropped because the figure of his sibling jumped into the air and disappeared. Magic. It had
seemed so real though…
“And now we may begin,” Malinda chuckled. “How nice of you to join us, Seyse.” [d]
There was much wrong with this situation at the current time. Again came that awful familiar
feeling, second was the fact he had been lured down here, and thirdly…well, she hadn’t called him
Highness but that was most definitely the least of his worries. Seyse took a step back, fingers flaring
outward at his side as runes danced circles in his palms. His face was controlled but there was
uneasiness in the glow of his gaze.
“No, I’m afraid not. What are you doing here?” he asked evenly. The G sound in the back of his
throat alerted the woman and she smiled again, cutting him off with a quick twisting gesture of her
gnarled hand. His mouth twisted shut and he reached up to press at his lips. They wouldn’t move when
he wanted.
“Now, now, no need to be rash and call the guards. I’m certain you will want to hear what it is I
have to say.” She patted the creature flapping beside her fondly and it drifted through the bars to settle
down in front of Booker on a horizontal bar. It was then she began a long, fanciful explanation. It
rendered Seyse mute even after the spell had worn off and he could only stand and stare. [d]
This was all a fantastical romance novel she must have read. There was no way this could be fact
when it sounded as far-fetched as this! Seyse was perplexed and his brows pulled closer together, lips
unable to form anything at all for a moment after she had finished her storyteller’s bow. He looked
down the long, dank hallway towards the other captives, where there /should/ have been guards. It was
quiet there though and he wasn’t so sure anyone was on patrol.
“Guards,” he said breathlessly. Another clear of the throat.“This is preposterous! Did you come
here only to tell a silly fairy tale? Guards!” There was no sign of them, however—no clanking of their

6. thin armour or the boots hitting the rounded stone floor. “You have told your tale, now go or I will have
you in the cell next…”
He didn’t dare say ‘to him’ but his gaze flickered upward to Booker.
“As you wish, but think about what I have told you. It explains much, doesn’t it?” She chuckled
and made a gesture in the air, leaving two glowing orbs hanging harmlessly there as she shuffled off.
Just as she got out of sight he couldn’t hear her anymore. Seyse’s gaze shifted uncomfortably from
Booker to the spheres separating them and reached up to erase the spell; they constricted and darted
forward and through his chest.
/In your heart you know it/. [d]
He only listened to the conversation, didn't take part in it once Seyse began to speak because there was a roll of his eyes, a tug in his
chest that he didn't want to acknowledge because it hurt and he felt that he couldn't brush it off even if he tried. A breath in and he
shook his head, began to turn away from the two of them so that maybe he could find something more interesting in the jail
cell. He stopped however when there was that threat and the rebuke from the woman. Looking over his shoulder, he eyed the orbs,
curious but wary.
The woman moved back and Booker went forward, nearly hugged the cell door but was quick to jump back when he saw that sphere
move, caught the prince looking at him. He tried to do something but Booker reached out a hand, shook his head--he didnt'
know this magic and there was a good chance that the other wouldn't know either.
"Hey, don't--" Too late. The second sphere twisted, distorted itself then moved for him and there was nothing he could have done to
stop it. A breath in and he took the blow, felt a sudden rush of thoughts and feelings he didn't want to put a name on. It almost drove
him
to his knees but instead he held to the wall for support, took in a sharp breath while trying to figure out what exactly had just
happened, what damage had been done and if there was a chance of fixing any of it. He looked up to Seyse, expression torn. "..
What did you do?"-done-
It was almost as if a gust had knocked him backwards, reeling; Seyse stumbled back and caught
himself against the wall, hands grabbing out on the rough stones stained with something he would
rather not identify. It felt warm against the skin beneath his nails but that couldn’t be the stones, these
ones were always cold. Was it him? Winded, he leaned there, atrociously graceless and stunned.
“I-I…” Seyse found himself sliding down to the ground, rumpling his clothes and leaving rusty
marks on them. With a shaky breath in he looked up through the fingers pressed to his eyes. “I didn’t do
anything, that w—“ He couldn’t meet Booker’s eyes though and he quickly brought himself to his feet.
“That was her magic,” finished the Prince quietly.

7. None of these alien things implanted into his body were welcome. Love at first sight didn’t exist.
But according to her… No! This was impossible! [d]
This wasn’t appropriate at all. His face was flushed as he stood there, looking lost as a child in a
market filled with indifferent adults. Almost as if he as coming out of paralysis he began moving, slowly
at first to gain confidence and then easily. Hands brushed down the sides of his jacket and rubbed the
spot where the sphere and gone through the flat plane of his chest. His heart beat was frantic under his
hand so he lowered it, ignored that pulse.
“I finished nothing!” Seyse responded quickly, defensively. Why would he ever want this?
Maybe it was a spell to finish her trickery, to make them believe in a far-fetched tale that never
happened. She had a very good imagination though, he could give her that.
Booker had made it clear he no longer wanted to talk about this, to interact with Seyse at all so
he took a few paces backward, quick at first and then faltering as his foot hit the first step of the
staircase. Hesitantly, sheepishly, he disappeared up the stairs because it felt as if something had gone
undone. This wasn’t complete.
Dreams had visited him dead in the night when he had finally managed to doze off into a decent
slumber. They couldn’t’ be dreams though, could they? Skeptical, he had tossed and turned until he had
fallen off the edge of his bed to the floor with an unpleasant jolt. They were as frayed around the edges
as memories and he laid there, frustrated, with his cheek against the floor.
That’s it. Couldn’t stand this.
With what he thought was newfound courage—later he would discover it was foolishness he’d
had all along—he gathered himself up off the floor and donned something thick and warm before taking
the halls and descending into that dungeon again. But he stopped half way down the stairs with specks
of light all around him, lingering reluctantly. How did he explain this one? [d]

8. Just turn around and go back to bed, he told himself. There was no logic in doing this, none at
all! It took a long time to conclude the dilemma and for it he stood there still, the particles of weightless
energy floating about him like a cluster of stars. They were pretty, people thought, but with the amount
of energy put into using this light source he thought it was mighty inconvenient.
“What are you doing?” he asked himself in a whisper, shaking his head. One foot found its way
down onto the next step, and the second one followed and he proceeded cautiously, hand running
along the dead cold stones. Hiding like this was cowardly but he felt the faintness in his heart. The
bottom of the stairs came too soon and he stopped there momentarily, squinting against the darkness
before inhaling and edging towards the cell. Seyse said nothing because what could he say? How would
he explain himself? ‘Oh, just thought I would come back and feed this absurd fairy tale’? [d]
With one hand he gathered all of the particles up to create something solid that gave off a
steady glow and placed it in the air in front of him. And he reached out, touched the bars. Whatever his
subconscious has planned, he couldn’t go through with it! But he crouched, steadying himself with his
hands on the bars of the cell, eyes cast forward.
“…I can hear you moving, I know you’re not asleep,” he said softly. Even that seemed too loud.
His hands clenched tightly around the bars to keep him from reaching through the bars like he
wanted, reaching out. Part of his concentration went to moving the orb through the bars to settle
between them and light up the pool of darkness the accompanied a nighttime dungeon. [d]
Seyse dropped control of the orb when he felt it tugging on him like one yanks their hand back
when they touch another’s hand. It flickered a moment and obediently moved away from himself and
he instead summoned another, smaller and closer to himself. It was harmless, just light with no heat or
physical presence. He had always found that disconcerting.
Smiled a bit and nodded, using his own way to cover any discomfort. He stood and felt along the
horizontal bar until he found the lock of the cell door. It felt volatile under his hands with the amount of
charms and spells cast to hold it in place.
“You’re right… Then, should I not be the one to let you go as well?” As if that was his reason for
being here in the dead of night, /as if/. But it gave him a reason to open this door, didn’t it? And when
he stripped everything away that was probably the one thing he wanted most. “…Having you here is

9. troublesome,” Seyse continued absently, working at the lock. The steel warped and the lock popped
open effortlessly but the other spells held the door firmly in place. They lit up as he worked. [d]
He was nervous and when Booker came closer he pulled the sleeves of his cloak down over his
wrists to try and conceal the tremble of his hands. The spell was old and didn’t want to open, much like
a rusted hinge, and his concentration was torn. Images and words and emotions were surging upward
out of seemingly nowhere and when Booker got closer he stepped back a couple times.
The door drifted open without a push and Seyse looked up, face suddenly contorting into
several different emotions at once as if he couldn’t’ decide which was predominant—fear, anger,
remorse, anguish.
“Y-you idiot! Why did you…? Huh? Why?” demanded the Prince abruptly. It seemed strange for
him to be so angry about the lock… Or was it the lock? “H-how could you? I never asked for you to do
that—none of it and you...you left me.” It was uncharacteristic anger, as if he’d been betrayed severely;
Seyse shoved Booker once. “Do you know how long…w-without you? /Do you/?” Another shove. [d]
Seyse was horribly angry and he couldn’t stop it—he found himself pushing Booker away, trying
to create distance because it was painful being this close after this long. There was no room here for his
pride, his dignity, because those were of no use with Booker. And how could he say these things with
that intact?
“I didn’t ask you to. It was never your choice to make!” His voice was growing louder and his
chest rose and fell frantically, head tilted to one side as if he didn’t want to make eye contact. Of course
he didn’t. “It was meant for me.” He tried to push away again but gave up, arms dropping heavily back
to his sides. “It was meant for me,” Seyse repeated, voice dropping off so it paled in comparison to his
other words. It was gravely calm and he looked up at last. All at once he felt ill and weak and drained. “It
was me for a reason, did you consider that?” [d]

10. He couldn't help it--it was Seyse and he would always make him feel this way. Wait, what?
His body went with the movements. Part of him felt that he wasn't even in touch anymore, that he was merely a puppet and yet the
other half of him knew what was happening because it felt right to do, correct. The words had him speechless and for a moment that
anger subsided, instead the concern washed over
and he leaned in, tried to make eye contact with a man he hardly knew-- no, a man that he did know, even more than that.
Confusing, wasn't it? Regardless of what he believed, it was happening, and their brows touched.
"Its not supposed to be you," came the reply. His eyes closed and he almost seemed to lean, brush lips barely over skin. "I couldn't
lose you." It became quiet, strange. -done-
His heart was caught in the vice of his lungs, the press of them as he tried to catch his breath and calm
the rage of his veins. Dwarfed now, his words were quiet, subdued: “Never again.” Inhaling shakily, he
shut his eyes, reached out with a hand that didn’t try to force Booker away.
When Seyse opened his eyes again the world played backwards as if someone were pulling against a
record as it tried to play. It was disorienting and when he finally managed to catch his balance… He
tensed abruptly, pushed himself farther into the wall, stopped breathing. They were face to face,
touching even, and it caused a strike of panic in his stomach.
“Booker,” he said, voice tight. “What…?”
Worse than their closeness, their intimacy, there came the sound of a patrolling guard languidly ambling
down the hallway. The cell door was open and he rushed into the open space and abruptly froze like
stone.
“…Your Highness?” uttered the guard in disbelief.[d]
The Crown Prince and a common prisoner? The guard was baffled and he wasn’t sure if he was
to jump to the heir’s rescue or stand back and wait for orders. If there were meant to be orders, it didn’t
appear Seyse was going to give them anytime soon. His expression was a mess and the self-contained
royalty the guard was used to was nowhere to be found and it was unnerving.
“Highness…?” prodded the armoured guard again. The vocal nudge seemed to work and Seyse
swallowed, cleared his throat. “What do you want me to do?”

11. The Prince looked at the guard, silenced him, and looked back at Booker. The words were sticky,
didn’t want to leave his tongue but he managed to say them and say them clearly: “You can leave. No
one will stop you, you have my word.” And it would have been absurd for Booker to say no. It would
have been worse, shameless even, for Seyse so scrounge for some way to make him stay. He wanted to.
Instead he turned and left. [d]
Booker had made the better choice and decided to leave as fast as it could--marched past Seyse before the other could even make it
to the stairs and that was where he last saw the other. Returned home to a worried grandparent but later that night, all had been
well and he had eaten dinner, done his rounds across the streets then returned home, fell into the bed and hoped he could catch
some decent
sleep this time around. It had not happened, and it didn't happen, not for the next few days.
Too many stupid dreams that he couldn't make out, felt more than saw and it pissed him off. He waited for the creepy lady to appear
so that he could give her a piece of his mind but that hadn't worked as well as he hoped it had. It had been a full week and nothing
had let up - he wanted to rid himself
of the memory of Seyse, anything associated with him... everything.
Fate was never fucking kind to him, was it?
He'd been summoned, carried off by guards again as Nai-Nay watched, confused but hopeful he would be back soon. Standing there
in the throne room, he rolled his eyes at the adornments along the walls, the paintings and curtains, everything. He waited, listened,
heard nothing and
wondered what the fuck he was doing here. It couldn't have been Seyse-- the other didn't really want to see him anyway, as far as he
knew. Worked out for the best that way, hopefully.. -done-

15. po