❛❛ Beyond those scorching fires, those limitless woods, and the atrocious War, is a place I call home. It is you...❜❜
❝ Kiss me till we're pushed over our limits.❞
...━━━★*:・ﾟ
Amidst the great War,
Blooms a young love,
It was birthed upon,
Salvag...
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ch²³- a melancholic truth
---.ᴥ︎ᴥ︎ᴥ︎ᴥ︎.---
Love strengthens us, inside out. Love is a possible strength against an actual weakness. Love nourishes a deprived soul, empowers it. There may be instances, where you feel as if it is a lone you, standing against the world, confronting it's tyrannical ways. No matter how brave you are, there would always be a certain desire, a yearning to have someone, anyone beside you, who could hear to the emotions that lie in the deepest, remotest crevices of your soul- someone who would be there to catch you when you stumble or fall, someone, who would be there to hold you whenever you need warmth. A mere touch of that someone is enough for you to straighten your exhausted self up, and stand once again, erect, to face the world.
This embrace, that my brother wraps me in, is a paradigm of that touch- a touch so loving, that you can forget the vicious world in that cherished moment.
It is a low, lamenting groan, that punctuates this sweet minute. The barely alive soldier lies on the ground, the arrow piercing his abdomen drawing blood ruthlessly, standing proud and draining him of life by the passing second. His pitiful attempts to get back on his feet are entirely futile, as his energy evaporates due to the huge loss of blood.
He accepts his kismet, ultimately, stilling all kinds of movements, barring his eyes, as they wander to the cerulean space above, around the clearing and the surrounding trees, and finally they fall on us. He scrutinizes our figures as we stay in our places in rapt, undivided attention. His dim eyes traces for something, but they pause when they fall on Jungkook, instantly fixing him with a hateful gaze.
"Y-You..."
A shiver travels down my spine, when I realise that these soldiers had attacked us, not for robbing us of our resources, or for the sole reason of terrorising journeyers, but for ordered assassination.
The dying man spits out red onto the grass beside his head, gasping in pain. He tries to inhale, but it is evident that his organs are betraying him.
"You'll die. D-die for bet-traying the kingdom..."
My peripherals show me how my brother evidently stiffens at the mention of this soldier's kingdom, a fact, that isn't hard to decipher when the enemy wears blue.
