Maskli (Legacy Of Bluebloods 1#)

23

Bellagria.

Chapter 11

(Villiz)

Being in a four-walled cell turned out to be peaceful than he thought if he didn't count the concern he had whenever the entrance door of the cells opened, expecting to see his allies join him in this isolation. Relief only came when newcomers were faces, he couldn't recognize.

Lately, a new frustration has disrupted his sleep. He was dreaming. He had dreams before -nightmares even, yet none of those illusions forced out his consciousness. If he was being honest, he had been dreaming since the first day he was locked in the cell.

He was dreaming of her.

It wasn't a secret his fascination towards this lovely maiden he met that day in the forest grew, and it wasn't a secret either he wanted to know more about her.

Yet she was supposed to be a secret, a secret that he now knew. His little secret.

The dream took place in the same forest. Same setting, different vibe. It was the vibe he encountered before. The vibe was a whole package of fruitful seasons and wondrous weather.

This time, he wasn't running from the guards. He was the happy boy he once was, a touch of rosy cheeks from the result of running freely. In that dream, his parents were still alive, he was playing hide and seek with his sister. Then, he saw her.

She was running too, her smile was bright, her ebony hair danced under the movement. She looked different, her eyes were golden, bright as the light itself. It was almost as if she was no longer in her shell anymore, there's no invisible string tether her. She is herself.

Villiz walked to her, his hand held out, he remembered he was offering her a place to hide from his sister before they were caught. She agreed.

When his hand touched hers, her palm started to blacken. Black lines inked their ways towards her arm. She froze, as though something heavy seized her. Then she was screaming, toppled on the grass that was starting to melt into black molten lava, and she faded like a wilted dandelion.

He woke up.

Sard this dream, or nightmare, for being the first nightmare that ever woke him up. What was she doing now? Who was she? Why did she look like Elda Adelia Macrantha?

Could she be Prenses Samara?

There's so much to know, yet so many times wasted decorating his prison cell with a chalky counted slash as the day passed. It was frosty in the heart of the dungeon, especially when he was the only one in this cell. It wasn't something he was not familiar with. Villiz had been living cold life for long.

How he wished he possessed magic. He would have broken out of this damn place by now. The queen had this dungeon cursed. Any prisoner who tried to escape this place ... let's just say they wouldn't have skin to feel the heat of the sun. Believe him, it was a gore sight, finding screams echoed the dungeon as a skilled-lockpicker bolted out of the opened bar. Only to find his skin peeled away, revealing red fleshes, bloody bones, and a skull with eyeless eye sockets.

To think he had picked his cell's lock that night to escape too. He wasn't sure if he was considered lucky to be a slowpoke or unfortunate to know he was doomed in this place forever. So, he obediently locked himself back, trying out the good boy demeanor.

How sarding ironic that sounded.

That was the worst way to die. And not even magic could help him. Villiz doubted there would be any magic that surpassed their necromancer, Queen. Although this killer queen here wasn't born as one, yet who knew how long she enhanced this power? He should be grateful there's no necromancer by birth -with Sin Burghal's people excluded. Hopefully; there's a flaw in her magic.