aamon paxley X o.c. • the duke and the runaway

11.

Gusion Paxley.

The descendant of Valentina Paxley who gave up her own family.

You are my bridge, my body, my vessel.

Be glad that you are of significant use to me as you will hold my spirit of my resurrection.

Surrender yourself to my power and both of us will reign across the Land of Dawn.

I am Your Master.

Surrender yourself to me.

For I am the End and the Beginning of the Upcoming Era.

For I shall rise havoc from the Abyss.

For I shall bring forth darkness that will devour the light.

Surrender.

Surrender.

Surrender your soul to me.

Gasp.

The chestnut-haired young man has awakened from his deep slumber and his eyesight was a blur. Rivulets of sweat trailed down his blazing skin. It was as if he was the fire under the rain. He motioned himself to sit upright on the bunk bed, removing the thin cover that blanketed his body. Then he clutched the sides of his temple, his head felt like it was about to be torn apart.

"What was that?" He whispered internally to no one but to himself. He can still hear the faint echoes of that diabolical voice that lingered within his mind. The brunette dug his fingernails into his cranium, harshly scraping at his scalp. He didn't understand those words but it pushed him into a mild frenzy.

The young man took deep breaths, one getting raspier than the other. His blue orifices felt dry and sore as if there were no more tears within its tear ducts. His body trembled like an aftershock of a great earthquake, parts of him aching in such an intolerable way.

But the most unbearable thing to him was the back of his neck.

He brought a hand up to his neck, settling it on a certain spot where it hurt the most. He must've thought that he was sleeping in an uncomfortable position that resulted in the coercion that he was experiencing.

Speaking of which, where was he sleeping?

He rubbed his eyes in order to rekindle the clear sight that he was missing. When his vision returned to its proper state, Gusion surveyed the surroundings around him and he realized that he was confined within a four-walled dungeon. The space was designed with cold and mossy bricks, rusty square-patterned bars, and some ugly pieces of furniture like a creaky bunk bed, a wooden table, and a wobbly chair. The only light that illuminated the cell was a singular torch that was located outside the dark enclosure.

He clenched his fist, gritting his teeth in frustration as he punched the worn-out pillow beside him. He couldn't believe what the duke had done to him. His freedom was taken away once more, only to replace his desired autonomy into imprisonment.

Why are you doing this, big brother?

"Why?" He buried his exhausted face into his calloused hands, wondering when he would ever get his answers.

.

With a silver tray, she carried the cup of chamomile tea up to the stairs. Her dark navy blue shoes tapped against the polished steps while her right elbow brushed against the chiseled banisters. Seraphima's eyes were trailing her feet, her consciousness set on her bubbling thoughts.