❝ For even sad birds sing ❞
Ripped mercilessly from her realm, Eru is forced to live amongst those who seek only to rid of and destroy her very roots.
A strange bird on foreign soil.
•═════•༺༻•═════•
an enhypen fanfiction ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
» royalty!au
» fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝ III : God's favourite ❞ ︶ ͡ ۫ ˓ ʚ•°♛°•ɞ ˒ ۫ ͡ ︶
HE SHIFTS, intolerable of the ligneous row of pews that he had been forced to sit upon, and looking at his hands like they had become the most interesting thing in the entire room. He continues to toy with his fingertips, feeling the countless eyes of the countless idols watching the way he lets them dance across the back of his hands, watching the way he lets one finger follow closely after the other, watching the way he lets them run across the back of his palm, as if they themselves had somewhere to be.
The silver rings tightly encasing his fingers glisten; shining a sharp ray of flickering candlelight in his eye. Though, he does not move, too far enthralled in the movement of his hands.
A voice echoes off of the excessively high walls, cutting through the silence of just one boy that does not pay attention.
Does not hear.
Cannot hear.
The priest's eighth sermon goes unnoticed by the prince, as it has done for the past four years. And yet, he questions that if he could still listen, would he?
For that night made him realise that God is not real. And if he truly was, then he is a sick, merciless man owing to the fact that no person loving would create such horrors from that soil; nor mar the very race he built as he had done years ago.
Those woods haunt him; sleepless nights beyond the point of a violent frenzy and his mother's perfidious comfort.
Heeseung never saw a single dream since that night. Only terror. And he knew neither if it was the God's good will or simply a sick omen. At times he thought perhaps it wasn't any of them. Perhaps he was simply too afraid to dream, too afraid to let go of reality and become the vulnerable, soul-exposed boy he once was.
Too afraid to see those eyes againー still clear as a lake of limpid water in his memory.
A deaf prince and a whilom boy.
But, he is a miracle,
So everyone else says.
A sudden line of grey, wrinkled skin prompts the prince to peel his eyes from his hands and look up at the decrepit priest's face. It is unfeeling in the way he stares back at Heeseung with sunken eyes before he begins speaking.
"Your Royal Highness, I have been informed that you are requested by Her Majesty in the grand hall for luncheon," he signs. Heeseung fights back the sigh threatening to fall from his lips and nods his head on account of the priest, before briskly taking his leave.
ﻬ꜆
The Queen is as intimidating up close as you would expect of her. She sits tall upon her chair, graceful in the way she holds her chin raised high above everyone else in the hall. Polished fingers, clad with gold, tap rhythmically against the mahogany as she regards the ticking in the room with chagrin. Her son is ten-minutes late and she is growing impatient
