❝ 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.
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an enhypen fanfiction ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
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❝ VI : caged ❞ ︶ ͡ ۫ ˓ ʚ•°♛°•ɞ ˒ ۫ ͡ ︶
HE IS FOURTEEN AGAIN.
Restless shifting of bed linens. A trickle of sweat sliding down a pain-contorted face. Hand fisted, white-knuckled in the sheets. Breaths coming in rapid, shallow pants of torment. His head swivels and tilts to the reflection of voices confining him in an overcast ring of trees as a wintry bite causes the skin on his face to tighten. A slow exhalation of air through his noseー frosted over and so rubescent that one would have easily mistook him for a merry prince.
Except there is no one.
He is alone. Only damp earth, death, and old blood surround him, staining the snow beneath him so terribly red that it had become too ugly to look at. He opens his eyes to the dismal blackness, where something catches in his slate vision.
There, in the far space between two harrowing trees, stands a figure. As Heeseung looks down the long labyrinth of darkness, staring back into a pair of vacant eyes, a heavy feeling weighs down on his chest.
For those eyes are all to familiar.
The King of Viridis; no longer himself, rather the barren shell of a morose corpse.
Yet still he stands there looking back at his son for one last time before another pair of eyes take shape behind him.
Heeseung panicsー panicked fear of a woman, no, a siren as he had learned. She rises slow as a predator hounding it's prey. The Boy Prince does not register the circumstances of which he finds himself in before the beast is sinking a set of cutting, blood-bathed hooks into the King's decaying flesh. A wretched cry rips from the depths of Heeseung's throat as he helplessly watches Death raise it's hat to his father for a final time.
His body drops, swallowed by the earth until what previously lurked unseen is revealed in true form.She bores holes into a mortified-looking prince as her bloodied lips contort into a sinister grin, capturing all his means of breathing.
This was the point in time where he must run; flee for his life before The Angel of Death opens its doors to him as well.
He cannot move, although his body still thrashes violently. The wind's song remains unbroken despite rapid breath and the rustling of bedsheets as something otherworldly restrains his limbs to his bed. Tears, hot and near painful against his icy skin, stream uncontrollably down roseate cheeks as she approaches.
