ꜱ ᴀ ᴜ ᴅ ᴀ ᴅ ᴇ

т н я є є

      “What's the meaning of this, Fierté!?” 

      Fury consumed you as you slammed the door to the King's workroom. Seeing the man paid no heed to you as he buried his face in his pile of works, it only enraged you further as you realized you were being ignored by him.

     His silence must be some sort of revenge from earlier for the King didn't even avert his eyes from the paperwork that piled up on his desk to you. In a way, you didn’t have any right to get mad at him either as he was just listening to your request of not talking to you nor looking at you, but this was serious, who knows what could happen to your parents out there with those soldiers running rampage outside?

       However, no matter how many times you called out to the King, not a single response left his mouth and this only enraged you further as you stomped your feet to the male and grabbed him by his collar, forcing him to face you.

      As you made eye contact with the King, you noticed the redness around his scleras and how glistening his eyes are, telling you that he was very, very upset with your behavior earlier.

       “Fierté...”

     With rue laden your heart, you loosened your grips around his collar but never letting go of it, eyes softened as you see the quivering of his bottom lips.

       No good.

       No matter how many times you tell yourself you hated him, you couldn't bring yourself to, not when the memory of the little him kept on resurfaced each time he made those pained expressions, and it didn’t help you when that memory consists of him crying his eyes out when he saw blood dripping out from your past self's wrinkly finger that time when that old man accidentally cut himself.

⊱ ━━━━ « ⋅ʚ♔ɞ⋅ » ━━━━ ⊰

     “Grandpa!”

     You sighed for the hundred times, heart ached to see the boy crying for at least thirty minutes after seeing your finger bleed.

     It wasn't a sight that you wanted to see. Fierté has always had inferiority complex and low self-esteemed due to the harsh living in the castle, so when he finally opened up to you, it made you really happy, but that happiness lasts only for a short while until you accidentally cut your finger when cutting onions.

     At the moment when you were about to wash up the blood, the boy had seen your injury, resulting in him crying out loud at the sight.

     “Don't crying, Fierté. I'm fine, see?” You tried to assure him as you waved your injured hand at him while the other wiping the Niagara waterfall that kept rolling down from his flushed cheeks. “The blood is gone and it's no longer hurting, I–”

     However, you didn’t think that he would slap your unwounded hand away.

     “Clumsy!” He yelled, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “Clumsy, clumsy, grandpa! Please realize that you are an octogenarian already!”

       Ouch, why does his words hurt more than the throbbing pain on your finger?

       Ah, you felt like crying.

       The boy then suddenly ran away with his short legs, leaving you speechless in the kitchen.

      You sighed in disappointment at yourself, staring at your wounded finger; sure you had already washed the blood away, but the sign of it being cut was still there. Before you could get up from the floor to place a bandaid on it, Fierté had surprised you when he sprinted at you while holding a first aid kit.