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Scar's heart somersaults, deploying its wings, frantically pounding against a cage made of bones, in a flurry, and he takes his partner's hands in his, swiftly guiding the other, correctly positioning him.
Grian simply smiles, curiously tilting his head towards the right, vermilion colouring his full cheeks, and Scar clears his throat, distracted, finding the gesture amusing, endearing, even.
He looks magnificent, the webs of freckles that course on his alabaster skin seemingly sparkling underneath the chandeliers' radiance, his wavy curls curtaining the honeyed amber that swims in his irises, the mask that adorns his face crafted by the most revered, refined, and captured gems of the nation—Scar shivers, goosebumps freely sliding down his spine, and he feels his face heat up.
A cloud of silence reigns atop the room, hushed whispers rupturing the rêverie that floats around the ballroom, and the conductor raises their baton, murmuring under their breath—
Un, deux, trois.
Music springs to life, cascading down the atmosphere, echoing off the walls and invading the guests' bloodstream, taking over their bodies, and Scar's eyes flutter shut, his vital organ waltzing to the melody's rhythm.
He begins leading, and soon, the world spins on its axis, golden frescoes torpedoing around, glimpses of the moon's rays of brilliance glinting in Grian's eyes.
Scar gulps, and he pertinently sees the way Grian watches his Adam's apple bob up and down, intrigued.
"Such enthralling harmonies," Grian lowly comments in a singsong, so impossibly close to the prince, his perfume, tinted by hints of sandalwood and salt from the sea's waves, wafts to Scar's nostrils, invigorating him, robbing him of his sanity. "I quite enjoy sharing thy presence with mine, His Majesty," the short man reveals, crimson dusting the tip of his nose, and Scar almost trips while backpedaling.
The redhead giggles.
"Apologies," Scar excuses himself, resuming the dance, his chartreuse robes flowing to the cadence of his movements.
Grian sheepishly grins, shaking his head from left to right.
"It is a shame, truly," he confesses, genuine, and a morose, somber shadow suddenly washes over his delicate features.
"H-Huh?" Scar blurts out, frowning, tremors animating his calloused fingers.
"To ruin such beauty," Grian cryptically trails off, and he detaches himself from Scar's embrace, reaching for the prince's face instead.
Scar halts, confused.
Grian gently caresses his jaw, tracing one of the multiple scars that have etched themselves into Scar's tanned complexion.
The action seems oddly familiar, but the brunet cannot fully pinpoint as to why.
"Apologies," Grian murmurs, saddened, translucent pearls awakening on his eyelashes, and, haunted, Scar's heart bellows, alarm bells ringing across his mind.
Something brushes his ear—it tickles.
Grian takes a step back, resolute.
Scar mourns the loss of his touch, a howl trapped in between his vocal chords.
The music growing louder, its notes paralyzing, its power maddening, Grian grabs hold of his mask with quivering fingers, and he throws it to the ground, the crystals exploding into thousands of shards, like fireworks. He tears his cloak away from him, revealing a stunning pair of wings, and the instruments' strings break in two, the dream coming to a stop, a nightmare seizing Scar's heart and sinking its sharp teeth into its ventricles, fracturing his aorta.
Xelqua stands, proud, swaying flames in his back, embers devouring his forearms.
Screams take the pianos and violins' places.
"Pirates!" someone shouts.
"Xelqua!" another person yells, horrified.
"It was but a ruse," the prince gasps, appalled, his throat tight, an invisible chain of spikes snaking around his nape, shedding liquid rubies, sobs mercilessly wrecking through his body.
"I never promised you of anything, darling," Grian—Xelqua refutes, evilly smirking, but the façade is fickle, fissured, weak.
Oh. This hurts him, too, ponders Scar. Liar.
He falls to the ground, shocked, in denial. Amidst the commotion, amidst the fight, he looks up, rivulets of tears on his marred cheeks, begging.
Tell me this was real. Tell me what we had was real, Grian, please, I would destroy kingdoms for you, conquer the world for you, battle the Gods above for you—
"I gave you my name," the phoenix utters, broken.
Use it. Use it as many times as you wish, love.
"I gave you my everything," Scar bemoans in response, crying, and oh, it hurts. "You hurt me!" he roars, devastated, and the scars that map his skin itch, burning.
"I gave you my name, Scar," the pirate king reiterates with more emphasis through clenched teeth. "My name," Grian softly reminds him, hand atop his heart.
I gave you the world, Scar.
A beat resonates across Scar's body. It is not his heart's.
But Grian's.
Oh.
He comprehends, now.
He mutely nods.
Grian calmly exhales.
"I shall see you on the seven seas," the pirate king mutters, but Scar hears it, as loud as the sounds emitted by broken glasses and fallen chairs.
Grian disappears through the middle of the night, in a storm of blazes.
Trembling, Scar retrieves the object that sits in his braided hair, right next to his ear.
He finds a feather. A beautiful feather, constructed by fire itself.
He kisses it, carving promises.
I shall, pesky bird.