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ㅤㅤoutgoing, charismatic and 'life of the party' are all words vileons would use to describe themselves. it was what he'd worked so hard to portray, given the circumstances of his arrival in exitium.
'what worth is moping about for?', was how he thought. so what if he held no memories, others did too at their spawning.
ㅤㅤbut his just felt so .. wrong. his body ached each day, often violently seizing, leaving him with less memories than before and a pounding headache the rest of the day. he couldn't quite pinpoint the cause of these fits, it was entirely random, and the static feeling almost like his body was entirely remaking itself was excruciating.
even so, he would put up a toothy smile, showing those buck-teeth which sold his whole bunny-persona, fix his hair, and move on with a new project. keep helping around the village, keep listening to those old stories that the local writer would tell, of that bunny on the moon. admire the stars, reaching towards the largest light in the sky, knowing well it'd be wise never to try to reach for it again.
ㅤㅤsometimes he'd lay in the grass for hours, watching the cosmic rock drift across the sky. raise a fist up, pretending he could grasp it in one hand, and smile as it still escaped his fingers. it was inevitable, it kept coming, and going... in an endless loop. it was free, unconfined by the world and its laws. it was pure, the sort of beauty that you cannot look away from.
ㅤㅤit was a simple life, at least until she ruined it.
how would anyone respond to being told that they're being rejected by the very world they live in? that they were dragged away from a whole life, and forced into this? how could anyone prevent the tears that would come rushing out? it made sense, despite the absurdity of it all. maybe that was why he was so upset, that his life in this world could be reduced down to a mistake. and he believed it.
he had never bothered with a real home, a proper house, he just made little bases across the small section of land he knew. maybe that was his subconscious telling him to not settle down, as he'd be home soon anyway... just as she promised.
ㅤㅤand it was working, the queen was working, at least. sometimes he'd walk by the castle, and spot her pulling out book after book, and furiously scribbling down what she found in a journal. it was the most one person could do, after cracking the shell of someone's life in a few words. that look on her face held no mercy, though it was clear she had tried. he shivered thinking about it, he couldn't help but see the wardens in the caves under the village in her face. they had never been as kind.
yet unkind she remained, when she broke the news after Christmas dinner, that everything may be for nothing.
ㅤㅤ39 had ruined the world, despite everyone's efforts. after the whole egg fiasco, he had assumed they'd have left it alone after the talking to he gave them. they were a criminal at the time, so he didn't feel too bad pointing that crossbow at them... then. they were stubborn, refused to admit to kidnapping, and consistently lied. but they seemed to draw him in, despite it all. their eyes were blank, you couldn't tell if they had a pupil, or anything. nor where they were looking, which almost reminded him of the freeness of the moon. he brushed it off quickly, by the end of the day.
ㅤㅤbut, during that Christmas dinner, he couldn't help but remember. he was busy digging into the food, barely taking the time to savour each bite before digging right into the next portion like a starved beast. he felt it was a waste that both 39 and this new guy weren't eating anything. and mcrninglories just picked at his plate. even ellora, the host, wasn't visibly enjoying it. but he was glad he could bring at least a little smile to her face when proclaiming how good it was. it was one thing he was alright at, he found.
ㅤㅤmid-way through his bite into the freshly baked bread, his eyes lingered a bit too long on the person next to him. he had always liked the colour white, he had thought then. and the green of their outfit, it was bright... but suited them terribly well.
ㅤㅤin such little flashes, he had learnt that he looked forward to seeing them. he longed to see their eyes, yearned to make them smile for once. even if that blank expression they held was endearing, he had made it his goal.
ㅤㅤsuch as when he approached them with a collection of flowers hidden behind his back. in his base, he had been storing many flowers of all sorts, from everywhere in the world. cactus flowers from the desert, common dandelions and poppies, tulips in the flower fields. but out of all of them he had always held sunflowers close to his chest. adoring the way that they seemed to smile at everyone who walked by, greeting each person like an old friend. daisies had always paired well with them, too. they were equally cheerful flowers, they seemed to talk to him, telling him it was a fresh start. even if he were trapped here forever, he could always find a way to heal himself, to live anew. a small, misguided comfort. he ached desperately to return to where he was told he had come from, as if a part of him was always in that world. even if he couldn't dare remember it for the life of him. to tie in the bouquet, he had searched further for a tulip that looked even slightly purple.
ㅤㅤwhen he brandished the blooms towards 39, he was mildly disappointed in their lack of surprise.
ㅤㅤ"oh... thanks." they had spoken, rather flatly. they took the flowers from vileons' hands, lightly brushing their fingers together.
he took that chance to cling onto those fingers, leaning in with a wide smile.
ㅤㅤ"c'mooon, that all you got to say?" he pressed.
all they had to offer was a nod, head turned away from vileons, avoiding his gaze like it may sprout lasers and kill them on the spot. some endkin thing.
ㅤㅤ"d'aw... uh... alright, then." he sighed, deflating as he pulled his fingers away from theirs.
turning around, sparing many a glance as he leaves. watching 39 awkwardly wipe their hands on their clothes, and turn around at the sliiiightest hint of a smile.
ㅤㅤat the end of the day, he sat upon a chair in the old writer's home. knees pulled to his chest as he listens to another story. it was odd for someone his age to be so invested in child's tales... but it was one of the joys he held. watching the passion of the old man wave his hands as he tells a story of a small helpful rodent, that only particular families may wield like familiars. a cup is slid towards him, and he fixes his posture to take a sip. eyes wandering to stare off out the window. enraptured in the dark mountain face that faced it, not even a garden... or the sky.
ㅤㅤ"sorry, sir," he finally spoke up, placing the cup neatly back on the table, "I've somewhere i have to be."
he barely waited for his response, exiting the door and making a beeline towards his bed. passing a glance towards the shulker that held all his flowers, before snuggling under the covers.
ㅤㅤhe looked up at the night sky, just to be met with only stars, and a large dark spot where the moon was meant to be. it was so, unbelievably empty, he felt almost scared to drift off to sleep. so, he laid.
ㅤㅤhe swore he had watched the moon rise and fall over and over again, as he laid there. feeling too heavy to move, lost in their thoughts.
ㅤㅤ39... he hated them, he thought. couldn't stand the idea of the little thief running about mostly free. why was everyone here so forgiving? the world was falling apart faster due to them... he may ... never go home, because of it.
ㅤㅤhe rolled over onto his side, hands clasped by his head. a sickly feeling rose in his gut, sweat starting to fall onto his pillow. he sat up as fast as he could, only to be thrown forwards by the force of his muscles acting against his will.
barely catching himself, a sob wracks through his body as he watches the glitch contort his leg, and reset it once more. nails scooping the dirt of his little hole up, he bites his tongue, holding back shouts from the pain. its... hard not to, yet his fuzzy mind tells him thats what he has to do, to make sure nobody worries.
ㅤㅤ what would he do if he forgot again? if he forgot everything that ellora had told him? all the work he had done to get to this far, this close to going home! could he even trust her to tell him everything... what if 39 took it as a chance to— to mess it all up again!
39... 39.
ㅤㅤa hand grabbing his shoulder breaks him out his thoughts, turning only to be met with the very same person he was thinking about. their eyes... he couldn't help but hold contact, he must have looked stupid!
they didn't seem to know what else to do, and... neither did he. but, almost on instinct he leaned into them, forehead resting on their shoulder.
he knew he was too far gone. they had really messed him up, huh?
goddammit. he was meant to be the prince in this story.