Royal Imitation | Kylo Ren

His Gift

There's a provoking and ridiculing person biting and tormenting at the back of my mind. 

They lay their legs upon my shoulders and scoop the thoughts out of my brain with their fingers, answering to my title, but snapping at all those who speak it, never-less. 

She's the one who creates those terrorising and colossal nightmares and fears, every-night that draw me to chaotic tears and she's the one who will snide at my own reflection, laughing at what I wear and scoffing at the gold and false marks upon me. 

I'm constantly in a screaming battle with her, the voices, a booming eruption of hatred and superstitions, that bring on a raging migraine every-day that I cannot get away from, no matter how hard I try.

Though my migraines were brought on by the constant noise, the past days have been minimal in effort and practically as silent as the still paintings that line every wall in these halls. 

It has been three long and silent days, since Kylo Ren had forced his lips upon me once again, and it has been three, long days, since he and I had spoken. 

There's a brooding attempt of contact on his behalf, but they fall deaf upon my ears, every-time he had tried to search for my weakness and tear down my sudden defence that rebuilt upon the brought down rubble. 

Every-time he tried to speak, I only ignored him intently, waiting for his impatience to erupt and smack me across the face like it usually would, but his fists were never laid upon me in my brooding quiet, though he was close to thrashing them against me sometimes, until he eventually gave up and played the game of silence with me. 

Although, I am theoretically full, I'm hungry for what I cannot have. When the lack of noise on the outside had drawn, my own mind had rumbled with an almighty need to punch through the palace walls and take myself home – But the rational side of my subconscious, still has her claws sinked into my nerves, telling me that I have to stay to keep my life, even though it will never be the same, even after all the gold has been stolen from my frame. 

There's a threat of rain coming as the howling winds outside, sprawl their heavy breath and misty touch upon the hallway, coloured-stained glass, coming to my ears as Jorkhan's peaceful song that clicks to the tune of my moving shoes, seeming to me, like the ballad cry before a brutal war, which nobody but the clouds can see coming.

I know that I am supposably, not allowed to walk the palace alone, but today's servants who tried to pluck and prod every blemish upon my body this morning, were giving me a bigger headache than my own sinful, subconscious and I had to slip away the second they weren't noticing – Just to get a peace of mind. 

I wondered to myself, just how the orchard's were being prepared for the drawing rain... Was the servants already out there, tying the apricot and plum trees down? Are the strawberry shrubs being over-laid by thin, plastic coverings to protect them?

The fruit and vegetable industries and trade in Jorkhan were very valuable, and weather like this, is never good news – A little part of me is delighted for the split second, that I am not there, for I remember the panic that eloped the servants and the way a girl from my picking group, was backhanded the next day, because she tied three trees too loosely. But that delight doesn't stay for long, because I scold myself soon after; Knowing desperately, that I would do anything to be back there right now. 

I gasp quietly to myself and press against the wall of the hallway, that meets a conjunction and grind my teeth together in an effort to keep quiet as I notice two of the servants from earlier, running up the left hall in search for me – The lost, but funnily enough, not so lost, Princess.