Y/N's P.O.V

My breath hitches, sweat pampering the still surface of my skin, my rib cages aching to bulge to reveal the beating heart - pumping so rapid I cannot see the flash before my eyes, like a white light running on course against a race of shadows.

My heart is beating, warm, burgundy-maroon flashing through every tube, yet its surface frozen solid, closed to anything that could thrust itself inside, to remove the life, remove its fire.

I couldn't see, couldn't speak, yet I could hear clearly - terrifying enough for every sound is amplified in around my head, swirling across my brain with sharp sticks ready to burst the organ into a painful ecstacy.

I could hear my amplified breaths, the rumbling of my stomach, the gentle ping of the rain outside the trellis, settling placidly on the surface to sluice and drop only to be absorbed by the grass beneath.

I couldn't move - that also.

But I could feel. My hands seized on the plump mattress of the bed, the beats from my veins bouncing on the material to be brought back to my skin.

I could almost taste my sweat, my tears or blood - or a mixture of everything. I couldn't see anything, there was nothing painted across the vast murk inside my eyes. It was only pitying black and sorrow.

The thought of paralysation is stuck beneath me, it feels as though there is a much bigger show to drive my attention to rather than listen to my gut.

Everything runs so fast, the feeling like an oncoming panic attack raises to bubble behind your throat or a a large, fiery bodile galvanizing with its target aimed at your brain - when it comes, only, it would scratch the surface in the tiniest facet.

Yet its line across the surface carries the weight of pain, pure, black, burning pain expatiating the more it explores the seams inside.

There wasn't fear inside me, not a minuscule close to it. But there's a heaving feeling tugging at the back of my head, pulling at the little strings connected to deliver different messages throughout me.

I was paralysed.

And I needed to wake up.

It was telling me to wake up.

With a huge gasp my eyes open, pulsating and wrenching my brain it to its limits just for a jot of a slit opens my eyes.

I awoke in the night, the smell of earthiness and rain hits my nostrils the moment I sit right up, the mattress covering me bunches around my waist, restrained edges of it is the effect of my tight grasp of it.

It was tight in there. And I needed to breath.

I let it go, leaving the creases of my taut hold to tend to itself. It plops down as I rise up, holding myself against the headboard to stifle the throbbing pain in my head and the heavy weight my head seems to be carrying.

My body is rigid and strewn into pools of noodles, the muscles inside barely working to provide proper stature once I push myself up.

I feel it now, it seems as though the weight of my whole body is being carried by my head.

And I feel big as a huge rock, shot from the rumbling explosion of a volcano together with debris and dirt and people.

Suddenly, I was hot, hot like magma inside the chambers of a volcano, sputtered with acidic rain, thawing the frozen heart to an unyielding burn - eternal fire.

Eternal pain.

Eternal hell.

"I need water," I say to myself, merely a whisper, larger to come out as a raspy voice - evident much of the lack of hydration.

With my words I push my feet inside the comforting cavern of my slippers and push myself outside, barely meeting the cold draft flowing through the corridors from my lack of focus.

I struggle to find the kitchen, but I arrive with the slightest of burn against my skin, my sweat dropping like bombs caught in the midst of a war. Exploding on the cold surface of the marbled floor beneath my feet, drying against the gold swirls embedded deep in the floor.

Every move I make shuts my body more, my eyes droopily closing in on me as my limbs go haywire from the lack of balance.

I knew I didn't have the knack of staying awake, it was my worst weakness. I needed to sleep when I felt it coming.

But I didn't wanna sleep, the occurrence earlier grappled me from sleeping tonight.

Yet with every move, the burn ignites happily, crackling inside the hearth my heart made, snapping against the log of woods fed of it.

A thank you message.

But I didn't want it.

I was too tired to accept any message, much less entertain the burning fire inside me. If only I could light a small candle and blow the hearth out, that'll help me get to my way without this overwhelming feeling.

The kitchen invites me with its arch of stones, a golden plate embossed with the details "Kitchen" hung overhead as I pass by.

My first step against the marble was soft until it progressively harshens as the smell of cinnamon thickens in the air.

It was a careful invitation, and I so willingly took it.

The fire burns and burns heating my body inside out. Before I even knew it I was drenched in my own sweat.

The lights were on as I amble through the countless counters filled with food and stuff used to make food.

But there were two people occupying the space, shutting my gaped mouth close.

One has his back towards me and one has a careful smile plastered across her face. Her eyes tired from exhaustion but holding up to receive the attention of the person in front of her.

Her red locks put into a bun as she sweeps the counter clean with a wet rug, her other hand stationed at the edge to catch the crumbles of freshly baked cookies dropped.

She looks evidently terrified yet stifles her hidden fear by the mask of smile. But her lips are twitching and her droopy eyes are lined with tears, ready to burst but afraid to give up.

Courage and cowardliness in one.

She notices me, and the burning crackles happily. A sense of relief washes over her - thinking a saviour has come to save the day.

But the man turns, and every hope comes flying out the window, together with the hydrating water my mouth thirsts so much or the cinnamon smell still lingering past my nose.

The great fire inside the hearth is doused with water at the sight of him, splotched with ashes and ink on the surface as everything inside dies down.

Shut tightly to a small corner.

Shammed outside the Earth.

He grins, a toothy smile dancing on his lips, his eyes wrinkled as the dimple - a crevice so deep I could get lost into - appears on his cheek.

A blush creeps up his neck and into his cheeks, reeling in the small crevice of his. The bulging veins I so hardly never wanted to see waned at his bright atmosphere and light.

But most importantly, the shadow he had perched on his back has disappeared, cut off from his existence only to be replaced with a bright boy.

A bright man.

The thistle strands of his brunette hair against his forehead shuns the light out.

I had never seen the King with bangs.

I'd never remembered him to be brunette. He was raven-haired from my memory.

Especially, I'd never seen him so different...and bright.

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UNEDITED.

Sorry for mistakes, I haven't proofread yet so forgive me. Hope you had a happy read. The next two chapters will be published on Wednesday.