Inside a dimly-lit room a man is perched upon a windowsill, looking out the glass windows, as if looking through the seams of the universe, finding answers to his questions. His flowy white cloth fraying against the draft brought about by a small open window from the other side of the room.

In the middle stood a large desk, a lamp lit in the center to emphasize a shadow of another man behind, seated lounging with a glass wine between his long fingers.

"We have  a lost member," he says, sipping from his glass. The man merely watched as the drink bopped his voice box as he swallowed.

He turns to the man with the wine and leans his back against the window. A smile flickers across his lips, like tips of teasing flames that pinch his features. Something animalistic touches his smile, like a ravaging hunger surfacing the edges of his lips. "I know".

The man with the wine looks through his glasses, through the man against the window, moonlight falling upon his face. He could not see anything, anything he could give out, only pure wantonness of something.

"Are you-," he says but is cut off by the cold gaze of the man, his white cloth seeming to be the spotlight of his existence.

"No," a simple answer. Nothing anything could give out. A current of meaning under his word. He remained smiling despite of his cold gaze, raising goosebumps on the man's skin.

He huffs through his showing pristine teeth and stands, slipping down the tall windowsill and landing with a small thud.

"Where are you going?" the man asks, wine glass put down as he follow with his eyes the man who is already almost out the open door.

The man never looks back, but his words do, "Finding what you've lost."

He disappears like a wraith in the dark corridor outside.

----

You sat by a windowsill, exhausted from the long hours of exploring the castle. The thought of Sarah stained your heart with bitter muck, some kind of dark acidic liquid that burns you once you think about it.

It has been a few days after the incident at the library. You've avoided the library for a while, something about it makes you want to puke your insides out. You didn't want anything about your existence let out into the teeming madness of this world - your teeming madness.

Jimin and the other princes seem to notice your sudden withdrawal from them: stopped going out your room and stopped eating, for now you could almost feel your bones popping from their sockets. But you knew for sure they do not know the reason as to why you are like this, only the king and you knew, and you wished it to remain a secret between you two.

It hurt you much.

The moon outside is full, hung high upon the sky, the dark night sky which seems blue is laced with white and silver colors of hue. Your pointer finger trace the edges of the moon, upon the trees that blanket the whole space below it.

Yet there was something missing in the portrait, a certain color that is needed to complete it. Your face scrunches and eyebrows meet, together with a slight tilt of the head.

You think about it.

Nothing comes in your mind.

Without realizing, a familiar black figure moves across the room. A black hole that sucks all the intermittent light inside, including yours.

Once you notice, a heavy frown rests upon your features.

A king mustn't receive a gesture even as close as this, but your intense anger and frustration died out whatever respect you could give.

You face him. He wore his signature black outfit but it is of sleepwear.

"What do you need," you say, teeth gritting, "Your Majesty."

He held up a piece of paper. Amber. Fox features. The colors and outline of it seem to imprint in your eyes. It was the painting of Sarah.

"Why do you have that?" you ask, reaching up to snatch it away but he was fast.

The ends of his lips seem to curl up from a confining smile, lurking shadows deepening inside his abysmal eyes, "Paint me".

----

He had chosen the place to be by one of the hundreds of balconies in the castle. You were thankful he had not chosen the place Jimin told you of the curse of this world. The air is swift and cold outside, fortunately, you put on a cardigan before you sat by the windowsill and were perturbed by a king.

He sat on top of the rail of the balcony, legs dangling down, arms loose, body facing forward, facing you. Yet there is a certain type of constriction in his chest, stiff. One that embodies of a cage that held something he have been wishing to set free.

The sky is darkened blue tonight, free of clouds that fog the surface, releasing nothing of stars, releasing nothing but a singular color - of now you admit has become dull in your eyes.

It is only when the wind silences and the loud rattling inside the cage of his chest do you realize that the sky is dull because it is a crude paper, removed of any lines and shapes, of any art. Retaining only its dark color.

He watches you silently, readying and positioning his body as if you were a camera, and you were to capture every last bit of drop of his existence. Developed into a raw canvas. A masterpiece.

You sit adjacent him, on a stool that fit you as if it were a big hand that scooped you up. On your left hand you held  a sketchpad, thick and ready to be used, and on your right you held a paintbrush, an array of colors stood on a tray.

You hadn't realized the effort he must have forced to create this scene for you, the expectations from him while he created this long ago. Where now you sit. Minding if you could carry out whatever wish he had. Whatever position you needed to be. However you needed to breathe.

The expectations were like nettles that prick you. Your mind filled with countless thoughts if you were doing everything all right. If you were doing what he wanted you to.

His black clothing shifts under him as his body does, fraying against the wind that starts once again. You watch the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the scar across his cheek that deepens with shadows, raped by moonlight, and the black strands that rest against his nape. Unbothered of the wind. Unbothered of anything at all.

You watch the animosity of feelings gurgle inside his stomach, inside his cursed heart as he looks up to the ceiling and down, completely bothered by your watchful gaze. You realize now what of a completely different person he has become, not of his sweet brother residing in his body, not of the cursed fire inside him that burns everyone in his way.

Not of the lost strings of his lost persona.

This was something you had never seen before. Something that makes you think that whatever he has lost had created something new.

Now you painted his new image, bare before you as you took the black paint, smeared it to thin and painted his outline in the picture of the sky and the moon above. And it seemed, for you, for a little while, that the sky and the moon perched upon his shoulders like weapon. Like it belonged to him. Followed him since the day of his birth. Will follow him to his night of death.

It seemed it had seen every detail, scene, memory in his life. Had been forgotten. Had been kept for too long.

This was the missing piece of art that needed to be put on the crude paper of the sky.

He was.

"Please relax," you say in a whisper to the air. Going bothways. To him under the grace of the moonlight. To you in the shadows, a canvas and colors under your chin.

 It was almost wordless if not the sounds, if not the musical notes beneath that structured of an entirely different meaning.

Let go. For once. Let go.

But you do not know what you want him to let go of.

You do not know what you want to let go.

He pales as he looks at you, through your eyes, as if he have wondered too far inside and found something terrifying.

Yet you loosen the knots of your nerves as his eyes hang low, cold ice behind his lashes, back to his self once again.

And his chest falls down, breaking down, air that catches at his throat now flowing out and in. His limbs loosens once more.

You could almost feel the torrent of his blood in his veins, palpitating the beats of his heart inside his hollow chest so that it amplified the sounds. Vibrating through the air to be sent to you.

He sat an inanimate object, yet there was a glow of life inching to devour inside him.

The veins of black protruding through his shirt, resting upon his collarbones placidly.

Looking at your painting you were almost finished. You notice a small mole under his lower lip and you add a tiny dot. You also add in another at the side of his neck, remembering the bitter memory of your first meet with him by the lake.

You had wanted to trace it. Like black stars that you connect to a constellation. You had wished to dive deeper under to find the missing pieces. One for every death. One for every life. One for everything laid before his life.

Yet it needed something more, it is missing of its last feature.

You look to him, brush loosening in your grip. It was something he never had, could never have. Cursed upon him so his glistening bodiles are shammed behind a darkness so thick he can never find the way back to it again.

What he lost.

The stars that had hope.

The hopeless stars in his eyes.

----

[A/N]

UNEDITED.

How was it? Lmao I cried while making this, something about this part just tugged at my heartstrings. Did y'all cry? I swear if you did not I'm probably cray cray.

Well, swipe your life away, bitches. I liked the next chapter better than this.

Next chapter's spoiler*

A curse is bound to deliver its wrath.