So it was torn asunder
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set in the afternoon.

Body curled up tight, tail tucked between his clothed knees, the Dauphin lay on the half of the bed he had long since claimed. A long hand stretched away from where it had lain limp beside his head. He touched the side of the bed that was as empty as it had been last night. It was cold beneath his fingers, and no matter how much he wanted it to be filled, he understood why he now slept alone. With a resolute sadness, the man withdrew his hand from the empty side where once another body would lay.


Lavender eyes were hidden behind closed lids. It was expected that he would feel a great gaping chasm where once was another man. Now, vacant and hollow, he felt nothing at all. It was strange, but there were no tears to shed, nor did he have the breath to wrack his body with sobs. Shallow ragged breath escaped him as he kept his eyes shut and his entire body tensed. The muscles along his arms were taut as he clenched his fists together.


His feelings were like knots in his stomach, making it churn rather unpleasantly. The Dauphin had been so accustomed to his patterns, to his way of life that he had forgotten what being alone was like. He had forgotten what he had to do without someone to fall back on. He had lost that independence he had cherished. When had he become so weak? Was he truly as weak as this? No, he was almost five years old, he was no child still sucking dependently on the mother's teat. He was not. He was no longer a child and he had his duties. He could not lay so weak and helpless like a fool. He was the Dauphin.


A large rough exhale rushed from his lips as he opened his eyes in an instant. Lavender eyes saw the empty spot. No thinking would change it. Most of it was his fault, that much he knew. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he blankly stared at the empty space, fake red hair falling over his gaze. A hand pushed the strands out of his view and he sat up properly. What was he grumbling about? He had nothing to grumble about. His relationship may have been over and done with, but there were more important things to do with his life.


He had a role to play in this pack. Without him, it would still go on just as before. But he had not yet made his mark on the place and he could not be satisfied with leaving it the way it was. He had plans, ideas, goals. How could the Dauphin abandon his own imagination, even in a time of severe emotional strife? It was nothing against the tide of life. He would get up and move on.


The Dauphin rose from his bed, ignoring the lingering scents in the air as he left the domicile. With strides that did not betray his shattered psyche, the man entered his studio and pulled out the yellowed sketch book and charcoal stick. With flourished strokes he drew a striped tent, torches, and a theater. It was exactly what they needed; a distraction.


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