The Forgotten Prince
#1
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Jasper was silent as he sat on the edge of the bed, grasping the wrinkled piece of paper in on weak hand. The shack was empty and quiet, the mattress that he laid on was cold, aside from the small warm spot where his body had been. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had knocked the pillow off the bed when he was rolling around, he might have never found the note. It had been a few days since reality had settled back in to him, since he had opened his eyes and really seen things for how they were. He was no longer stuck in a haze of sickness but, as his eyes traveled down the paper, reading the words that seemed so hastily written, he suddenly wished he hadn't gotten better at all. Laurent was gone, run off to find some magic cure.


The first sob hit him hard, like a brick to the chest, and hot tears forced themselves out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had cried, since he could cry, that doing so actually hurt. Suddenly desperate to just curl up and cry, Jasper flung the crumpled note to the bed, pushing himself up to stand in an attempt to retrieve his pillow. It had been so long since he'd moved his legs though, his body simply fell to the floor in a heap of bone and flesh. He hit the floor with a quiet thud, only causing the sobs to grow louder. He reached out for the pillow, bringing it up against his chest and stomach, curling himself around it to lay and cry.

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#2
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     Ahren had begun avoiding the shack. He hated the sickly-sweet smell of disease, and hated hearing his son moan in his sleep. The fact of the matter was Ahren had truly not been to see his son in days—he feared, as the creeping desire demanded, he might kill him. That scared him, but at the same time, he realized that it might be what had to be done. Still, though, he managed to keep that desire from rising as it had with so many others. It’s all right, a voice not unlike his own said. You aren’t a bad person.
     “Yes I am,” he responded, stepping through a pile of leaves, sending them scurrying in his wake. “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. A strange smile crossed his face, and he absent mindedly began playing with the necklace he had not taken off since he ripped it from his mother’s corpse. “Comparing myself to Crowley now,” he laughed, and responded to himself in the same breath. “A self proclaimed magician and…” He trailed off, and heard a thousand words uttered at once. Arsonist, rapist, murderer, manipulator, politician, criminal, guilty, guilty, GUILTY, WE ARE ALL GUILTY.
     Then a noise, incredibly soft and maddening all at once, reached his ears. They both went up, swiveled, and focused on the source. That damned shack, where he had inadvertently crossed to again. Maybe it was a polar nexus, a power source, like the polestar in Chimera had been. Maybe he had another reason for going their entirely. Advancing and moving to the door, he hesitated for only a moment before he pulled the door open.





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#3
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Reality seemed like a jumble of confusing, faint memories. He could remember voices, people who shouldn't have been there but they had been, but he couldn't remember who they were. He could recall the sounds of fighting, a voice of comfort that seemed to appear every once and again, though he didn't think that it was meant for him. Then the letter, the one that he had read with his own two eyes. Laurent was gone, but for how long? When did he leave and how long had Jasper been in that bed? The room was empty, it had been a while since he had heard the few scattered voices that had been there, but he knew that someone else had been in the room with him the whole time. Who was it? Did they get better?


He held the pillow with both hands, rubbing it furiously against his face in an attempt to soak up the tears that poured from his eyes. When he removed the pillow one side of his face, the left side, curled up into a faint snarl, lip twitching against teeth and gums and his ear doing the same. It was on odd feeling, tingly and uncontrollable, which only left him more confused. It went away though, lasting for a brief second, until about the time that the door popped open. Ears stood at attention then, rubbing his eyes once more with the pillow before finally laying his head down on it, staring at the dark figure in the doorway. "Dad?"

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#4
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     Coming out of the sickness had been like waking from a dream. Staggering blindly into some half-life, unaware of the passage of time but all too aware that time had passed. The disease had ripped the mind apart, as it had been with the heroine. At that point, he had forgotten who he was. Ahren de le Poer, the former crowned-prince of Chimera, last living remnant of Azathoth, father, son, holy spirit—he had forgotten everything except for that white light and the dark room. It was ash and timber now, a wreckage back in the place they had once lived. Gabriel had done that. Gabriel had seen that terrible country for what it was and thrown everything asunder in one fell swoop.
     Jasper was crying. That did not surprise him, given that the boy had been crying throughout the ordeal. Jasper cried more then anyone he had ever met. Sometimes, that worried the blonde. He couldn’t remember the last time he had truly cried.
“Hey kid,” he said, finding his voice unfamiliar, finding he was speaking to a stranger.
“You feeling any better?”





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#5
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Better wasn't exactly the best term, he just didn't feel so sick anymore, at least not from that particular illness. Jasper gave a very faint shake of his head, unsure whether to answer yes or not, he still wasn't even that sure. "Laurie is gone." His voice shook and cracked when he spoke, his mouth was dry and it ached in his throat when he tried to speak at full volume. He wasn't sure if Laurent had let any of them know that he was going, when he might be back, or if he planned to come back at all. Even though the note said he would be back, Jasper had his doubts. Pulling his knees inward, the younger male managed to lift himself from the floor, sitting with his back against the bed while his eyes sought out the form of his father to settle there.


He was quiet for a time, just watching, as if the things that he could see around him were almost foreign. After a moment he finally cleared his throat in an attempt to speak up, motioning faintly to the empty 'bed' that he been made on the floor. "Where is Laruku?" He was almost afraid to ask, unsure if the older male had gotten better quicker or if he had gotten sicker and passed on. Just the thought of it frightened him.

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#6
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     He knew they were gone. He knew that they were out there, somewhere in the wild. Laurent had been the first to leave, furious at the world, at himself, at his inability to do anything but stand by and wait. There had been others between them, and Laruku had been the last. Ahren had known he was gone days ago. He had made no point to follow. Instinct or something like it had let him know where the hybrid was going. Even if he was blind, even if he walked into death, Ahren doubted Laruku would find it. He wasn’t that lucky.

     “I don’t know,” he stated plainly. The apathy in his voice was remarkable. One might think he had never cared at all. Shrugging lightly and pushing a chunk of hair from his face, he revealed a chunk of black tangled with the blonde. Ahren didn’t know his hair was changing colors. He hadn’t seen himself in weeks. “Don’t worry about it,” he continued, shutting his eyes.






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#7
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In the few quiet moments that followed his own words, Jasper reached for the pillow that he had left on the ground there, taking the time to lift it and wedge it down between his legs and his stomach, keeping his arms close to it as he waited for an answer. It wasn't long before the words came and he frowned just a bit, glancing back over to the empty bed. He supposed that, if Laruku had passed on, someone would have informed everyone else instead of just up and getting rid of his body without a word. "I didn't mean to make anyone sick." He said quietly, despite the fact that he didn't even know for a fact that it was him who caused the whole thing. It seemed to fit though, something else to mess up, just like always.


"I heard voices." He told his father, finally moving his eyes back up to the older male. "I didn't know some of them but some of the others seemed familiar somehow." Maybe he could shed some light on who he had heard in his daze of sickness. The lack of a sense of smell didn't help him to figure any of it out. He didn't even know that Corona had been the one to visit him, the one that he had mistaken for his mother. Somehow, somewhere, he almost hoped that it had been his mother who had come to visit.

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#8
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     Ahren opened his eyes, focused them on the boy, and he wondered just how long that impulse had been there. Maybe he should have killed him. Maybe he should have sent him away like he had the others. Maybe he should have never come back in the first place. “I know,” he said, knowing it was the truth. Jasper was guilty, but they were all guilty. Jasper had never killed anyone. He had only made them sick, made them mad, made them blind, and made them disappear.

     “People came in and out. I don’t remember a lot either.” That was a lie. He could remember everything, except for the dreams. Those had gone in waves, and most of them had been waking life, in some peculiar slip-stream in which fantasy and reality were one. “Corona was here a lot. So was Rachias.”





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#9
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"Corona?" It some crazy ray of hope in the dismal reality that he had woken up to. She had returned, apparently she was okay, or else he might have told him so. It was odd to be happy that she was back, even somewhat excited at the prospect, but Corona had given him much more than most of his other siblings had. She tolerated him, even if she wasn't that fond of him or wasn't all that nice. She put up with him, never tried to send him away, and nor did she ever just up and disappear, she went places with a purpose, not just to be away from him. He'd always wanted to thank her for it, for putting up with him, but like everything else, he had failed at it.


He was silent for a moment, just watching, wondering quietly if he had made his father sick also. He couldn't remember much more than being carried, faint flashes of Laruku in the corner and the slight comfort that it gave him knowing that his friend's father had been there with him, even if he was sick. "Do you ever think that I'll be strong like you?" He asked quietly, dropping his head to rest of the pillow, staring down at the floor. He wasn't worried about physical strength, just about everything else. Why was he always the one one the floor or in the corner crying?

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#10
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     Strong? That was something Ahren had never fancied himself. He had been too weak to deal with the real world, staggering through his youth drowning in whiskey and heroine, taking everything and giving nothing in return. He had changed little since then. It had always only been about him. The children were second class citizens. They were no longer the reason he lived. They didn’t need him anymore. You should have killed that bitch before this started.

     “Er ist schuld,” he said, not realizing he had spoken aloud, not realizing he had spoken in German. Then, as if he had said nothing at all, the blonde smiled and looked down at his feet. His hair, now bearing a remarkably visible black streak, hid his face. “I’m not strong, Jasper.” I just can’t feel anything anymore.








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#11
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Ears shifted carefully at the foreign words, taking a moment to decide whether he knew what they meant or not. Unfortunately for him, Russian was the language of his ghost friend, leaving little chance for him to understand what his father had said. He considered, for a moment, asking what it meant though he quickly decided against it. If his father had wanted him to know he would have probably said it in English. "I think so." He offered, though he knew it meant little coming from him. At least he wasn't always crying over something, he could take care of himself, which was something that Jasper had learned very little of. He still felt like a child that needed to be taken care of and constantly watched over.


"Is that why I have black hair?" He pointed one weak finger, suddenly curious about the chunk of dark hair that he had never noticed on his father before. He had always wondered why his seemed different, though he couldn't even remember what color his mother's hair had been. It seemed odd though, to just not notice such a thing. He'd even wondered, a very long time ago, if he had been adopted and that was why everyone hated him so much.

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#12
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     It was peculiar to him that someone might think he was strong. He supposed, though, most children looked up to their father’s like that. Then again, he had never done the same with Damian. Then again, Damian had been dying long before he had been a father. Dying, but still alive enough to strike him. Still alive enough to fill his head with nonsense and remind him he was a terrible, awful child.
     At the question, he looked up, puzzled. Following the motion, he reached up and pulled his hair in front of his face. Soot black tangled with his vision and he frowned. While his fur had indeed darkened considerably since he had been a boy, he had never expected to see black. “Maybe,” he offered, releasing his grip. “I figured you got it from my father.”






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#13
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In all of his life he had never thought to ask about family aside from siblings. His grandparents had been a subject that had simply never entered his mind. Now that his father brought it up, though, he suddenly wondered what they were like and where they might have been. If they were important, though, wouldn't he have spoken about them? On the other hand, Jasper hadn't learned about Gabriel until the moment that he had met him there on that beach. "I've never heard about him before." Jasper stated quietly, deciding it best to leave that line of communication alone. If Ahren was so inclined then he would talk about it, but Jasper didn't want to make him feel like he needed to. Maybe Corona could tell him some time, if she would take the time to talk to him.


"I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk about him." He said again, though it was mostly a comment to himself. Had his siblings ever met him or even his grandmother? Did his mother have family running about that Jasper could cling to if he knew them? Somehow, with the way that Misery seemed, he doubted that they would enjoy his company at all.

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#14
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     The subject of his father was a touchy one. Ahren had hated his father passionately, and thought many times of killing him. He owed Damian nothing, and yet a vague and twisted sense of loyalty remained. It was less them that which he held for his mother. Then again, she had truly loved him. She had died for him. At least, in some small way. “He died a long time ago,” Ahren said flatly.






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#15
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"Oh." It was all he could manage, equally as flat as the words his father had spoken. Jasper could find little more to say than that, knowing that his father wasn't the type for "I'm sorry you lost him."s or any other sort of comfort, not that he was good at any of that anyways. It did make him wonder though, if only for a brief moment, if that was the reason that he felt like his father was so far away from him. If he did really die a very long time ago, did that mean he hadn't really ever had one? "I'm glad you're still here." Feeble attempts at expressing just how glad he was to have his father around, even if it was awkward for him to say it. "Have you been okay?" A quick change of subject, something less awkward than before, he hoped.

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#16
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     On several occasions, his father had proclaimed his hatred for him. Only once had he ever come clean and said he would have killed him outright. That had been the crossing mark, the final straw. When Damian had died, Ahren felt nothing. No regret, no sorrow, no joy. He had simply been indifferent. Apathetic. He hadn’t cared either way. Damian had been dead long before that September, and dead long before they had burnt him.

     A half-hearted yet honest smile crossed Ahren’s face, and he leaned against the doorway. “I’m fine,” he said, wondering if that was a lie. For a few moments more he was quiet, then once again vocalized the very real truth he felt coming in the wind. “We need to find somewhere to stay for the winter.”





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