“Every night.” Taking several slow and deep breaths Camilla tried to return herself to some semblance of normal so she could at least try to get back to sleep. Across the small village Monroe paced his small bedroom, the well-worn pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips and his bare feet made dull thuds every time he placed them on the hard wood floor. Monroe could not stop thinking about Camilla, there was so much that she didn’t know. Rolling his broad shoulders Monroe shook his head and collapsed against his bed. Placing his hands behind his head, Monroe stared at the ceiling and knew that sleep was not going to come for a while, if at all.
His arms lifted, snapping the restraints as if they were useless dried up and decayed rags. In one sudden heave, he sat up to shift around with his legs dangling off the gurney. Gilbert jumped from fear. He felt two hands hold his shoulders while two other sweaty palms pressed the red Phoenix feather in Gilbert’s hands. He shook, stymied by his friends’ horrified expressions, as they stared at Prod slapping his Uncle Arnold on the back.
A frustrated sigh left his lips as a new violence stirred within him and there was no way to bottle it up. Narrowed eyes scanned the empty apartment. A couch covered with a cloth sat in the other room. No one was in the room with him, he knew that. A deep growl rumbled through his chest before he once again sank in the chair.
The first thing that seemed to register in his mind were the pair of deep brown eyes staring right back at him. The second was the high pitched scream that came from his very own mouth. Jaejoong quickly pushed himself out of his bed, screaming bloody murder at the weird stranger that intruded into his own house, and grabbed the first thing that he could lay his hands on -which, later on, turned out to be a small man purse- and raised it above his head, ready to slam it into the other's face. "WAHOO! Relax!
Now, even the sound of a pin dropping or a mouse pitter-pattering across the floorboards would make him tremble with the greatest of all fears. In the dining room, James sat in the chair he previously occupied. He sat in wonder staring at his goblet that contained the seven dollar whiskey. Placing it aside, he stood back up in shock and horror to notice a message on the mastodon-sized mirror that oversaw all activity in the premises. The message was written in some yellowish-brown liquid with a similar viscosity to blood: Beware the basement, James.
Behind the mist, Harry could see Hermione and Ginny laying on the ground. His fists clench and shake, and he cries out in desperation. There was clearly blood covering their ripped clothing and some very nasty bruises. He cries out again, but they, too, disappear. "No..." The mist clears and he sees Ron, in his striped pajamas, reaching an arm out to Harry.
The young man turned to take one last look at the splendid hall. The lights in the hall began dimming one after another. It began from the cell door and slowly it crept down the hall. It blacked out one portrait at a time, which in a way symbolised the ending of all the kings’ one after the other. It brought comfort to him knowing that he had finally uprooted all the kings and king imitators in the land, but before the last light burnt out, he cast his gaze into the mirror beside the last king and to his horror he saw yet another false king.
He walked around the room, nursing his hand as he walked. The door contrasted strikingly with it’s dilapidated surroundings. Solid and unyielding, it resisted all his efforts to make it budge. Satisfied he wouldn't be leaving the room anytime in the immediate future, he slumped against a wall, pressing his bruise against the cold wall. It still throbbed but it had reduced in size and transitioned from an ugly purple to an angry red.
"Shut up Jongin. I don't need your smart alec talk now. Go sit on the chair in the corner" Kyungsoo fustratedly whispered while closing his heavy eyelids. Hoping no one notice his voice. However unnoticed to Kyungsoo, Baekhyun heard everything, but couldn't figure out who he was talking to.
Suicidal Tendencies - Original Writing His room sat around him heavily, the pressure weighting down on him like a thousand and five rocks, all shifting and moving position with every breath he took and every sigh he lost. The room itself was as the boy, dysfunctional and misplaced. Decorated as though it were about to be re-decorated, it’s bright colours spread no light in this room. The boy’s wispy black hair hung around his eyes, frustrating the eyelashes and teasing a blink, ever staring, the boy ignored them, staring emotionless into a metallic option laying lightly on his duvet. He sniffed, smelling a thought flash through his mind, shifting his stony cold gaze, he stood.