[hider=no peeking!] Aaron's lines from earlier echoed through his head; his wrist burned and for a fleeting moment, there was bliss. He fell through the branches of tall pine trees, fell until he was upright, in his dorm room, face burning and gut quivering as he stood naked at Varis’ command. The hand jerked his head to the side and he was kneeling on cobblestone, hot embarrassment welling up as he was forced watch his old tutors witness his humiliation. He was shoved and fell backward into a chair in a quiet room, moonlight spilling onto white marble floors from tall windows. There was no chance to calm himself, no time. Cello between his legs, he was struggling to keep his composure and looking pleadingly to Lucan, seated beside him with a violin. [color=#9932CC]“Remember. Regardless of what happens, you can count me on your side.”[/color] Confused devastation consumed him as the hand dragged him back into darkness. It was cold, terribly cold, biting and burning where it touched him. His ears filled up and he couldn’t breathe; he was underwater, freezing, drowning, as everything he’d ever known and worked for went up in flames. [color=f0d705][i]Failure. Disappointment. Unfit. Unworthy. You didn’t work hard enough. You aren’t good enough. They don’t need you. They don’t want you. They’re getting rid of you.[/i][/color] Another jerk of the hand and a gut-wrenching cocktail of sickening shame and cautious optimism gripped him; he stood at attention alongside his mother and aunts, organ music filling the air. Everyone was dressed head to toe in black, and Dora was crying, but all he could think about was who might fill that empty space by the Queen. He was all the more ashamed because he knew it was sick. Twisted. Deplorable. But how could he not consider it? Cold panic crept up on him; what would the Queen think? What would your mother think? What the hell is [i]wrong[/i] with you? He was mortified; horror smothered his mind until the hand wrenched his head down and he fell to his knees before Princess Nox, a brand new Dawn in his hands, pride and awe aching in his chest. The glint of the metal grew brighter; beams of golden light emanated from the crystal in his shaking hand, and a tidal wave of relief crashed over him. Weeks and weeks of pent-up anxiety finally melted away; every muscle in his body complained as they finally relaxed, but the pain was meaningless compared to the joy that rocked his very core. The hand knocked him sideways and he was standing before a tapestry, still incomplete. There had always been something daunting about it. Something ominous. A family tree, but he knew better. He knew some names were missing. More than a couple. Nobody talked about them. Nobody remembered them. Nobody cared to learn them anyway. All those muscles twisted again as anxiety and panic roiled inside him. He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. He could barely keep his food down. Desperate hope and crippling fear consumed his every thought, the weight of dozens of generations pressing down on him. Cold fingers of dread wormed their way into everything; just a few weeks left, what if the worst happened? What would happen to him then? He lost his footing and caught himself on the edge of a bathroom counter, pristine white furnishings smudged with red. The teenaged boy in the mirror was hunched over in hysterical laughter, covered from head to hip in blood. His hand slipped and he was falling, rolling, pinning someone down. He couldn’t see their face, couldn’t see anything; all Aaron knew was the searing in his ear and the ache in his side and the stinging in his knuckles as he frantically attacked, throwing his weight behind every desperate punch. His mind was aflame with pain and grief and blinding anger; he barely heard his victim’s shouts over his own heartbeat. The only thing that did ring clear was a hand gripping his throat and the world turning sideways, the floor coming up to meet him, the stars in his eyes and explosion of pain as his head cracked against the floor. The impact brought him no catharsis; his chaotic panic only mounted as the stars faded away to a door at the end of a hallway. He needed to get in there. An armoured mage was in his way. [color=f0d705]“Why can’t I see her?”[/color] he asked again, voice strained with emotion. The mage shook his head and sighed. [color=lightgray]“You [i]know[/i] why, Aaron.”[/color] [color=f0d705]“But they used to at least let me talk to her! Over skype, or, or through the door—”[/color] Aaron was cut off by a chorus of disturbing, guttural noises from behind the door, several voices murmuring urgently around it. Tears stung in his eyes as he tried to rush past the guard, only to be restrained again. [color=f0d705][i]“Mom!?”[/i][/color] All he could hear was the steady ticking of a metronome. [color=#9932CC][i]Dead. Dead. Dead. Stop breathing. Dead. Dead. Footwork boy, what did I tell you?[/i][/color] A shock rocketed up his arms; his sword clattered to the floor. He was tired and frustrated, covered in sweat and breathing heavily, heart pounding, staring Lucan down. When the vampire turned his back, Aaron inhaled sharply and rushed him; Lucan dodged and kicked him square in the chest, and he landed hard on his back. [color=#9932CC]“What did I tell you about breathing dead boy?”[/color] The hand over his mouth dragged him painfully down through the floor and dropped him in a tall, echoing room. On one wall a massive portrait of Landar Starag looked down at him sternly; the other was lined with urns, generations of honourable mentions stacked up high, high above him. He felt so small. He [i]was[/i] so small. He needed to get bigger. Get better. [i]Be[/i] better. Measure up. There were big shoes to fill. He had to set an example. Aaron felt something like cool glass glide over his skin; as it did, the hand’s grip on his mouth loosened, icy fingers trailing back across his cheek until they finally disappeared. The glass soothed his panic as it passed over him, and the room once again went dark. He hadn’t noticed the ringing in his ears until it started to subside, nor the burning in his lungs until he could finally breathe again. When he opened his eyes he was in another room, warmly lit with stone walls and low ceilings. Lined up were fourteen blank sarcophagi - wait, he hadn’t counted - but for some reason, he was not alarmed. The soft notes of a distant piano did wonders to calm him. [/hider]