a broken crown: space for a scapegoat - 624 words

Caspian glanced around him. A cool breeze got intentionally caught on the edges of his scales. It grew cold. Biting. Determined to dig itself deeper into his skin.

 

The room was empty - or, it wasn't even a room, really. Whatever had let it manifest into being, didn't know what the eternal wanted from it. Dark void stretched out as far as the eye could see. Who knew if one could get lost in it. A faintly flickering, coverless incandescent light bulb lit the lonely bed below it. The bare light swung softly in the confused, malevolent draft. There wasn't even any sort of table or counter space to put things on. Although, on the other hand, what did it matter? He had already agreed to fetch the dress himself, anyway.

 

It all - or the lack of it - wasn't wrong, per se. It was what Caspian wanted. A place to rest when he had nowhere else to go.

 

As much as he didn't like the cold and the quietly howling void around him, it kind of made sense. Darkness, at least, was safe. It held no monsters if they never showed themselves, and stayed silent. As long as he didn't see them, they could do or be whatever they wanted.

 

The air changed abruptly. Thickened like heavy fog. Crackled until it could no more. The realm reacted to the spark the shifter's thoughts struck. Relentless and vicious. Dark and bashing - like his loneliness. Like his shame.

 

He raised a foot. Something wet and glistening had suddenly coated his soles. It left a solid, slithering trail as it snaked into the darkness - until that darkness shifted.

 

Pale cupboards and cabinets. Yellow lights. One needed its bulb changed. Stainless steel sinks with small spots of rust from hand soap. A disgustingly familiar kitchen drew itself into Caspian's view. Breath stifled in his lungs. Froze into crystals that jabbed at his windpipe from the inside.

 

No.

 

His mother was kneeling on the floor. Held someone in her arms. Larger than herself. Frozen in time, her eyes aflame, she held her jaw wide open. Screaming. Cursing. Blaming.

 

He was standing in a puddle of blood, after all. It was all his fault. It had always been his fault. His horns started the fire. They made her lose her temper. He was the wood and kindling in the pyre. Everything was his fault.

 

This was why he never left his ship.

Caspian slammed the door shut. He leaned on its frame with his arms, the tips of his longest horns scraping its surface like dull knives. His whole body shook. He couldn't control it. Couldn't keep it down.

 

"Is something wrong with the room?"

 

The shifter's heart leaped into his throat when he turned around. Under blonde brows, two brown eyes stared back at him, overflowing with concern. Caspian's whole figure tensed, and his mouth pinched into a thin, almost nonexistent line. He pressed his back against the door like a wild animal, attempting to escape an approaching hand inside a closed carrier. Martus tilted his head the tiniest amount, waiting for an answer - any kind of answer.

 

Without a warning, the Athos leaned forward. The motion was stiff and hostile, like a stressed dog snapping at its groomer. The smaller man took a step backwards, but could hardly escape the other's grief-ridden wrath.

 

"FUCK YOU."

 

With those two, tactless words, Caspian walked away, every inch of his body tense like strings of a violin. Martus watched after the eternal, unable to stop blinking in utter confusion. He scratched the back of his head. "Uh...you're welcome?"

 

People could be passionate about their guild hall room when they got it, but... whatever this was, was an odd one for sure.