*

The darkness had been skirting the boundaries of the Imperial City, and it dreadfully surrounded the shadowed building of the Ruby Palace. This was no longer a nightmare that lingered on the edge of his senses. This is reality.

Reality had come on so fast.

Erratic footsteps echoed through the awfully exquisite walls, clicking against the awfully white floor. Although distant, the clicks seemed to hover effortlessly about the white floor, and this did nothing to comfort him. The hallway was like a maze; he was in a tiny daze, the walls, the ceiling and the floor were blurring in his vision. A cold chill bolting through his body, maddening hysteria taking over him.

The aftermath was so surreal.

Winded, he was sitting limply on the couch, back leaned against the soft cussion, staring into nothing. The only movement he felt was that of blood, flooding soundlessly from his clothes to the couch, turning it henceforth red. The wrenched scent was everywhere.

A warm flow of crimson erupted, leaking out of him like a faucet that couldn't be shut off. It wasn't his blood. He didn't have but a few scratches on his arms. He barely registered the fact that someone had called out for him and yelling it by now.

"Your Majesty!"

His half-lidded eyes slowly looked up. There was a growing hoarseness in his voice. "Felix...?"

Felix gazed down at the blood on his Emperor's hands and at the deep crimson stains on his clothes. "Why you done that?" he wondered.

Claude blinked. How could he speak when he didn't have the words; the words, the word, the single word resonated. Unfair. Hurt. Blank. Damned stream of consciousness. Damned tongue twister of life. What could he say when there was nothing left but nonsense and empty words? Nothing there.

The aftermath was so heavy.

He was so angry. He could explode, knew he could, wished he would. It would be so easy, so easy to explode. All the pressure would be released in one fiery iridescent exploison. He wanted to rage and smashed them up, but the pain... the illogical heartache keep him curled up on the couch, fighting screams, trying to ignore the sick rolling in his stomach and the insistent slamming in his head.

It hurt like hell.

During his whole life he'd heard people throwing around the term of 'heartache', but he never truly understood what it meant until now. He never understood the possibility that an emotion, something that has no mass or form was able to wrap around people's heart like a phyton and squeeze, squeeze, and squeeze until every valve and chamber ached. Until the blood itself, which had no feeling at all, pulled barbed wire through people's arteries with every broken beat.

It shouldn't be possible.

Life—what a cute, hypocritical little charade. This he knew, but the truth did not help, there was nothing he could do. The blatant truth mocked his helplessness.

The aftermath was so severe.

He tried to find hope, but the blood was there to remind him, to crash every brink of sanity.

It was like trying to fly... when you know you were already falling.

To be continue.

Okay, this is it. Phewwww

That was hard, portraying Claude's feeling and imagining what he may felt when he lost Diana and he knew he could avenged her death but he can't do that. The video up there was sort-of a muse for this chap, tho. It just really give me into that vibe:v

I really love and enjoy the story of WMMMAP, and ideas just keep coming through that I can't help but write it out hehe.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this, and please leave a review!
Love you lots♡♡