@Ethereal-Star This thread takes place during the time where Calent is much younger. His father has become so ill he can no longer rule, so the young Calent finds himself already needing to assume the throne earlier than expected. Being so young (in his teens) he's finding himself starting to fall into a world of over whelming suffocation through his obligations to his people, while also trying to figure out who he is as a person, and cope with many losses- that of his fiance, and now of his father, who remains too ill to get out of bed.
---------
All the candles in the room sat in low, melted piles; only a few left that danced still with life. They were scattered all around, no real placement or purpose, just to keep the place alive with light. Ever since his fiance's death, his terrifying nightmares had begun, riled him up and made sleeping a near impossible feat.
And now, with the wailing sounds of his ailing father echoing through the halls, Calent found himself staring down at the piano's keys that sat silent and still, except the glowing dance of the final flame that sat perched on the instrument. But then, in a crackle, then a whisper, the last candle went out, and Calen Allarrick found himself once again, in the dark.
As the smell of the candle's smoke faded, Calent's eyes adjusted to the darkness, now chilled as the calls of his agonizing father went quiet. He feared the worst and moved to enter the hall, but when he inquired about his father's condition, the doctor simply told him he was well, the medicine worked and helped put him to sleep.
Returning to his room with some relief, Calent found himself pacing throughout the room, before pausing to light a fresh candle and set it beside his vanity. Peering into the mirror, he studied his face, the way the shadows hugged at his skin, and saw parts of his father in him that he had never seen before. Many said he looked more like his mother, but he could see his father's broad chin and his familiar, thoughtful frown drawn across his own lips, and he wondered, idly, as his finger tips brushed across his frown, when and how HE would die.
Death was never a subject he liked to speak of, for the very idea of it terrified him to the core. And with death so suddenly rising up and becoming quite the real ordeal in his life...
He found himself being forced to recognize it-
But still, the fear was real, as was the panic.
And the silence was deafening. He felt stifled, hot, and soon moved over to his balcony doors and threw them open to where he was surprised to be met with the fierce winds of an oncoming storm. Standing there on the balcony, winds pulling t his clothing, his hair, he stared up into the moon, which was soon consumed by a lacing of dark clouds that set the world into an even blacker darkness while off int he distance, thunder purred.