A Gorgeous White

Arcefi wasn't numb to the dreadful gaze settling upon his head. It feels as though a cleaver hovered over his nape. The blade was ready to chop his head off his shoulders. He yanked his gaze away, accidentally landings on the large hand pressing on Moulin's back, veins pulsing. The lord's strong arm, wrapping half of the aphrodite's slender waist and boldly holding it as if to show ownership. Not a trace of shame flitted past Lord Hercullio's chilling eyes. The audience locked their jaws tight, restraining their shock and surprise.

Swallowing down his discomfort, the elven Purifier spoke his greetings to the maeruthan High Lord. The others behind him stuttered as they did the same, unable to bear the pressure of Lord Hercullio's gaze. Revealing a calm countenance, Arcefi bared a faint smile, assuring his appearance looked relaxed and unfazed.

The person between the two blinked expressionlessly. Moulin is unaware of the elves' circumstances behind him. However, he could not miss the dangerous glint within Hadrian's eyes. He looked angry. Threatened? But what could possibly make him look so mad? Was he angered by the elves behind him? Why?

"Hadrian..." Moulin whispered, tapping the man's bulging bicep and successfully catching Hadrian's attention.

The man turned to him, lowering his head.

"Stop holding me so tight. I need to return to my quarters." Moulin whispered. His eyes are questioning Hadrian's impossible hold.

Golden eyes softened and the arm around Moulin loosened significantly. Hadrian's fingers intentionally brushed the curve above Moulin's buttocks and Moulin reddened, smoke whistled out of his ears. This little- His eyes snapped to Hadrian but the latter instinctively stepped back with an unreadable expression. Only Moulin knew of the amusement the man was restraining.

Moulin forced himself to calm down, quelling the violent urge in his chest before he turned to the elves behind him with a soft smile. He spoke to Arcefi, "I'm grateful for the tea this morning, my friend. I shall be on my way, then. The Lord and I have many things to discuss about."

"I see, I wouldn't want to intrude. Thank you for your time."

Moulin nodded to Arcefi before facing Hadrian once more. The silvery look in his eyes hinted to the man that they should be on their way. Hadrian naturally perceived it, waving his hand to dismiss the people behind him before he led Moulin through the hallways undisturbed. The dazed people were left to gaze at the pair's departing figures.

Arcefi furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of the feelings chaotically surging within his chest. A ruthless powerful High Lord tamed by none other than the infamous aphrodite maeruthan who he had just invited over for tea. A strange feeling arose within his heart but he turned away, hesitant to discover more.

As Hadrian took his little lover to his quarters, Moulin was more than willing to let the man indulge in him in both desires and comfort. Unfortunately, they couldn't spend too much time together since both of them must attend to other people's time. The elven folk was as restless as always, wracking their brains to think of solutions for the hundreds of problems arising within their kingdom and dragging the maeruthans to aid them in riddling out of their troubles.

As Hadrian was needed by his men and the Elven court, Moulin upheld his responsibilities as a maeruthan purifier and went through the rivers of teaching under Na'El's wings. Under the soothing comforts of the Oracle's simple garden and the pacifying scent of incense, Moulin absorb every word and didn't hesitate to throw questions at the tall elf. However, as time passed, the dim skies now darkening, his mind was exhausted. Occasionally, he'd think how much more he could bear until the next purification would arrive.

"Just how long until all of this ends?" Moulin muttered. His breaths are steams within the humid air of the bath like little smokes dissipating in an instant.

The back of his nape rested over the smooth curve of the tub as he leaned back, chin tilting upwards. His lips parted and his eyes closed. Weariness etched his face but he sighed almost in relief as he relished the feel of water against his skin. He had just returned from Na'El's garden, which to his interest, looked absolutely breathtaking when the night comes. Magical. However, the sight wasn't enough to relieve him from his mind's fatigue.

Moulin finished his bathe, coming out with droplets dripping from the ends of his hair. Garbed with only a silk robe, he went to the open terrace to brush his hair dry with the nightly wind. A little bulge from underneath the covers of his bed moved until a white furball popped out at the ends, tilting his head as his master left him in the room.

The winds were strong and utterly almost as if a bird would freeze to death if it were flying. However, Moulin sighed contentedly, putting down his brush and gazing at the vast darkness revealing only clouds and hopefully nothing more. As his hands clenched around the sturdy railings, he took in the air while severely gazing at the scenery before his eyes. Below, where the earth gazed at them, was nothing but pitch-black.

Moulin knew nothing of lands underneath Gala'En. However, from the rumors he overheard from the elves, unimaginable corrupted creatures crawled underneath the islands. A deadly wasteland where malibreeds lurked, gazing at the last living lands in the sky in hunger. Moulin was curious yet fearful. Perhaps, it was better to stay in his imaginations than to truly experience the real thing.

He breathed in the cold wind one last time before joining a certain stubborn fox within the bedroom.

... ... ... ... ...

"Mnm..."

A soft disturbed groan noised within the canopy bed. The gauze curtains fluttered with the silent wind. Serenity engulfed the interior of the room, especially the slumbering figure within the fine comforts of the bed. But despite the solace enveloping him, he shifted uncomfortably. Lashes trembling and closed eyes twitching.

If one were to stay within the room, they would hear nothing but the gentle breeze and the soft snores of a particular snow-white fox nestling beside the warmth of his master. But for the master, it was loud.

Moulin shifted as incoherent whispers plagued his ears as though a crowd had gathered around his bed. He could not understand them and he wished nothing more than to be free from it and return to his silent sleep. Unfortunately, the voices wouldn't leave him. They clung to his mind like vines coiling around his body, imprisoning him tightly.

Finally, as if a scream shouted beside his ear, Moulin's eyes snapped open and he rose from where he slept. His breaths quickened. Heartbeat pounding. However, just when he thought it was over, he found himself surrounded by darkness.

Moulin's hands could not grasp anything. He couldn't even feel Snow's presence around him. It seems that he was no longer in his bed but the truth was, he wasn't in anywhere familiar. No matter how tried to pinch himself awake, he sat unmoved, dreading.

What in the world is happening? Where am I? Am I still asleep?

Moulin's shoulders trembled. Unable to call and move, countless anxious thoughts ran through his mind. When he finally decided to calm down first, he flinched.

A familiar voice floated into his ears.contemporary romance

...

"Do you want to see?"

Moulin's breaths abruptly stopped. His eyes widened and his fingers clenched tightly around air.

This voice... After all this time...

Moulin's mouth unconsciously opened. It felt as if he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. "Mo... Morhas?"

However, instead of answering him, the voice repeated. He spoke softly this time as if to lull a child. "Do you want to see?..."

Confused and partially anxious, Moulin forced himself to think slowly, easing off the uneasiness from his chest. Everything happened so suddenly that he didn't have the time to think carefully about his situation. After such a long time... he heard him again. Moulin thought he wouldn't hear from him again ever since that devastating vision.

However, something seemed off. Moulin could not fully describe it. The feeling of being watched tapped into his very being. He couldn't help but shiver.

Once again, the voice asked him, sounding patient. Moulin thought that if he doesn't answer then he might never unravel the cause of this abnormality. Hesitation flitted through his face. He shut his eyes, sighing with a drumming heart.

"Yes..."

In the next instant, blinding light pierced his vision, enveloping him whole! Moulin didn't have the chance to even gasp as he was flung into another scene.

Before he could even open his eyes, whispers and chanting surrounded him, feeding his ears. They sounded hypnotic yet pious. Welcoming his sight, Moulin reluctantly, took in the vision before him.

Enshrouded by darkness even with the faint flames of the sconces embedded on the humungous pillars. Numerous markings, seeming as if written with rage, painted the walls, blood-red and black. It looked as if everything was carved out from a gigantic black rock, poor and ghastly. There was a shine on the floor which, it seemed, was the only smooth-looking thing within the whole area.

Moulin looked down, realizing that he seemed to be situated in a high place. He had a great view of everything within the halls. Beneath him was a stone platform, neatly cut and leveled. And the figures he mistook for statues were muttering and trembling.

For a moment, it came to Moulin that he looked to be... using someone else's vision. Whose?

His thoughts were interrupted when a group of people dressed in poorly-kept black robes entered the halls. Their feet were bare. However, Moulin could hear the dreadful sound of scraping as they walked. As though steels nails ground against the floor. There were six of them, Moulin counted. However, one man didn't seem to look like the rest. He was battered. His bare skin was drenched in sweat and he struggled against the bindings that tied him. His head is wrapped with a white cloth, knotted around his neck tightly as if to restrict his breathing yet he kept resisting. Damp patches decorated the cloth from his sweat.

The hooded men dragged the nude man before the platform where a long stone table waited. Moulin's eyes quivered as he watched.

He watched as they forcibly hauled the man on the table. The man resisted, muffled shouts escaped him as he struggled with all his might. However, his resistance was useless as the men slammed him on the stone's surface. Bones cracked and snapped and the man released an agonizing cry as he laid limp. They grabbed his limbs tying them to all four corners of the table before drawing back, bowing their heads.

When the man continued to cry out, the head of the robed men bashed the man's head with the heavy staff in his grasp. Dark blood soaked the fabric. The noise was silenced.

"Let us begin!" The leader exclaimed, raising his arms in the air. They were looking at Moulin but none of them revealed their faces under their hoods.

The whispers and chanting continued.

"Dagger!" The leader said and one of the men scrambled towards him, kneeling and presenting a curved dagger with open palms. Snatching the dagger, the leader hissed and kicked the man away when he attempted to near the altar. He scurried away fearfully.

"Oh, Benevolent One!" The leader raised the dagger and tossed his staff away. His mouth, which was the only thing visible before Moulin's eyes, grinned revealing two rows of terrifying sharp teeth. His hoarse voice cracked, "Please, accept our offering! Feed from it! Fill yourself with its blood and soul and return to your land! Redeem this cruel world infested by those that have done you wrong! Be reborn as the conqueror of all!"

Moulin's breath quickened when the blade rose over the nude man's bare chest, hovering over the heart.

The leader panted, excitement filled his blood, gazing amusingly at the restricted man struggling from his binds desperately. "In your presence, we shall pave you a path in blood! Forgive your worthless servants! And feast in this pure one!"

The dagger plunged down.

"No!" Moulin shouted with bloodshot eyes.

The blade pierced through flesh, blood splattered, and the leader twisted it deeper into the man's chest, carving out a hollow. When the man kept screaming the robed men's chant grew louder and louder. Their eerie voices echoed within Moulin's ears as if they were mocking him.

The screams faded and what was left under the blade was a red mess and a giant blood-soaked hole on the white flesh. Moulin's stomach churned and he couldn't help but tremble.

Suddenly, the leader stopped. His gaze abruptly rose. He moved so fast that he knocked the end of the hood slightly over his forehead. The rakish grin widened and a grotesque third eye glowed blood-red staring straight at Moulin.

Moulin froze, appalled. He felt his blood freeze.

Soon, a powerful force yanked him out from the vision. It felt as if his whole body was stretched to the point of tearing him into two. Then he was plunged into severed coldness, abruptly startling him.

"Hah!"

Moulin rose from the pillows. The bed loudly creaked underneath him from his sudden movements. He panted heavily but the sounds died down as severe coldness blew past his face.

Silver eyes scanned the room in shock.

Bright white layered the room as frost spreads out from the bed. Even the blankets covering him weren't spared, stiff and frozen. The ice cracked and crunched as it climbed up the walls, devoured furniture, and crept towards the terrace. The temperature lowered significantly as Moulin's heartbeat quickened, unable to control his emotions.

What in the world is happening?!

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