Blind

Content Warning

This page describes or alludes to topics that may be uncomfortable or upsetting to readers. Please avoid this page if you are sensitive to depression, thoughts of suicide, violence (descriptions of blood and gore), death/murder, cussing, and gangs (mafia of sorts). More may be added.

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written by 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎.
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## 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎

*“Run.”*
The rest of the world sees a monster. I see a scared, scarred man who has been forced to bear his fangs and claws to survive.
*“Run.”*
You weren’t the villain in my story but I have to be one in yours.
*I’m done running.*
I’m so sorry, my love. I’ll see you soon.
## 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸

My fingers messed with the hem of my elegant noir dress as my brother wove my dark brunette hair into three intricate braids. Florian's brows were furrowed in concentration as he twisted the braids into a bun that rested on the nape of my neck.

I slowly rose, smoothing my dress as I turned to face my brother. He managed a small smile, offering me his arm. I took it, my delicate voice wavering as I whispered, "We'll get them, Florian."

He led us forward, blowing out a breath as he answered just as shakily, "I hope so, Arden. I hope so." And together, we stepped through the curtains...and onto the stage. The awaiting crowd at once erupted in jeers, whispers, sobs, and scolding shouts.

*"Murderers!"*
*"They got away* again!"
*"Useless brats!"*
*"They should've killed you instead!"*
*"This is all your fault!"*

I flinched at the harsh words, but I understood why the people were so infuriated. The day before, a mafia self-proclaimed as the "Clowns" had murdered *thirty-nine people.* Over the last three years, they've taken the lives of a total of *a hundred ninety-seven.* The citizens were outraged and hungry for revenge- and they were right, this gang had reigned for too long. And we've done nothing to even *try* to stop them.

Their first attack had killed my parents. A targeted and precisely planned strike on Emperor Andrés and Empress Odette. Florian was twenty and I was eighteen at the time. The loss affected us more than words can say.

Now, it was Florian's coronation as Emperor of the Kingdom of Santoline. My older brother had managed to push back the event for *three years,* but the kingdom simply could not last any longer without a ruler.

Madame Lark began the ceremony once the outbursts faded to a rippling murmur, proclaiming the traditional words that would seal his position. The woman's words were quick and simple, like she wanted to hurry and get out of the open as she placed my father's crown on my brother's bowed head. I understood how Madame felt. I was tense, my hazel eyes darting through the crowd uneasily. Almost the entire kingdom was here. A perfect event where all the most important people were gathered in one place. I couldn't help wondering if any Clowns were in the crowd right now.

The sole member of the Mafia *anyone* knew was who we guessed was their leader. Jester. A man with raven hair who hides behind a face of clown make-up, as do all the other members. But the people knew and named him because of his trademark laugh. Oh, how I wish I could forget that sound. It sends a cold chill down my spine just thinking about it.

My hands moved to my ears as if trying to block out the laugh that echoed through my head. But-...wait... My head jerked up. The laugh. Only it was a dark memory in my head. *It was real.*

Screams broke through the crowd as everyone scrambled away from the tall figure striding confidently through the mass of people. And he wasn't alone.

Jester was flanked by two others, and behind them, four more. And they all carried swords that rested in their sheathes at their hips. For now.

Things I wish I could forget flashed behind my eyes as they stalked toward the stage. *Bodies.* *Bloody and torn where the swords had impaled them.* So. Many*.* Bodies*.*

Emperor Florian had stumbled backward toward me, extending his arms as if to cover me as everyone around us fled. How brave. My sweet, protective, *dead* brother. He had dropped to the ground before I could scream. A hysterical sob left my lips as I stood there, completely petrified, staring at my *best friend,* lying on the stage in a pool of his blood. A sword lodged in his chest.

"Hush, Princess, or you're next," Jester said in a deep, almost cooing voice as he neatly retrieved his sword, wiping it clean on his sleeve. He paused, studying where his black suit was now stained crimson. "Oops. Got blood on me." His lips twisted upward in a sick, revolting smile.

My head felt hazy and my vision blurred as I tried to process what was happening- it had all happened in a few seconds. Firm hands gripped my arms before I could collapse. "Whoa there, Princess. We still need you. You're not dead yet."

Jester released me, stepping away once I gave him the smallest of nods. One of the other Clowns replaced him, pulling my arms behind my back and holding my wrists in a vice-like grip.

The prior man began barking orders at the Clowns and they began fanning out, most certainly looking for anyone who hadn't fled. To finish them like they did Florian. I forced myself to blink the tears out of my eyes, tearing my gaze away from my older brother's crippled form.

The Clown holding me shoved me forward. "Move," the gruff voice ordered me, marching me off the stage to where Jester was now carefully balancing the handle of his sword on his palm as he spoke to a trembling little girl. She looked five or six. Must've not gotten away in time.

Horror filled me as the raven easily flipped the blade into his left hand, raising it. I have no idea what caused me to do something so recklessly stupid and suicidal, but I jerked out of the Clown's hands that restrained me, throwing my body over the child.