Left alone in his room, Deon heaved in barely restrained emotions.
He tried so hard to hold back his tears but whenever he recalled Mikael's words, he could not help but weep.
The words, sharp as a knife, cut him into broken pieces.
The darkness of the room seeped into the young boy's mood. The flickering fire in the hearth cast eerie shadows across the floor, dancing as if jeering at the cowardly Deon. The crackling embers sounded like a mocking laugh toward the crying boy while the howling wind seemed to taunt him to a fight.
Deon peeked from the crook of his elbow. His brown eyes moist with tears, the prince took in his relatively quiet surroundings. Mikael's silence made him wonder where the ghost had gone.
It was at that moment.
The heavy curtains fluttered, and a man's silhouette appeared from behind it.
"S-Sir?" Deon nervously called out, wiping his tears away in embarrassment.
