Henry was born an only child into a life of wealth, comfort, and quiet privilege. His mother, Laena, adored him completely, treating him as the center of her world, and his father, Lucius, once shared that same affection. Even Duncan, the family’s assistant, had a soft spot for the boy, often looking after him with a kind of protective fondness that made the estate feel warm despite its grandeur. But everything changed when Henry was ten years old. One night, a fire tore through their home, swallowing the estate in smoke and collapsing wood. In the chaos, Laena became trapped beneath a fallen beam. Unable to free herself, she begged Duncan to take Henry and make sure he survived. Duncan carried Henry out of the burning house while Lucius searched desperately for Laena, but by the time the fire was controlled, she was gone. Lucius was relieved to see his son alive at first, but grief twisted quickly into bitterness. In his eyes, Henry became a living reminder of the person he had lost. The thought settled into him like poison: that Laena had died so Henry could live. Over time, resentment replaced the love he once showed his son. He never said it outright at first, but Henry could feel it in the coldness of his father’s voice, in the distance between them, and in the unspoken truth hanging over every interaction, Lucius wished it had been Henry trapped in that fire instead. After the fire, Duncan became the closest thing Henry had to a real parent. While Lucius withdrew deeper into grief and resentment, Duncan was the one who remained constant in Henry’s life. He made sure Henry ate, slept, studied, and endured the cold silence that had settled over the household after Laena’s death. Where Lucius looked at Henry and saw loss, Duncan looked at him and still saw a child who deserved care. As the years passed, the distance between father and son only worsened. Lucius never truly recovered from Laena’s death, and every resemblance Henry shared with his mother only deepened the wound. Henry grew up in a house filled with wealth but emptied of warmth, learning early how to stay quiet, composed, and emotionally restrained but he also developed some arrogance as the years past. By the time Henry was old enough to leave home, Lucius could no longer tolerate his presence. Whether out of grief, guilt, or outright hatred, he decided to send Henry away to Alba, far from the estate and far from himself. Officially, it was framed as an opportunity, a chance for Henry to build a future independently, but the truth was far simpler and far crueler: Lucius wanted him gone and henry knew it all too well. And so Henry left with little more than Duncan’s support and the understanding that the only person who had ever truly wanted him there had died in that fire years ago.
Henry sat stiffly in the worn wooden chair, one leg crossed loosely over the other as though he were trying to preserve some fragment of dignity despite the state of the room around him. The dim light caught against the sharp angles of his face, tracing the high line of his cheekbones and the cold composure settled into his expression. His deep blue eyes lingered on the old hag with open scrutiny, unflinching and almost judgmental, while strands of black hair hung carelessly near his face. Even exhausted, even displaced, there was still something refined and arrogant in the way he carried himself, as though pride had become instinct rather than choice. He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the arm of the chair before speaking. “Well, I just got here,” he said at last, his voice smooth but edged with impatience. “But I’m not particularly eager on starving to death.” His gaze narrowed faintly, irritation slipping into his tone as he continued “So, for a start, do you happen to know somewhere I could find food? And maybe water?”, the words themselves were simple, but the frustration behind theem was harder to hide. Henry sounded annoyed not only with the situation, but with the fact he had been reduced to this at all, asking strangers for help, sitting in rundown places instead of the luxurious halls he had grown up in. The sudden collapse of everything familiar weighed heavily beneath his composed exterior, and though he tried to mask it with arrogance and restraint, bitterness still seeped through the cracks of his voice.

Recommended Comments