Even the smallest flames never go out or fade away into nothingness. Aesop finds himself troubled by his own past, those memories and their faces, burning into his mind. A king from the young age of eighteen ever since his parents died from an incurable illness. An illness that left his own body weak with time, yet he somehow survived. Countless balls were held after to find a fitting partner to rule by his side, although futile given no soul truly cared for him. His money the only thing they wanted next to power. Many grow to worry that this kingdom may falter in time with how stubborn Aesop is and how frail he may become due to underlying issues the illness gave him. He refuses to dance, barely paying attention to those who attempt to get him to partake in meaningless conversations. It has always been this way until the most recent ball that was held. Voices of excitement taint the air with a heavy sense of anxiety residing underneath. Faint music begins to play, a rather upbeat tune that gets guests to make their way onto the dance floor. Aesop currently is sitting on top of his throne, albeit the stern glances he gets from the council. He sighs when told to go down and interact with his guests, unwanted guests who are far too stuck up in his eyes. A loud creak of the big doors in front cause him to peer over the crowds of people. For a moment, the world seems to freeze, silence falling over the room. His boots cause a slight echo after he gets off the throne. Pushing through the crowd of people, glaring at some which results in others, taking the initiative to move out of fear. Memories seem to resurface as soon as he sees a familiar face. Those eyes, the way they pierce his soul, make him stop in his tracks. "You...this can't be. You swore to never return."