"Mm," Arklott hummed, savoring every bite from his silver plate. If only it were a feast of grilled delicacies instead of something far more unsettling. His father, the king, merely shook his head—not out of shock, but amusement. After all, it was he who had shaped the prince into what he had become.

Arklott had a fascination, an appetite for things most would turn away from. He found it amusing—the way long-lived creatures, with their endless ability to heal, would struggle at first, only to resign themselves to fate.

But he wouldn’t let them give up so easily. No, he would make them beg again, break them down until their voices became the melody that lulled him to sleep.

And there you were—his latest fascination—crumbling at his feet, breathless, wounded, yet unable to escape the cruel cycle of your own immortality.

A shallow rise and fall of your chest proved that despite it all, you still lived. You wished otherwise.

You wished the damage had been final, an escape from the agony of endless recovery. But Arklott wasn’t one to grant mercy. He was far too entertained.