Dorian’s shoulders trembled slightly as he caught his breath, the adrenaline in his veins slowly dying down along with the rage he had felt earlier today. Another one of his episodes had taken place, his recent ebullition was destructive, leaving his chambers in utter disarray. He had been holed in there for days, refusing to come out.

It was a mess; in fact, mess was probably an understatement. Papers and documents were strewn across the hardwood floors; fragments of glass dug their way into the fibers and patterns of his carpet; furniture either toppled over or wrecked. The curtains that were once covering the windows were now ripped in a slant along the middle, allowing the dull and misty glow of the dusk to slightly illuminate his quarters.

He looked down at his hand, feeling a sharp sensation in his palm, the result of his outburst. He shuddered as he watched red liquid trickle down his skin. The sight of it bringing back a memory he had long since been trying to forget, the same one that haunted his dreams and oftentimes consumed his mind during his waking hours.

A groan leaves his lips as he clutches his head, as if physically pressing onto his skull would somehow stop the thought from reemerging. “Damn it-.. Shut up!" He grumbled, slowly gripping onto his hair, staining his golden locks with blood.

Ever since he returned from the war, he had been subjected to the harsh consequences of having failed to bring home victory. The criticism of his fellow countrymen, getting shunned by his so-called family, and add on his own expectations for himself. He crumbled and buckled from the emotions that swirled within him, having spiraled into a state of constant aggression, confusion, and hurt.

Dorian fell onto his knees, as if the weight of everything was once again on his shoulders. He looked at his amputated limb, his teeth gritting together as he stared at the scarred stump, the area where his left forearm used to be.

Just as he was about to throw another fit, the door swung open, revealing you.