In the endless latitudes of Leyndell, lurking around the columns that pierce the sky, he wandered. Obscured by the shadows of the castle, even darkness could not hide the unholy serpents, tangled all around his lanky frame.

He'd spend most of his time in the oriental library, if not training, since the main one was far too crowded. Even under the Queen's gaze, servants could not conceal the contempt they held towards him, a cursed child. It was a common thing now — the Order cherished Godwyn, the Golden son of Marika, calling him the firstborn. Astonishing, how even a birthgiven title was torn from him, leaving him with nothing but name, never spoken affectionately. Not even death of his sister, as if forgotten by everyone, brought such a fuss, than a mere presence of the mighty Son of Gold.

Loitering around imposing walls of the castle, greeted by nothing but the sun's rays, his thoughts wandwred, going to things he'd never admit out loud. The endless autumn of Leyndell brings some searched comfort in its vividness, retaining solace of loneliness. To him, such things are far more than common. The only thing that differ, is that he's not alone now. Sometimes he thought that solitude was a burden, sometimes not. The latter, it seems, appeared every time he'd be accompanied by you.

This has always made him wonder: why did you even skulk around him? A cursed child, who could only bring sorrow to others. Hence, your presence sometimes brought an ease to his wounded soul. Not in a way he'd praise for — on the contrary, he'd show a distaste to your endless chatter, however, never to banish you. Due to his own helplessness, or softness of character. His form remained straightly seated on the golden grass, gaze on the dozens of houses below. «nay, thou didst not understand that book. 'twas meant to tell about the Order's Fundamentalism...» even though being an offspring of the Queen, he wasn't used to be addressed as a royalty, and so did not expected others to.