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Art, art is your passion, your hobby, your life, your life is art. It’s always been like that, ever since you could understand the difference between a crayon and a french fry. Doodling on tests, desks, yourself, everything you could get your hands on. Until you got a sketch book, which you filled up in a week. You were known as the artsy kid, that one kid who didn’t talk, but people could understand what you were thinking, just by glancing at your drawings. But, that was a rare occurrence, because you never, ever, showed anyone your art. People would make fun of your interests, they always would. There was no point in sharing, no one would care. And you would never see any of them after you got out of that hell hole. And you were right, when you went off to college, you never saw them again. Art major. A horrible financial decision really, your parents were right. They disowned you for being bisexual, and you never saw them again. It was you against the world. And that was fine. Until your rent hiked in your small, dingy apartment. You had to move back to your hometown, back to your roots. You got a job, back at your old high school, as the art teacher. The otaku of your high school years had become a science teacher, after she got a doctorate is soul science. She did something useful, you didn’t. Your classmates had kids, who are now your students. You can just see the resemblance, in not only there appearance, but there actions too. The preppy students kids are all happy cheerleaders, or student council representatives, the quiet kids children are the mathematical geniuses, all the same, and yet completely different.
You were a pretty ok teacher you think, but still, you felt trapped, the same kids. All. Over. Again. It was boring, repetitive, and you were sick of it. Finally, one day, you had an emotional breakdown. You mother called you, and shouted at you for what felt like the fiftieth time that week. You didn’t even know what it was about, all you could hear was shouting. You didn’t even get the chance to get a word in. It was seemed like it was over in a flash, she hung up, and you were slept in silence, the only noise being your shaky breaths. You felt trapped, you needed an escape. So, you went to your old safe place. The abandoned storage closet. When you were in high school, during free periods and lunch, you would hide in the closet so you didn’t have to talk to anyone, no noise, just silence, and the perfect space for concentration. All the kids were still in class at that point, so, as tears blurred your eyes, you grabbed your bag and sprinted towards the closet. The sound of heels echoed over the hallway, until finally you reached the door. You flung the door open, and ran into the dark closet. You walked in, deeper, and deeper, and deeper. And then, the door slammed behind you. Dark, darker, yet darker. You could see nothing. In a blind fit of panic, you ran back to the door, but the door was no longer there. It had disappeared. So, you turned around, and walked away from the door, which in hindsight, was not the brightest idea.
And that is how you ended up here, in the dark realm, surrounded by “darkners” as they call themselves. You had been captured, trapped in a dungeon. From what you had heard, from the guard, and other people, you weren’t actually in the normal dungeon, but a separate one. You were all alone, well, almost alone. There was someone else, his name was Jevil, and he was actually pretty chill. Yeah sure, he repeated things a lot, and was kinda crazy, but hey, so were you. You could hold conversations with him in your cell, and it was more fun having cellmate. He would sleep on top of you, right on your chest, curled up like a cat. It was comfortable, he was warm, and purred lightly. At least until Rouxls Kaard, the Duke of Puzzles as he calls himself, and he claims that, “THOU ART IN MY DUNGEONE, FOR THINE IS A DANGERETH TO THE SPADE KINGDOMTH.” or something like that. Oh, yeah, he also has a crack Shakespearean accent that probably isn’t correct, but you let it slide. He doesn’t come down often, but he comes down enough. Usually, he comes down to bring you food, or water, and on occasion, we won’t bring anything, just sit and watch you for what feels like hours. You didn’t really understand why he did it, it wasn’t like you did anything, because they had taken your bag, which was full of pencils and empty sketchbooks. All you were left with were your ever drifting thoughts. Thoughts of whether people cared that you were gone, or if they even noticed. Who was your students substitute? Did they go looking for you? Did they just give up on you? The thoughts continued to spiral into a coil of madness, until, finally, you broke down. Tears start to blur your vision, making it difficult to see. You sob quietly, hoping not to be detected by your cellmate. And he didn’t, but someone else did.
Rouxls had been watching you, watching you think, watching you speak, watching you move. He hated seeing you in pain. He hated not being able to know what’s wrong. He wanted to run in and make everything better, make all your pain go away. But, he knew he couldn’t do that, because you were afraid of him, he was the one who captured you, how could anyone trust the person who captured them. So, he waited till you had supposedly fallen asleep, and grabbed your bag off of his desk. He then pulled clothes that appeared to be your size out of his closet. They had been his oh so many years ago, but they didn’t fit him anymore, so he had put them away for when lancer was older. He needed to be quiet, as not to alert the guards, and he was. He ran down the hallway, graceful as a ballerina, with light but quick steps. He ran until he finally reached the cellar door, at which he stopped, sighed, and opened the door with nothing but a small creek.
What Rouxls hadn’t realized, was that the small creek that was created by the old door frame had echoed down the stairwell, becoming louder as it moved, and had awoken you from your slumber. You sat up, careful not to awake Jevil, who was resting on your chest. You made as little noise possible as you stood up and walked over to the bars. You stood there for a minute, peering to the world outside, but there was nothing. You turned to go rest once more, but then, you heard faint footsteps. You knew those footsteps. They were from the fine leather boots that belonged to Rouxls Kaard himself. Why though, why was he coming down here? Into the cold, dark dungeon. As you watched a small light appear, the steps becoming louder, Rouxls exits the stairwell, on to the floor, holding a candlestick in hand, he didn’t seem to notice your presence, so you spoke up, “Hey Rouxls.” He jumped up, whipping his head around to see you staring at him from between the rusty bars.
His eyes softened a bit, and he looked at you with longing eyes, then turned away, “Greetings, prison’r.” He frowned, shuffling whatever he was holding on a nearby table.
You sighed and leaned your forehead on the bars of your cells, watching him move around in the flickering candlelight. “I have a name you know, I’ve been here for...”
“Three montheths.” He fills in, brushing some hair behind his ears. Wow, longer than you thought.
“Ok, I’ve been here for three months, and you haven’t asked for my name.” You smile, rubbing your hands against the rough metal.
Rouxls gave you a side glance, “Fineth worm, what is thy nameth?” He turned to you and crossed his arms, impatiently waiting.
“My name is y/n. Thanks for asking!” Rouxls looks deep in thought, and then gives a small.
“A fitting nameth worm.” He turned back to the items on the table, shuffling them around for a little longer, then scooped up the stuff into his arms, then turned, walking over to you. “Now, I am to believe thateth these art thine.” He hands you your bag. You had to take a double take, shocked that he had given it back. You opened the bag to see the clean clothes. You take them out of the bag and look them over, then looking to Rouxls.
“Umm, these aren’t mine Rouxls.” You held up the shirt, pants, and small, yet thick cape. “In fact, I have never bought clothes like this in my life.” You rose an eyebrow at him, but he just looked away, as sweat dripped down his face.
“Welleth,” he shifted back and forth, “I did notice yond thy robes w're filthy, so I hath bought thee some of mine own owneth.” He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck while straightening his shirt out.
You refolded the clothes and put them next to Jevil, laying the cape over him like a blanket. “Well thank you for bringing me my bag Rouxls, and for the clothes, you really didn’t have to do that.” You smiled and patted his hands through the bars. “I’m gonna go back to bed, goodnight Rouxls.”
He smiled and waved lightly. “Goodnight worme.” He turned back to the stairwell, and dispersed. You were once more alone, just you and Jevil. You walked over, and looked at his sleeping face on the ground. He was wrapped up in your cape, curled up like a cat. You grabbed your bag, laid it down like a pillow, and laid down. You grab Jevil and place him on your stomach, then wrap the cape around both of you, and fall asleep.