A story made for a small competition between Adkill and myself, using my OC Aeneas. I'm new to writing, so comments, ratings, tips and so on are greatly appreciated.

Crouched he was. Shadows lying beside him, next to the door. Aeneas clenched the phial tight in his left hand and in his right, a gleaming sword. The grip around the phial was hurting Aeneas’s hand slowly and the tiredness of holding himself up and the weapon was creeping up on him. He listened carefully to the fierce argument held in the chamber and couldn’t help himself but to shake uncontrollably with anger and fear.

Unsure of his decisions, he took a moment to think before taking action. Aeneas looked at the phial, the bright azure blue liquid inside shone brightly as he held it, to his side in the path of the moonlight. Thoughts racing through his head, he removed the cork, being careful not to spill a precious drop. Raising the bottle to his lips he froze, the glass reflected. Those threatening cobalt eyes stared back at him once more, taunting him.

Those luscious dark blues run in the family, and Aeneas could not help but think of his father every time he saw his own reflection, this then conjures up dark memories and thoughts in Aeneas’s head. His family wasn’t like any other within the city, they had power and royalty, Aeneas’s father; King Ethruard was a monstrous being, and his wife Queen Faralyon was no different. However Queen Faralyon was not Aeneas’s mother, she died when Aeneas was sixteen. He was still a prince back then eight years ago from now; he lost his title by no fault of his own. He was disowned by his family, a tragic ordeal, especially when he was so young. They forced him to leave home, and banished him from the city. As of then he has been leading an alternate life, a real life, not one of luxury and being spoon-fed.

A loud shatter noise came from the room and Aeneas snapped out of his trance, things were getting worse. It was now or never. Once again he pressed the phial to his lips and raised it; the smooth liquid trickled down his throat. He started shaking even more now, jolting from side to side. Eventually when the side effects died down, he stood up and moved closer to the door. He threw the drained bottle to the side and became more aware of his sword, so he clasped the hilt tightly in his right hand and reached outwards for the door handle.

The End

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