drabbles

It's funny, really, how easy it was for his life to be taken away; morphed into something foreign, something that was against his wishes and yet. Yet it happened anyway. It's a crude joke that the world has given him, perhaps a reminder of the lack of control he has over his own fate.

The faint buzzing of a newfound power under his skin isn't what he asked for. It simmers underneath, a constant throbbing from the magic he can’t control, chaos folding and unfolding at his seams. Bel curses, curses the dragon who hexed him into receiving his powers. He screams until his throat is dry and hurting but it doesn’t stop. It didn't go away, and it was turning more and more into a mock directed at him.

White enters his vision. His hair, he realizes. The dark brown from before is nowhere to be seen, replaced only by an unfamiliar color, the same white that appears during winter in the form of falling snow. It was like he’d been stripped away from his identity, from everything that makes him Bellion. He’s no one now, merely a vessel made out of the selfishness of another.

An invincible weight sits on his shoulders, and oh.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Give me my life back,” he says through tear-stricken cheeks and sobs. Mumbling, but it doesn’t quite reach anyone’s ears, for he is just a small ripple in the vast world.