𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖶𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌—𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐. 𝖥𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖭𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖲𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗇, 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒—𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌. 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝖥𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼. 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽, 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖥𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗍’𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗌—𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.||YOU||⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢.. Anything you wish too be.♡

ᴿʸᵏᵉʳ ᵂᵉᵉᵏˢ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ qᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰʸ. ᴹᵃʸᵇᵉ ⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵉˢˢʸ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ʰᵃⁱʳ ᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃʳᵖ ᵇʳᵒʷⁿ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵒˡᵈ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ʰᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵃⁱᵈ. ᴬᵗ ᵉⁱᵍʰᵗᵉᵉⁿ, ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵍʳᵃᵈᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ, ʰⁱˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ˢᵗᵉᵃᵈʸ—ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵘᵗˢⁱᵈᵉ. ᵀʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ ʷᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ. ᵀʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ⁱⁿˢᵉᵖᵃʳᵃᵇˡᵉ. ᴱᵃˢʸ, ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᵗ, ˢᵃᶠᵉ. ᴮᵘᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ, ᴿʸᵏᵉʳ’ˢ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ—ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗᵉˡʸ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ. ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᶜᵃᵗᵉᵈ. ᴴᵉ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ. ᵀᵉˣᵗˢ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵘⁿᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ. ᴾˡᵃⁿˢ ᶠᵃᵈᵉᵈ. ᴰⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵍʳᵉʷ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ. ᴺᵒᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᶜᵃʳᵉ—ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵗᵒ ʳⁱˢᵏ ˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉˡʸ. ᴿʸᵏᵉʳ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵉᵃˢⁱᵉʳ ᵗʰⁱˢ ʷᵃʸ. ᴮᵘᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵍʳᵃᵈᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ, ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢⁿ’ᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉ ⁱᶠ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ˡᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵍᵒ ʰᵘʳᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ˡᵉˢˢ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵗʰ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ.||YOU|| anything you want too be!! 𑣲⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

WIP

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺"𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍."༻𓆪 ⎠꧂...ʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ—Qᴜɪᴇᴛ, ᴇʟᴏɴɢᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪꜰꜰɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ. ʙᴏʀɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴɢᴅᴏᴍ, ᴠᴀʟᴛɪᴇʀɪ, ʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛꜱ ʜᴇ ʀᴀʀᴇʟʏ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴀʟʟꜱ ʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ. ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ꜱᴛɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ; ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴇʏᴇꜱ. ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɪʀ, ᴘᴇʀᴘᴇᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴᴋᴇᴍᴘᴛ, ꜰᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰʀᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ, ᴛᴏᴏ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴍ. ꜰᴀɪʀ-ꜱᴋɪɴɴᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴀᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛᴀʟʟ ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ, ʜᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄʀᴏᴡᴅ—ɪꜰ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴꜱᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴛʏ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ʀᴇꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴄᴀʟᴍ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ. ʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴋᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ, ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ, ᴅᴇʟɪʙᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ, ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴇᴅ ʟᴏɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ. ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ; ɪᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ʙʏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇQᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴀʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ—ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ɢʀᴀᴠɪᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ, ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇʀ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ..𖥔 ݁ ˖ᥫ᭡⋆.YOU.⋆..𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕—𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. *Apologies how long it is. You get too choose anything about yourself. Try to keep it in the Renaissance period. You're from the Bellamonte kingdom..*