Bartholomew "Jamie" Cheyne D4 (Done)

A castle of broken glass stands before the boy. The red hair that once put a fire into his soul felt dim. The hair pushed to the side like his emotions, only being allowed to break free once the boy was in privacy. Eyes, an icy blue like the depths of his heart, stare at the broken world around him. The short boy stands still as he watches the kingdom that he's always known fall. Destructive strikes that caused the glass to shatter, a residue of sorrows mixing within the boy. His nose, which was rather round, could smell the fires of anger wafting the area around him. His rather big ears hear all the cries inside himself, trying to free themselves from him, but his strength push them back down into the depths of his mind.

The castle was in ruins. Glass pieces falling on the ground like a sharp and deadly hail of sadness or like an acid rain made of ferocious destruction. His body, which was slim and yet toned from career training, felt like it was burning him from inside out. The castle of glass that once stood tall and proud was shattered, just like the heart that once pumped warmth through his body. The rather average foot standing still as piece by piece of glass lands around him like a perimeter of old memories. The hands that are rather coarse fiddling with the t-shirt's hem as the area surrounds itself with a darkness that is so familiar to him.

The moment he wakes, the world surrounds him in a flash of colors and lights. The room, a grey color, fills the boy with hopelessness. The bed tries to suck his body back into the comfort, a trap that can hold his rather shorter stature inside. The insides of his body crushing together in a burning sensation as he fights his own head just to get himself out of his own bed. The bed's hold weakens on him. The fighting will of the boy breaks him free as he stumbles to the floor. A difficult task lies before him. Life. A state of being and the one thing that kept him going towards his goal. A voice whispers at his ears, pushing him into the day, "Prince, keep on living."

The house always felt calming and relaxing, yet now it was a trap. A trap set to kill the little prince with emotions he's never felt before. Traps that had secrets within them, and all the little prince wanted were the secrets. Secrets of how to get through life. Secrets on how to live. Secrets on how to keep the little prince from breaking down. Chains would pop up from any spot in the house, trying to wrap themselves around his wrists and ankles to hold him down to the house of a broken life. The Anger. The Sorrow. The Pain. They keep the prince up all night trying to hold himself steady, but always falling down. The sorrow pulls at his eyes and mouth trying to force him to scream and let the tears flow. The anger pulls at his hands and feet pushing the fallen prince to attack the innocent. The pain pulls at everything he had, causing his body to hurt like it had ever since Mortuus slashed the fallen prince's sister, the queen of his heart.

The queen who had taught him everything he needed to know. The queen stuffed him full of knowledge that seemed useless now that she was gone. Memories of the activities that they did together push in his head trying to make themselves prominent. A memory of chains itself to his eyes and begins to play it back for him. A queen and the prince talking about nothing desirable. A time when his name wasn't truly his. A shared name with his grandfather who was nothing like the prince. Individuality didn't exist at the time for the prince. Hettie's voice felt pleasant that day to him. She was giving him his own individuality. A name that would be his own in the family. Hettie had given him her favorite name of all. A name that made him feel special in his own way. A name that the prince could live up to on his own terms. The queen announced him as Jaime Cheyne and that is what the fallen prince goes by. Bartholomew was dead to him. A new title that the queen gave him would be his forever. People accepted that and continued to call him Jaime from that point on.

The prince and queen both were close with one another. The prince always looking up to the queen for advice and answers that he needed. The queen always teaching the prince things about life. Simple little things that the fallen prince needed to learn and accomplish on his own. Her words still flowing through his mind, "Jaime, don't let people shove you around. You're a Cheyne. We don't let ourselves get pushed around." The words that the queen spoke sent shivers through him. Even the memories of things the queen had said makes him feel empowered. The queen may be dead, but the prince was still alive. Sorrow, anger, and pain made him their plaything, but the chains that held him down were nothing, but a trap of his own. A new fire burned in him. A fire that allows the prince to keep on living. A horror that no one could imagine. The queen did things without thinking, but that wasn't the prince. Intelligence was his ally. Vengeance was his mission. Blood was his desire.

The house was a trap for the prince to stay in, yet everyday he escaped the confinements of the home. The destination that he needed to go to was clear. A path that seemed to pull him towards the next place for his destiny. A place that the queen told him he needed to continue if she were to disappear. A place where the wicked can show their wickedness without holding themselves back. The training center was the place for him to release his wickedness. Training has been a pleasure for him. A place where he can study the skills of every person whose stepped into the place. The training center was a trap that Jaime could use to his advantage. A keen mind and a keen pair of eyes allows for him to watch and study the other careers. Stances, styles, strategies, and their wickedness were locked away within his mind, just waiting to be used in action.

The itch was crawling through his skin just hoping to be seen, but the fallen prince just pushed it back. A desire to show his full knowledge to his full length, but that desire would never be fulfilled until the time is right. A good prince doesn't put all of his forces out for everyone to see. A good prince holds back and waits for the right time to attack. Everything was like a game of chess to him. The prince always had to be one step ahead of everyone else. One step ahead of everyone and planning his next three moves. The prince was good at analyzing situations and telling where he needed to go next. miscalculating could mean death for him and the prince wasn't going to let death take him away as easily as his sister.

A older guy who had been showing off all day intrigued him. Cocky attitudes usually brought out the better careers who want to prove that the other guy is nothing but an instrument to hone their skills. His keen eyes follow everyone in the training center as the information already comes flooding through. A career comes forward and the guy smiles to the other, which makes the prince smile. Aspiration filled the prince's keen eyes as the other guy knocks out the cocky one with just a punch. The scene before him fills his head with information that could possibly be used for later. The prince just wished that there had actually been a fight that broke out, so he could get more information. The prince felt a tug at his heart as some girl with red hair walked by. The prince had to reassure himself of the truth, Jaime, she's dead. The truth hurts, but it was his cue to head back to his chains at home.

Another memory of his sister flows freely into his head. A memory of her days training to kill. The cocky attitude that she had was a downfall in all aspects, but she was still the queen of the Cheyne's. The way Hettie moved and flowed with a weapon was almost graceful in the sense of violence. The fallen prince always was intrigued to watch his own sister train for her destiny. The queen always was right, no matter what the prince said. The prince would see wounds that were caused randomly from acts of violence or just accidents, the prince never truly knew the answer, and all he wanted to do was help his sister and queen with first aid. The queen always denied him of his services. Stubborn to the core of her being, but she was always right. The wounds gave her a certain ideal that the prince never would have guessed, intimidation. The memory of her training quickly fades and his pace quickens ever so slightly.

The prince feels another memory appear before him. The beach was nice and cozy with sand that felt soft upon touch, almost like a friendly animal that wanted him to touch it. Everything was at a calm, the world seemed brighter then. The sounds of the waves slowly crashing against the sand felt like a lullaby on it's own. Hettie and Jaime were just spending a day at the beach. Jaime loved the smell of the salty air and the fun of hanging out with his sister. Her demeanor made him always feel important. Being around Hettie made him feel like he was important to the world. An importance that Jaime took for granted. The two Cheyne's were practically the best siblings together. They both caused mischief and mayhem in their own fun way. People would tell them that they were just kids being kids, but they kept the same attitude throughout life making them both excellent career in the end. The beach was calming and the look of happiness on Hettie's face made him happy and filled with hope that the day would never end, but Jaime was wrong.

The reality snapped back. The house was in front of him. The chains reattaching to him as soon as he enters the house. Pain. Sorrow. Anger. Rage. Pride. Vengeance. All of the chains were there. Each one chaining themself onto his body, trying to hold him hostage. A trap that allowed him to understand what the world truly was like. Happy memories made them all weaklings. The fallen prince was on his own. The fallen prince only could rely on himself to live his life and learn on the way. This was his kingdom now and he had to deal with that on his own. His kingdom of isolation was complete. In that moment, when everything felt back to normal and he could be alone, was when the fallen prince put on his crown of thorns and went back to the dreams of the once former glorious kingdom that had a queen of fiery red rage. The fallen prince with his crown of thorns lay silently dreaming of the only happiness he's ever know since the death of his queen. This was Bartholomew "Jaime" Cheyne, The Fallen Prince with his Crown of Thorns.