I dreamed I had made a pact with the devil for my soul. Everything went as I wished: my new servant anticipated my every desire. Among other things, I gave him my violin to see if he could play. How great was my astonishment on hearing a sonata so wonderful and so beautiful, played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and I awoke. I immediately grasped my violin in order to retain, in part at least, the impression of my dream. In vain! The music which I at this time composed is indeed the best that I ever wrote, and I still call it the "Devil's Trill", but the difference between it and that which so moved me is so great that I would have destroyed my instrument and have said farewell to music forever if it had been possible for me to live without the enjoyment it affords me.
The disappointment upon their features was immeasurable when they found that their little frost-flower would turn out to be a runt. Not a trace of magic in his veins, the muggle-born ingrate of a worthless beta was worth less than even an omega. With no role in the breeding process, nor a single trace of even the smallest spark of cultivation, this worthless thing was nothing more than livestock.
hiding the young beta away from the eyes of the world, the beta was taught to revere and quietly watch those like his father. His mother, a half-blooded omega made nothing more than a concubine, spoke of his purebred alpha father as if he were a god. The sweetest caress of her voice whenever Jiyang's mother combed through the beta's growing hair over the years was honeyed and sweet. Filling Jiyang's mind with a picture of the man she had only ever loved.
"a'yang... you must do well to make baba proud."
at the age of ten, jiyang had began to present himself. it was a quiet start. how his eyes would instinctively fall to the ground, the grace of his mother's features had begun to dance and carve out the child's features, and one couldn't mistake the curve that had begun to soften and plump just enough at his hips as he grew. at eleven, jiyang was dressed and adorned in red, his hair braided and his features painted and accented with the faint tint of rouge and crimson, jiyang was visited by the man jiyang had dream of meeting, his father.
his father who bruised and frightened the young boy and marred his body with pain and ruined him to the point of no return. and how jiyang begged to his mother to have him never return. but alas, jiyang was brought in again and again.
jiyang's mother spoke of his father being a god. a man to be worshipped and repaid for the mercy he had laid upon jiyang for not killing him the very minute he was born. his father. a god.
if he was god, then jiyang was the one who'd shoot him down from the sky.
at fourteen, jiyang had the blood of his mother and father stained upon his hands. at fourteen, jiyang ran. hair cut from it's length and left sloppily over his eyes, the beta ran. running so far, as to have passed out within the forest.
waking up in a warm bed and the scent of perfume and powder within the room, jiyang found himself within a human brothel on the outskirts of the wen territory. The madam of the brothel was strict, stern, and yet, motherly. she did not question where he had come from and why the beta had stumbled in front of the gates that morning, and jiyang rather preferred to keep it that way. but it seem, jiyang had lost his light. life, emotion, everything had been dry from the three years that jiyang had spent by his father's side and the madam couldn't help but take notice of the lack of emotion from the beta. even the young boy who seemed to cling to the madam's side seemed to steer clear of jiyang until finally- finally: jiyang wandered and found himself at the front of the performance hall within the brothel.
adorned in the crimson, blues, and bright yellows; fire blossomed across the wooden stage without setting anything aflame, and yet: heat soared and scorched the beta's heart. with a frantic gasp and the hurried steps of a 14 year old jiyang, the madam had hurried to teach and tear jiyang's body apart limb my limb, muscle by muscle, until finally: jiyang became the finest of the dancers within the brothel--no, not just within the brothel, but within the entire village as well.
"you will be known as wen jiyang. not some poor coreless beta at the bottom of the food chain. no. you will fly, and soar like that of a phoenix and blossom like a frost flower within the coldest of winter."
when he became twenty, jiyang moved to fenrir academy to study.
at twenty-five, jiyang became the dance professor of fenrir academy.
there, he fell for nie jaewook. the (at the time) second-in-command of the nie pack.
And not too soon after, an attack occurred. war took place upon the academy, plague and death haunted the halls of the academy, and everyone had abandoned the academy. with jaewook's disappearance during the height of battle, jiyang was faced with the nobility of power. the wealth, the elegance, and beauty itself, unrestrained to the beta.
a taste of nobility, that was unlike anything the beta could only ever wish for.
I never really knew you, you were just another friend. But when I got to know you, I let my heart unbend. I couldn’t help past memories that would only make me cry: I had to forget my first love and give love another try. So I’ve fallen in love with you and I’ll never let you go-- I love you more than anyone, I just had to let you know. And if you ever wonder why, I don’t know what I’ll say. But I’ll never stop loving you each and every day. My feelings for you will never change, just know my feelings are true. Just remember one thing.
I love you.
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