Work Text:
The Thames family have held a secret for centuries, and centuries, and centuries.
It's no wonder that they are all born with weak bodies. They may look strong and fierce, gentle and elegant, tall and handsome, but that does not matter.
All of them hold a few things in common.
Each generation of children gets passed an illness by the parent.
The name is unknown, yet, it brings pain to each child suffering from it.
Cale Henituse, or Thames, was born with that same illness.
//
"Mamaaaa... Hold meee...!" Cale's voice echoed through the grand hallway as he dashed towards his mother, his usually composed demeanor shattered by pain and fear. The intricate tapestries adorning the walls seemed to blur as tears welled up in his eyes. As he reached her, he flung himself into her waiting arms, seeking solace in her familiar embrace.
His mother, a vision of grace and strength, knelt down with fluid grace, her gown cascading around her like a waterfall of silk. With a tenderness that belied her regal bearing, she gathered Cale into her arms, cradling him against her heart. The scent of roses clung to her, a gentle reminder of the garden blooming beyond the tall windows.
"It's okay, my darling," she murmured, her voice a soft melody in the hushed atmosphere of the manor. Her slender fingers brushed away his tears, the touch as gentle as a whisper. "Mama will always be there, my precious one. Tell me, what has happened to cause such distress?"
Cale's response came in broken sobs, his small hand trembling as he extended his injured finger towards her. The thorn embedded in his delicate skin was a cruel reminder of the fragility of life within their ancient bloodline. It wasn't just a physical wound; it was a manifestation of the unseen burdens they bore, passed down through generations like a cursed legacy. It broke her heart, as fragile as it was as his.
The thorn, a symbol of beauty tainted by pain, had triggered a reaction that twisted Cale's finger, the infection spreading like a dark omen. His cries grew louder, a symphony of anguish that pierced his mother's heart. She held him close, her embrace trying to calm her son.
"My little flower," she whispered, a mixture of love and sorrow in her voice. In that moment, as she gazed into her son's tear-filled eyes, she questioned the whims of fate that condemned him to suffer as they had for centuries. The weight of their family's secret pressed down upon her, a burden she carried with a grace that masked a mother's silent anguish.
//
She finds herself treating the thorn in her own room, all the servants away from them. Her hands tremble slightly as she carefully removes the thorn from his finger. Tears well up again, and Cale flinches at the pain as his mother carefully cleans the wound.
She understands he's a child, and his body needs time to heal. He has the blood of Thames', a family with such a heavy burden as this curse which only causes them pain. She doesn't understand why their pain is so much more, that an ancient power related to healing could not even save her father from death itself.
"Sweetie, don't worry, this potion will help," She says to him, pouring a healing potion over the infection caused by the thorn. The thorn quickly withers and falls on the floor, and the infection is no more.
Cale is soon carried to sleep in his room, where he is tightly clinging onto his mother for comfort and not letting her leave, earning a small chuckle from the beautiful woman herself.
//
Cale looks at the ruby pendant left by his mother.
He was sitting in her room, on her bed. He can't get out, he can't.
Jour Thames has died a week ago after coming back to the Henituse Estate, gravely injured.
He can't get out even if he tries to.
He doesn't care if he needs water not to dehydrate, he doesn't care if he needs food not to starve, he doesn't care if he needs sleep to rest himself and give himself energy.
He wants his mother. He doesn't want to believe she is dead. Why can't she simply be by his side, hold him like she used to with such care and adoration? It isn't fair.
He's 8 years old when he lost his mother.
He mourns, tears sliding down his face as he pulls the pendant to his chest and his voice breaks into soft sobs and heavy sighs.
His father is grieving. He hasn't seen him since that day, when he hugged his father while he was sobbing. The hold on him was tight, and his heart broke when his father was sobbing.
He had to stay strong, and so he did. He comforted his father, didn't cry, didn't break down and just simply went to his room after.
But after that, he couldn't get out of his mother's room. He can't. He wants to be where he can remember her.
He doesn't realise that he was holding the pendant to tight, that it started to accidentally cut him as his skin got harsh and red.
But that's fine.
He sighs and puts the Ruby necklace around his neck. It's long, big for him, but it will atleast serve him as a reminder for his loving mother.
He doesn't realise his foot having random lines, his thin skin cracking like glass.
//
A year later, he meets his new family.
His father went on vacation without him knowing, or noticing really. He was too busy in his mind and grieving, his stomach growling as a sign of desperation, a sign of hunger.
His butler Ron and the Chef, or Ron's son, Vicross, were the only ones there for him. Although he was distant due to having himself preoccupied with thoughts of his mother and he often stared at the pendant that was tucked into his ruffled shirt.
Ron eventually, viciously and successfully, gave him a feast to eat. He refused at first, wanting to be in his mother's room and not to come out at all. He didn't sob at that moment, he was just pressed into the covers, laying in his mother's bed and not getting out.
Ron then came back with soup and some other foods, and Cale hungrily ate the soup that Ron was feeding him.
Despite that, his hunger only increased when he finished the soup, and he probably or probably not devoured whatever was made for him.
When he met his new family, he was met with three figures. The two adults were smiling and the smaller one was a child younger than him.
His father, Deruth, was smiling softly at the other, who introduced herself as Violan. His father explained how this is his new family, how they're now Henituses and always will be.
Cale puts his hand to his chest, right where his pendant would be if it wasn't tucked into his ruffled shirt. He smiled, introducing himself kindly and probably quietly, until dismissing himself as he had to go to his room to study.
After, he didn't feel another crack flow along to his kneecap.
//
He started to act as trash.
He witnessed one of his cousins insulting and blatantly bullying Basen, his now brother. He quickly stepped in and defended Basen and looked as the cousin angrily stormed off.
He didn't care.
He then held a crying Basen after in one of the rooms in the estate, telling him how he's still a Henituse and that the blood of Henituse flows in his veins, no matter what someone may say.
Basen shouldn't listen to others' words. He's a Henituse and that's a fact. If someone won't accept that, he will intervene and make them accept that.
After, in order to protect his family, he acted harshly. He lashed out, acted spoiled, acted.... Bluntly put, he earned the title 'trash' along with 'lout' over the months that came.
As he walked away after acting out, he didn't feel the cracks spreading to his thigh bone and a little into his hip bones.
//
He started drinking at 15.
It's not something he was exactly fond of doing, but it worked. It burried his reputation down to the negatives as he started to act as if he's a light drinker and started to break things.
He wasn't a light drinker. He could drink a pretty well rounded amount and not get drunk. His face just flushed easily, so it was of course ideal to make others think that he's a light drinker and can't handle his drink.
Good thing about that, he supposed. He was just a trash after all.
Although, he eventually grew fond of drinking, and wine was his first order always. He likes the taste, no matter how much the crimson color of it reminded him of the Ruby pendant he wore and of how much it reminded him of his own, glamorous mother.
As he drank his 10th wine of the night, he felt a hitch in his throat but dismissed it and continued drinking.
He didn't feel the cracks slowly making up his rib cage.
//
Cale was laying in bed, sitting up as he stared at his hands which were shaking.
A month ago, he turned eighteen.
Two weeks ago, he was beat up to a pulp by a mysterious punk who he angered by insulting the Harris village he suspected the punk was residing in until the... Well.
Cale was in a mini coma due to that, and his whole body throbbed.
A week ago, he found out Vicross and Ron left. They left without a goodbye. They left without him seeing their face. They left him.
He could only stare at the newly appointed deputy butler and watch as he trembles to even assist him. Probably from fear.
Though strangely, the butler... Hans. Hans, got more affective. He would insist he eats an extra meal full of fruits that would he too much for him to eat, insist to let Hans make him feel more comfortable than he is and insists he lays on the bed.
He didn't know why.
Was something wrong? He doubted. Why would anyone care for a trash like him? He doubted his father even cares now that he hasn't seen him in awhile.
His father is usually awkward around him and doesn't give him attention. He didn't even notice when he'd regularly speak out. He didn't even visit Cale ever since Hans informed him of being awake from his coma.
From Hans, he heard that his father and that punk met, but he didn't know the correct details. It was a shame, really.
He stare at his delicate, slender and pale fingers as he notices some cracks on each knuckle and even in his palm. He frowned. What is this? He didn't know. He felt uncomfortable.
His hands were the same as his mother's, yet she had to cracks.
Why does he have them?
He sighed, scowling as he put them away and looked over to Hans who was cleaning up his room. Hans regularly did that, as a... Habit, he says. He does this even though he wasn't ordered to, but Cale can't fight the stubborn Butler.
"Young master Cale! I cleaned up, would you like to eat with your family or would you prefer I come back and take your meal here?" Hans says as he smiles at him, standing in his usual professional, butler self.
Cale looks at him for a few seconds then sighs, then waves it off, "No need. Tell them I won't come down. Just take it here."
"Alright, young master Cale." Hans says, but there's a hint of worry that Cale can't help but catch as Hans looks at him up and down, before scurrying away.
Weird. He frowns deeper.
When Hans comes back, he brings back a full tray filled with food. A rose tea on the side, a big fruit bowl, some soup and some steak and bread.
Hans puts it near Cale and smiles again, "Here, young master, please, enjoy."
Cale just nods and takes the rose tea first, finding to liking it more than he will ever like the lemon tea he was usually served, with more lemons on the side.
So bitter. So vicious.
He drank it to the half point and put it down, ready to start to eat and starting to roll up his sleeves.
He hears a gasp coming from Hans and how he froze, his face pale and shocked. This made Cale furrow his eyebrows slightly and looks down at his arms, only to get shocked himself.
Crack. Crack. CRACKKKK.
His skin was cracking. It was already cracked.
They were cracked in such a way that it resembled a rose with small cracks that looked like thorns.
What...
He was too stunned to speak, immediately looking at his torso and thinking of what to do. Hans just dashed out of the room at the final moment when Cale realized. Hans probably went to inform his father.
Shit.
His lungs suddenly started to tighten. It was like they were tightening so he couldn't get the chance to breathe. His heart started to beat slowly, his organs just feeling like they want to get out of his body.
"It hurts," he says quietly without realizing, and he takes off his shirt to grip his chest where his heart lays.
But he stops as he looked down at himself.
Cracks. There were so many cracks. Too much cracks. Everywhere he looked across his buff and pale body were cracks that resembled a rose.
They were red. Infected. Red. Infected. Red. Oh. So red.
Too red.
He saw more cracks filling in, coming to his neck, fast, quick, not stopping.
They were cracking like glass. But not on impact, they were being slow yet quick about it.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACKKKKKKK.
His reddish-brown eyes dulled once the cracks stopped at his neck, to where his Adam's apple is clearly now shown.
He grabs the Ruby pendant that's now so loose around his neck and chest. He tightly has it in his palm, which hurts so much.
His head hurt. His rib cage hurt. His legs hurt. His arms hurt. His hip bones hurt.
Help, help, help, help, help, help, help---
---it hurts, please, help, it hurts!-
---it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, WHY CAN'T THE-
--please, stop cracking, stop, stop, stop---
--my throat feels like it will explode, please, hel-
Cale then stopped moving, laying on the bed paralyzed.
Oh, right.
The cracks around his neck started bleeding, letting out thorns coming out of his throat. It felt too tight, he can't take it, he can't, the thorns are too--
And before he could think, his head exploded, detaching itself from his neck as blood pooled down his throat. Thorns started to become more prominent.
And instead of his spinal bone to be seen from where his head was, came a rose that fully fluttered by a second and became a fully bloomed beautiful rose.
Instead of a head, replaced a rose.
Instead of a son, replaced a death.
Instead of care, the rose grew with neglect.
Instead of self-love, it grew with self-hate.
Instead of a life, came nothing.
The Ruby pendant glew in a crimson red glow in the palm of the rose, the rose which so tightly held it. The Ruby pendant glowed at the sobbing father, who was not the Rose's father. Instead, Cale's, or now the rose.
The rose is asleep, happy, even without its true, fully bloomed head.