Ballet of Kings and Dolls
A/N: Hello all and thank you for taking an interest in this new fic of mine.
Notes about this fic:
1) This is a progressing Yuri/Wolfram story
2) Time wise, the story takes place before the end of the KKM series
3) "-x-X-X-" refers to a scene change
4) Italics in dialogue are an emphasis on words but otherwise are thoughts
5) Words in bold in the story are letters
6) There is reference to the Great Demon Kingdom Alliance but no mentioning of the boxes
Spoilers: In the prologue, none. However, Ken Murata's identity and Greta's presence will be constant throughout the story's chapters (beginning with Chapter 1)
Warnings: Very light graphic description
The story was inspired by my two porcelain dolls. They are as frightening as they are lovely.
Important Note: This is just a prologue and it takes place before Yuri arrives. Yuri will be in the next chapter, if you readers are curious for more. This story focuses on Wolfram.
There is also a lemon/lime poll at the end after the prologue.
Wolfram's face tightened as the bandage was wrapped much too tightly for his liking. The healer secured the wrapped hand with an effective knot before gathering her items and proceeding to the next patient.
Wolfram's unit was ambushed as they had entered the village.
The battle was gruesome and many lost their lives, including the many hostages and civilians in the village.
In retrospect, Wolfram concluded that the battle could have been utterly avoided and the village and its civilians would have survived. A disturbing sensation, a mixture of repulsion and fury, entered into his stomach and he worried that he may vomit.
"Sir, are you doing well now?" a soldier asked as he rushed toward Wolfram.
Glancing to his side slowly, Wolfram surveyed his comrade. "Fine," he breathed, stunned at how ragged and raw his voice sounded as the words crossed his lips. "What's the damage?"
"The enemy has been completely wiped out but it didn't turn out so well for our side, either," the soldier replied sullenly. "Those that escaped the village are beginning to return to inspect their homes…"
"And find the bodies of their loved ones," Wolfram finished, shutting his eyes tightly. He steadied his reeling mind and inhaled a deep breath of air.
Cautiously, Wolfram stood with a slight grunt. "I'm going to see what's left of the village. Send a report to Gwendel," he instructed with a grave tone.
"Of course, Sir."
As the soldier scurried away, Wolfram brushed pass the tent's opening. His eyes narrowed as various civilians returned to their homes, their feet dragging. The devastation of the battle manifested not only in the debris but in their eyes.
Upon a quiet sob, Wolfram stiffened and hunted down the source. An older man slouched and knelt beside what were the remnants of his house. Sniffing, the man extended his arm and thrust aside the many wooden fragments.
Wolfram approached him, keeping a close distance behind the slouched man. The sound that erupted from the poor man was enough of a suggestion to what he had just discovered.
"My daughter," he moaned and stroked aside long stands of a girl's hair from her torn and battered face. "She looks like she's sleeping…"
Quickly, Wolfram came to the child's side and searched for a pulse. He frowned and stood, not needing to express the results of his findings. The man's sobs heightened as he cradled the body of his daughter.
"Let her rest in peace," Wolfram whispered, shaking his head to calm the rage. Leaving the man, Wolfram examined the area, trying to ignore the other sobs and cries that began to increase upon the findings of bodies.
Turning around, Wolfram bit his lip as Conrad hurried forward after leaping off his horse. "Lord Weller," Wolfram muttered, not desiring unwanted attention.
"I heard about the ambushed. Are you hurt?"
Wolfram spun away from his half-brother and growled, "My pain can't compare to theirs."
Frowning, Conrart inquired, "How many civilian casualties so far?"
Scanning the area more meticulously, Conrad breathed, "It's horrible."
Wolfram snorted and stormed away toward another part of the village.
Conrad departed from Wolfram, entering a burnt building.
Once reaching the crumbled homes, Wolfram, along with other soldiers, began hurling the debris aside, searching for possible survivors and dead bodies. Using muscle born from training, Wolfram shoved aside a cracked beam.
Panting, Wolfram crawled over shattered bottles and personal belongings, finding no bodies yet. Briefly returning to the aftermath of the battle, Wolfram studied each individual. Some stood over bodies, tear-stained, while others expressed the full extent of their sorrow by crumbling to the ground. It was then Wolfram realized how most of those in mourning were older.
"You!" Wolfram shouted to a soldier, "How many casualties are children?"
The soldier stood silent as if calculating the number. "Children were the highest casualty. They were all gathered during the time of the attack in a building for some event. They were trapped when the enemy set the place on fire."
Clenching his teeth, Wolfram instructed, "Which one?"
Following the soldier's finger to the place Conrad had entered, Wolfram abandoned his search once confirming no bodies were present in his area. He strolled to the burnt yet still standing building.
"It's not pleasant, Wolfram," Conrad warned as he came out, though he knew Wolfram would enter regardless of the severity of the situation.
Wolframs brushed pass the brunette and cautiously stepped into the building, hissing at the horrid stench that permeated throughout the room. Covering his nose with a hand, Wolfram surveyed the countless burnt bodies of children, their eyes shut. Wolfram assumed Conrad would have shut the eyes of any open ones and the blonde was silently grateful.
A pitiful sound reverberated through the room and Wolfram failed to realize it was his own voice. Stepping over the bodies, Wolfram stood in the middle, suddenly struck with a hurricane of emotions and sensations.
He went numb.
"We failed," Wolfram whispered to himself. "What kind of men are we that we can't even protect children?"
A lonely tear trickled down Wolfram's face though he was unaware of its existence. Releasing a shaky breath, Wolfram quickly inspected the area for anything that may suggest a living being, though he doubted it since Conrad had already surveyed the place. Still, Wolfram searched.
A scarlet article of clothing caught his eye.
Hurrying, Wolfram grunted as he pushed away obstacles to reach his target. Kneeling, he removed a tattered curtain, mentally preparing himself for another body. His breath caught in his throat.
It was a doll.
Her size was half that of a toddler's and her eyes were the iciest shade of blue Wolfram ever witnessed. A curiosity sprang into Wolfram from unknown origins and he took the doll into his arms, noting the porcelain material that she was crafted from.
As the dust particles vanished, it revealed her silky scarlet dress and the frilly white ruffles that stuck out beneath it. She expertly wore a matching bonnet and carried a bow around her pale neck.
Wolfram nearly laughed. There, many children lied, lifeless, and here was this doll; unharmed and untainted not even by the smoke. "To think a doll had more tenacity to stay unharmed," he hissed to himself, analyzing the doll more carefully. She had no cracks, no broken limbs, simply a crooked bonnet and bow. Wolfram brushed away tiny scraps of debris.
"You're a memory of this wretched day, doll," he said to her. "You're also a memory for those who have died here, both civilians and soldiers. If I cannot find the parents of the child who owned you, I shall keep you."
The doll's eyes stared blankly at him.
Wolfram's lips twitched into a sad smile. "Do you have a name?" he asked, teasingly.
A sudden breeze broke through the building, sending a chill through Wolfram's nerves. A sound like a tender voice entered Wolfram's mind. Glancing about, Wolfram was unsure as to where the wind had conjured it or if it was a figment of Wolfram's imagination.
He returned his eyes emerald eyes to the doll. Perplexed and stunned, Wolfram softly repeated the words that had entered his mind.
Her name is Miss Maiden,
She's pretty as can be,
She'll be your closest friend
And will keep you company.
Her name is Miss Maiden,
But I'll tell you what she said,
"Don't you ever leave me lonely,
Or you'll surely end up dead."
As mentioned above, chapter 1 will return to the "present" time with Yuri and the others.
The summary about outgrowing the need to be love comes from Frank A. Clark's quote, "A baby is born with the need to be loved and it never outgrows it."
My request: Lemon or Lime?
There will be sexual scenes in later chapters and I've decided to consider you readers' input. Do you prefer a full-fledged lemon scene or something more subtle, such as lime? In case you forgot, lemon is graphic while lime is implied (at least in my terminology).
If you decide to review, which I hope you do, let me know your preference, please.
Thanks for reading this and you can expect the chapters to be longer if this story continues.