୭̥⋆*。 ― "Eat me, rip me apart, consume me inside and out, make me a part of you forever. Have me in a way no one else ever could."

Portrait of a prince (on fire). Remember - page 28.

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

⤿ ᴛᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴍɪxᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ. ɴᴇᴡ ᴛᴏᴋᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.
⤿ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.)

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⤿ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɢᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀʏ.

⤿ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ / ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ.

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

It attracted and repulsed him. The energy, the display, feeling like his own portraits were mocking him like a punch against a mirror, and millions of pieces reflecting his own ugliness. He ruins everything. Why not? He was himself ruined, even if he couldn't face the truth. Stabbed papers, drown everything in inks and paints, his own powers crackling in the air and exploding. Throwing them through the window, pushing the canvas down the stairs. He did that with the previous painters, some even strangely hurt themselves by slipping somewhere. He ruined this sanctum sanctorum, standing too close to him, ruined the cluttered room, and ruined those who settled in there. Ruined who dares paint him. He will ruin them too.

He won't make this easy, he won't insult himself. He has no desire to be immortalized on canvas like a pretty little trophy on display, and have his beautiful face posing on a random's wall. He can't be cooperative. He won't be. They can try their best, he does love a challenge - see how long they last against the God of Mischief, because for now, they stand before him, clad in what they considered the proper way to look formal. He couldn't contain himself and rolled his eyes at this display, scoffing at the ridicule of this face-to-face.

"Cease looking like a kicked puppy. This charade doesn't suit you, and you are testing the limits of my patience."