pretty lies, crystal scars [✨] open + return

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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]The child's disappearance had more than likely gone completely unnoticed by those among bloodclan's rankings. For the main part of the clan bohemian was of no great position or essential for progress, and so his presence was one in which was easy to miss save for those looking for him; perhaps his father. No, Jace would be the sole being who would be out in search of Bohemian there was no perhaps about it. With no mother, no siblings, no Horrorstory to care it would be solely that of the Ecuador head if he even cared enough to take note.

But then there would be the lack of the small ounces of bright excitement in which had been brought by the delicate child into the gray, usually uneventful comings and goings of bloodclan life. The fact none had stumbled into an elaborate prank of string and paint, heard the speakings of odd quotation from ancient seeming books, caught a whiff of blizzardclan mixed into their home clan scent at one of Bohemian's other-clan exploration in which the little terror would have out right denied. If he'd been there.

By the time any might have noticed, however, it was far too late. Bohemian had been dropped down onto the body strode borders of bloodclan by his unknown capturer just the same as he'd left. He was not caked in crimson nor decorated in blue and lilac bruises. There were no gashes upon his tiny, fragile body and not a seldom narrow, bird-like bone had been cracked in the least; not even in the way of fracture.

Yet he shook.

The entirety of his small being trembled from ivory toes to soft tufted ears and he could not cease the waves of terror in which erupted in pulses throughout his body. Hues of molten amber and oceans depths were wide with fear as tears ebbed each separate coloration causing his gaze to become completely fuzzed and useless, blinded by the mournful crying in which he could not control. What had been done to him cut much deeper than any claw or tooth could possibly hope to achieve.

The memories were etched in his mental stability utterly and completely, his heart was touched by their evil. All's the boy could do was mourn for the loss of what had resembled childhood, shaking and crying, helpless to all else and await to be found.

//tl;dr: bohemian returns from being kidnapped, he was dropped off at the border incapable of doing anything but crying and shaking despite showing no signs of physical injury.

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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]The first creature to take note of the fragile (in both structure and mental state now) child was a beast of large size with features of endless night in which any who gazed upon them to long could become lost in it's eternity. A leopard who's face was unfamiliar and who's scent held the faintest of hints of that horrid place in which where what had scarred him ensued. Belial caused him to squeak at his demanding tone. It was not the ideal first impression of his homeland, a place in which one was supposed to feel safety and security, let alone the words that dripped from the much elder's mouth.

Pull yourself together. Yes, because sorrow showed weakness and weakness made one as good as dead; that's what that man had said anyways. He needed to. He tried to. But he
couldn't stop it no matter how hard the little one put in the effort. Emotions were weakness, weakness made one as good as dead. So he wasn't allowed to show scarring, he wasn't allowed to cry.

The next to approach was yet again an unfamiliar face; though this creature stood to be a great deal less intimidating. She was a kitsune, an animal of majesty and beauty, but her eyes were cold as she looked over Bohemian's small form. He could have sworn, however, a tint of sympathy was behind the walls of criticism. He didn't need sympathy. He needed a familiar face. Anyone, anyone would do. Boleyn, Russia, Agatha, his father; even Merle's scarred, scowling features were better than facing two completely unknown to him. Someone even vaguely familiar like Melantha or...or...Horrorstory.

"Horrorstory," The first words to clumsily spill from thin lips was not an explanation, the name of his father, nor a hollow calling for a long dead mother he'd shared features with but had never once known. His speech was broken and he sounded so small, so tiny. Bohemian once again cleared his throat, trying to take a breath but failing, heterochromia eyes appeared wide and desperate. "Where's Horrorstory." He did not know that the other had left for a separate clan, all's he knew was that's who he so-desperately wished to see. He would have noticed him gone, he would have been kind to him upon his return. But horrorstory was gone, unbeknownst the child, and he was alone.

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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]Would have. Should have. Could have.

It was a childish phrase usually spat with ether spite or pure amusement, but in such a dire situation the words sunk into a being's head as being a great deal more meaningful then some kits' foolish game. There was no direct answer to his question of origin, the two creatures of unfamiliarity seemed to be staring piercingly into his very soul; but that was more than likely his over-active paranoia.

It was only then, after great bounds of horrible silence and great discomfort, a well known presence to the child darted forward. Bohemian felt as though a literal 100 pound weight had been lifted from his narrow shoulders; it was Jace. The embrace of the elder was a welcomed one, even though it's comfort and warmth brought about even more tears to streak down ivory colored cheeks.

Poor Jace ecuador, he truly had attempted with all his heart to be a deserving parent to the small boy. He never once spoke poorly against Bohemian let alone struck or injured him, but the duties of a third tier had distanced the two beyond what a statistically average "family" alongside the death of his lover, Toni Darling. It must have been painful, the child thought as hues of sky and stars gazed into Jace's own, to have to see the bi-product of a could-have-been happy and fulfilling life.

These words and assumptions raced through his ruptured mind as Jace spit inquires like bullets; dripped with worry rather than poison. Bohemian began to split his jaw open to answer when suddenly recalling the fact that no one had put a resolution to his own question. "Where's Horrorstory?" Bohemian responded with nothing of helpful information but rather another inquiry, managing to control some of the tears now feeling safe within his father's grasp, but the shaking still unceasing