Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

1000 Years	By : HKSK Category: +1 through F > Adventure Time Views: 5018 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Adventure Time", nor any of the characters used within this story. I make no profit from this story, aside from your smiles.

Chapter List
- 1-1000 Years
- 1
Notes:

EDIT: (Apparently I didn't put this in, and I should have! Sorry AFF)

1,000 and all songs that shall be used in this fiction are credited to Christina Perry. I get all of the lyrics from: www.google.com and http://www.azlyrics.com/
Currently looking for a proof reader/role play partner, so please excuse any gramatical errors.
"Now there's only me (Simon) and the lonely (Ice King)"
Changed girl to man.
Using the ice to fly. Reference to Magneto. He cannot fly, but can make metal float/fly and form into any shape. He used ball barrings and made them flat and stood/walked on them like stepping stones to escape prison. The Ice King is seen flying only with the use of his beard in the show. I don't understand how that works at all as I would assume would surely not work with Simon. I also figure Simon would know a lot more about science then the Ice King, so he would understand that ice is made up of water. Water is made up of hydrogen and oxygen atoms, which found in mostly everything, including the air. He has the power to cause ice to form, seemingly out of now-where in the show, (Which Magneto must have the metal physically there already to manipulate) so I figure he should be able to fly with the same concept as Magneto from X-Men. Form an ice disk, or ice on the shoes, make that ice float or fly. Bam, he flies because he is standing on the floating ice.

~*~*~
1000 Years

~*~
Chapter 1: The Lonely
~*~*~
2am; where do I begin,

Crying off my face again.

The silent sound of loneliness

Wants to follow me to bed.
~*~
The darkness was at it's peak, but it was loosing to the moon's sharp silver glow. A figure sat motionless on an old half broken rocking chair, staring out the window of his icy foretress at the unfrozen land to the west where many caves hide many secrets. Dark thoughts swirled through the man's mind as a penguin came to nudge it's beak and forehead against his dangling arm in an affectionate manner. The hand automatically began to stroke the bird's head as the thoughts became twisted images of the past. Some were recent, some were more than two thousand years old... But the ones plagueing him the most were roughly half of the latter's time. Horrible images of death and dispair, drought and famine, war and disease. A steady drip could be heard as his dark thoughts were brewing, causing a dull pain to grow and the man grew restless.
He tapped his bare foot restlessly, desperately trying to distract his mind away from the intense headache that had been plaguing him for days. He had confined himself to his home for weeks, and the pain had brought him to tears on multiple occasions, reducing him to a dangerous raving lunatic. Some nights he would go on a tangent of screaming before passing out and waking up in a puddle of watery slush. The relentless throbbing made him painfully aware that it was intensely cold in the room, causing his neck muscles to tighten up and spasm randomly, which did not help his headache much. Usually the cold wouldn't bother him, but today it made every task difficult and slow, making him feel his true age. He groaned and stood up, the tiger skin blanket falling from his lap as he wobbled towards the basement door, one hand steading himself against the wall. His feet felt ungodly numb, and he worried about it as he fumbled with the frozen latch and carefully made his way deep into the mountain, leaving the water fowl behind to ponder it's master's fate.
Once he had gotten to the bottom, he came to a hault at the room he was looking for. He rested against an over-turned wardrobe and glanced with blurred vision at the room's contants; Boxes stacked atop of each other, beside bags of random junk from the past that were now useless and broken. Most of the items in this room were meant to be stored somewhere else, but ended up being abandoned here before making it to their intended resting place. His gaze came to the jagged hole that made up the doorway, once hidden by the fallen cabinet, that would take him one more floor down to his desired destination. A dull, blueish glow was radiating from the doorway.
His brows furrowed and the pounding became more intense. His legs found strength where there was none, and he forced himself to stand. Beginning to walk on auto-pilot, descending the last of the stairs and coming into a rather large library, he sighed resting for a moment. The room was rather large and filled from end to end with books from long ago. There were a few different desks with differnt items scattered atop of them. One eye began to throb at the back of it's socket, the pain pulsating over and over, causing his stomach to twist. He saw one perticular desk in the centre of the room and went to it instinctively, finding the drawer open already, two white bottles with weathered and torn labels on them rested undisturbed with layers of dust caked to the cork tops. The labels didn't matter, as the contents were not what they once were discribed to be.
A loud creak from the moving drawer echoed through-out the large room and he reached for the bottle, it's texture was a smoothed grainy plastic, a long since forgotton material. His fingers brushed away the years worth of dust to the floor and he wiped his hands off on his damp robe. The pain had gently subsided as he closed the drawer and opened the one below it, taking out a long, slightly angled Rosewood pipe and a brass flip-top lighter. He inspected them both, making sure the pipe wasn't clogged, and the lighter was full of fluid, and not frozen. He went through his secret ritual and opened one of his plastic bottles and shook out some small very dry green herbs into a pastel and mortar sitting on the desk before opening the other, the contents of which happened to be a brownish black gum like substance. Packing his pipe, he sat down on the torn leather chair and shivered as his bare legs came into contact with the cracked frozen seat.
Peace came to him as he loaded and brought the device to his lips, lighting one end as he inhaled deeply. A few seconds passed by, and he coughed and hacked, causing his head to pound once more. He lurched forward, catching himself against the desk before his forehead could collide with the edge, his crown falling to the desk with a clatter. He paused, waiting for the feeling to melt away as he again tried to inhale, this time having more success as he watched the cursed item roll slowly away from him. He grinned, filling his lungs to their maximum capacity as he held his breath for a moment, counting slowly to ten in his mind. With each second, the crown seemed to slow down imensly until he got to 9. Then, time seemed to freeze as it teetered on the edge, the large red jewel keeping it from going anyfurther.
Reaching out he grabbed at it, missing entirely, and it fell to the ground with a clatter. The sound of metal colliding with ice bounced off of the frozen walls. He went to stand but failed as he slipped and fell back into a rather comfortable position on his chair, keeping the crown in his line of sight. Sad thoughts over took him, bringing more tears slipping down blue weathered skin, freezing as they came to his beard.
~*~
I'm a ghost of a man that I want to be most.

I'm the shell of a man that I used to know well.
~*~
"You cannot hide from me forever. I'm still here, whether you like it not, and I can cause just as much trouble for you, as you have caused for me." The voice was a softer, sadder and more subdoed tone, almost unthreatening... Almost.
"Shut up!" He went to throw whatever was in his hand, only to find himself hesitant, staring at the pipe currently dulling the pain, yet was causing his mild psychosis. It still had a feint whisp of smoke wafting from the cherried ember at it's chamber.
"Why throw that? Oh yes, to get rid of me. But we can't do that right now, can we? Headaches really are a pain." He growled, looking down in defeat, his free hand going to straighten his beard. A plume of mist began to billow out of the crown and a figure formed into the upper body of a man with shoulder length hair, a pair of cracked glasses and faded brown eyes. They appeared to be clouded, as if they were blind. A long chortle was heard from the misty figure.
"I said shut up! No one wants a know it all fuddy duddy around!" He shreieked and picked up a cup of pencils on the desk's surface and threw them at the image. They passed clean through and hit the floor, scattering around in a mess behind it.
"And no one wants Mr. Freeze acting like a child, running about the land trying to force himself on young ladies, but hey, what ever turns your crank." The voice seemed indiffernet to him, feelings of hatred long since gone with the years. His chest burned and tears welled up in his old tired eyes. He rubbed them and looked away from the appirition.
"Stop speaking. Just shut up already..."
"Does it bother you, that I toy with your mind? Revenge is a dish best served cold... That's how you like it, don't you?" And the ghost moved to be in the old man's view, continuing to speak.
"And to think, you are using MY stuff in order to make yourself feel better. As always. The pain wont stop, you know. It'll get worse, and you know it." The ghostly image began to fade, and white haired man paniced. He brought his pipe back to his lips and lit up again, inhaling deeply. He was hoping the image would delay it's disapearence, dispite the resentment he felt toward it. It did.
"I need to get advice... I'm dying..." The old king gasped, feeling the tingle of the combined drugs of the old world work it's natural magic, numbing the pain and dulling his wizard eyes. It filled his body with warmth from the centre, a smile creeping across his face at the releif. He turned to his chair, feeling light headed, and sat down in a some-what comfortable heap. The misty man glided back into wizard's sight.
"No Ice King, 'we' are dying." Corrected the ghostly man while adjesting his glasses as if they were real, setting his hallow eyes on the Ice King's down cast face. He saw that the old man before him looked his age.
"That body you stole from me, it wont last forever. Not feeding since the war... You've made us weak." Their gazes met and a long silence ensued, both knowing exactly why he had stopped binge feeding in the first place. The only sound was the feint dripping of water, reviberating against the walls through out the castle-like mountain. The Ice King felt his heart working very weakly.
"Is... Is there anything we can do, Simon?" He breathed heavily, feeling his lungs ache for more smoke to warm it's chilly cavity. He obliged until the chamber was empty, only to refill it and start all over. Simon just watched, shaking his head.
"No... Yes... Maybe..." Simon sighed, and the crown began to levitate and came to rest back on the desk in front of the Ice King.
"Please let me help us. Let me out of this prison, even if it's only for a little while. If I cannot find a way to save us, at least I will have had some sort of freedom to express my apologies to everyone here in this land, before we expire." The sad old man nodded, one hand running his fingers over the tuft of hair on the top of his head, rubbing the baldness around the area usually hidden with the metallic jeweled head peice. The other hand ran the length of his pointy nose until it came to rest at the tip. He pressed it in about half way in a silly manner while using his magic to do the work. The misty spirit of Simon smiled as if to honor that rediculas act of comedy and then dissolved into the Ice King's chest.
~*~
Dancing slowly in an empty room,

Can the lonely take the place of you?

I sing myself a quiet lullaby.

Let you go and let the lonely in

To take my heart again.
~*~
The inside of his mind was a cage that he had lived in for nearly a thousand years while the Ice King gallavanted about like a silly child that was usually scolded by his peers. Simon usually sat back, always watching and screaming at the visions of the psyical world playing out, going on with out him. He was always tired, and the tether that bound him to the Ice King was invisible, yet darkness surrounded him like a perfect sphere. A single "window" like structure was the only unchanging figure in this mental prision. It served as a television of sorts, one that would play out everything the Ice King did. Most of the time he would ignore the images as they were rather boring. Just days and days looking at ice, snow and penguins through wizard vision. Some times he would watch, helplessly floating in his dark void, contemplating his escape.
On the rare occasion that the Ice King's judgement would falter, usually from not drawing in any negetive enegy, he would go to his bathroom and speak aloud, to Simon, trying to get his counterpart to open up and speak to him. They would argue and yell at one another, but anyone looking inwards would see an old man screaming at his mirror in a one way conversation and think him mad. The Ice King would tell of his plans to seek out yet another princess to kidnap and try to force them to marry them, and Simon protesting and claiming that was not his intention. Time went by, and with each attempt to merry a new princess against their will, his plans would fail due to Simon's strong willed sense of honor and chivelry. He would how ever, get a hefty meal out of the terrible emotions his subjects would emit, a part of the curse of the Crown. In a way, it would be Simon's moral values and good nature that would evnevetably bring their time in this world to an end.
Over the years, a repeated dance would occur. A princess would be kidnapped, and Simon's good nature would continuously foil the Ice King's plot. Soon the old man ran to the end of the variety of princesses and went through trying them all again until coming to a descion to seise entirely. More time had passed, and months had gone by, the Ice King's spirit starving away. After four months had passed, the two souls were run down and stuck in a lonely depressing ice prision. Word had spread through out the land, that the Ice King had been eerily absent. His evil deeds were known through out the land, and the fact that it had randomly stopped had struck the people with a suspended sense of releif and peace laced with uneasiness.
Almost every day started off with the Ice King sitting in his chair with a book from Simon's study, reading all of secrets he hadn't cared to learn while occupying Simon's body. Sometimes Simon would read them to him and they would sound a lot less boring. Piles of books sat around his rocking chair as he read, a penguin in his lap or at his feet. The test of time had proven to run down the figure, bringing truth to his real age. Every day became a chore just to continue on living as he refused to cause malice on others in order to sustain himself. This coupled with the deep depression that Simon's heart carried made their body's sickness grow stronger. Everything was pointless when you are stuck in a black fish bowl being forced to watch someone's else's life.

~*~
Too afraid to go inside

For the pain of one more loveless night.

But the loneliness will stay with me

And hold me til I fall asleep.
~*~
His heart twisted in pain, and his head pounded even worse than before. His stomach faltered and he threw up all over the lower part of his beard and lap. Shivering, he made his way to the bathroom, where, once again his stomach gave way to waves of heaving until there was nothing left to heave. Shaking, he disrobed and made his way into the shower. His muscles felt heavy and tired as they seemed to plump up. It wasnt by much, but it was noticble, and it burned something feirce. He felt like his skin was lighting on fire as tiny needles stabbed away at tissue, sinue and bone. As the magic rippled through him, using the last of it's power to restore what little it could of what was stolen from him. His blood boiled and his face contorted into that of horror as his bones realigned, forcibly making him taller. His joints poped and cracked as they were brought back to his youth, bringing him to kneal helplessly in the stall, desperately trying to adjust the water to some sort of feelable temperature in vain.
His scalp felt like glass was ripping through, and hair seemed to grow back where there had once been none. His eyes, they felt like an explosion of acid had been sprayed into them. Colours were bright and randomly flashing all around him. He felt sick again, but managed to hold it at bay. Swirls and patterns seemed to creep about, moving slowly. He saw trails all around him when ever he moved his head which only fed the flames to his current ordeal. The water ran down his face, making him feel as if it was melting off and down into the drain as he watched. A fit of terror rocked through him as he thrashed about, punching holes into the surrounding aged and mossy ceramic tiles. Breathing was almost impossible as his lungs felt as if he were breathing through a tiny straw. His eyes cleared a little, and the visions were less intense as they slowly began to show the ghostly imprints of irises and pupils.
Unfortunately, with that his wizard eyes seemed to clear up until everything looked noticably normal again. The drain was swirling with water and a steady stream of dark dark red, almost purple blood swirled down the drain. His knuckles bled slowly, the skin healing as he rose to his feet. He went about the mundane task of washing the rest of his body in a daze. When he stepped out and dried himself with the room's only frozen towel, he shivered and his body ached while his lungs made quick work to be useful again. His bathroom was dull white and blue, and the it was mostly the same as he looked out of it, except the only colours were those of the book bindings on the shelves, which all seemed to blur into one another with the lack of his physical glasses. His hair had reseeded a bit, mostly to the state at which point the mushroom war had ended, the magic's effects seeming to only make it half way.
A ghostly image of the Ice King sprang forth in the foggy mirror, saddness and pain in his eyes. It was true, the Ice King was dying, and because he had spent nearly a thousand years bonding his mind and soul with him, Simon was dying as well. Fortunately for Simon, most of the symptoms were limited to the cold ruler's side, allowing Simon releif from the negetive emotions and feelings, all be it briefly. He stared at his clothes that were hanging up on the wall just outside his bathroom. They were still dusty and covered in dirt from when he had last seen... Betty.
He wasn't going to allow his mind to wander there. She had made her desicion, and in the end, it was not with him. He was correct in assuming she would be disgusted with him after "saving" him, not even giving him, no, The Ice King, a chance to get to know her. In fact, that was the final straw for the Ice King. His spirit had solely been operating on auto pilot to return his 'princess' to Simon. His work completed, and her rejection only seemed to douse the fire in the frozen spirit of the Ice King. His purpose was fullfilled, yet not at the same time. He still lingered in this world, unable to go to the other side, his soul permenatly bonded with Simon's in enternal unrest.
~*~
I'm a ghost of a man that I want to be most.

I'm the shell of a man that I used to know well.
~*~
Simon placed his cold hands on the felt like matieral of the jacket's elbow patching. His fingers glided along the rest of the fabric, a brown cordoroy, finely sewn together into a suit style. He stood in the freezing wet towl and remenised of sitting in his lobby chair, researching the long forgotten past with not a care in the world and it's current affairs with a fire burning in the background... His fiance' laying on his carpet drinking chardeney in some beautiful dress from America. His arms moved to their own accord as he removed the suit jacket from it's hanger, draping it over one of the plentiful aging chairs, to get to the vest and yellowed dress shirt beneath. His mind was wandering as he dressed, happy thoughts danced through his head as a smile crept apon his lips. From there, he made fast work of getting dressed with in his daze, only slowing when he came to the buttons. Doing up so many forced his mind to snap out of the past, to focus on his long fingers to relearn simple fine motor skills. He was frustrated with the sickness that had rocked his body, forcing his mind to think about other things, like fixing the broken magic that kept him alive. After what seemed like doing up hundreds of buttons, when really there were only a total of 12, he stopped shivering.
Simon's mind slowed as his body turned, looking to find any sort of shoes he might have left beneath the desk, and frowned when all he found was a pair of slippers with no heel backs next to a side satchel. He huffed and shook his head, taking a seat and opening another drawer in the desk. He found some bandages and wrapped them around his feet before pulling the satchel over his shoulder and stepping into the slippers to keep the cold at bay until he could find a replacment pair. He still felt a shiver run through him, worrying about his condition. If his tollerence to the fridgid cold was becoming less strong, he wouldn't last much longer in the castle amongst the ice mountains.
The crown glowed and lifted into his hands. He didn't know how he'd gotton to the desk so fast, but he assumed it to be the Ice King, making sure he didn't forget about him. The crown's deep ruby jewels seemed to dim as he tied it to his waist in a fermiliar fashion. One of his hands came to rest over his heart as he paused, his hand slipping into his breast pocket and brushing against a stiff sheet of glossy cardboard. He romved it and gazed at it, sighing as he let it fall from his hands to the desk. A woman in a green turtle neck with the fairest of strawberry blonde hair and tear drop shaped glasses was sitting in a relaxed joyful manner, looking at the photographer, Simon, with a smile and a glint in her eyes. The paper was folded in various spots, frayed along the edges and it was browned with age and water damage. That would be the last time he'd willingly look at the faded picture with a sense of loss and loneliness.
Simon pocketed the smoking peraphinalia and put them away inside his vest, the long pipe sticking out of his pocket and blending in like one of the few dead pens it still protected. He put the herb containers into his satchel and gathered an unused, unlined journal. Placing the book into the bag, and closing his eyes, one single tear gliding down his cheek, once again freezing once it touched his beard. Simon made his way to the door in great frustrastion, slipping and sliding every couple of feet. Once he got to the stairs, he slipped and fell, grabbing the railing to keep from colliding with the floor. He swore, using the curses from his time, and gave up on walking, one hand firmly gripping the rail as he tried to keep still. He grunted, willing the Ice King to reappear as he rubbed the crown that was tied to his belt. A silent understanding was reached, and the eldest of the two lent his weakened powers to the European, and from there he used his knowledge of physics to properly corrodinate the limited magic he was bestowed with effeciency.
~*~
Dancing slowly in an empty room,

Can the lonely take the place of you?

I sing myself a quiet lullaby.

Let you go and let the lonely in

To take my heart again.
~*~
Ice began to form and encrust his slippers, and he roze into the air, all be it very unsteady and wobbly at first. Simon's stomach was holding on as he managed to hold himself upright and consintrate on where his feet should be, where the ice should stop forming so his feet didn't freeze as well, and where exactly he wanted the ice to float. The Ice King's spirit observed Simon's actions and frowned to himself, jealous that he had never bothered to think about such an obvious method of flight. It definately was using less of their body's energy, which was good for self preservation, if Simon could master it. Currently, the man was holding out quite well up until he tried to move foreward while trying to keep up-right. That is when the fun began for the Ice King as he watched Simon do a sudden summersault in the air which perpelled him into a bookcase, knocking it over and scattering them everywhere. A cackle of amusement was herd all around the room and Simon began swearing. He was able to get to the upright standing position and levitate, but every time he tried to will himself foreward he would spin out of control. Once he had stopped spinning, upside down mind you, he glared at the ghostly apparition for any sort of suggestion. The icy monarch could only offer a shrug in reply.
A few tries, another fallen bookshelf and many curses later, Simon managed to shakily manuver around so his flight was smooth enough to get around. He made his way up the winding tower and back to the main room where he had left the penguin. The bird was laying in the rocking chair, the animal skin rug wrapped around it's sleeping form. Simon smiled to himself, coming to stnad by the animal and stroked it's head. It's eyes opened, and it jumped, startled by it's master's appearence. He recognised him, seeing the crown attached to his side, and remembering the last time his master had changed when the crown was in limbo. It cooed to Simon, as if telling him it was alright to go, and snuggled back up, closing it's eyes. Simon noddled, grabbing a clean wizard's robe and threw it around his shoulders like a cape, tying the arms together.
"I'll be back later Gunther, Daddy's going out for some medicine." Simon whispered, feeling odd about trying to explain himself to a seemingly ignorant animal. He got no reply, so he climbed his window, feeling his muscles ache with the transformation, and lept outwards. He fell a few feet before gaining enough balance to properly gauge the height at which to make himself fly with out colliding with the snow and jagged ice below. It took mear moments to decide where to go first. His mind raced to think about who would be the best to help him, if he could be helped. Once he had reached the edge of his icy kingdom, he came to a mass set of rocky mountains. Gazing over the brown bumps of the country side, he tried to figure out which mound contained the cave entrance that he needed to find. He saw no visable land marks that would lead him to where he needed to go, so felt as if he had been just circling the same spot of land. Fortunately, he saw a glimpse of smoke billowing up from one of the mounds and he rushed forward to investigate.
Simon was releived, unaware of the Ice King's panic as the old man sat in the very same prison that he had placed Simon into when he had first put the crown a top of his head. With each spurt of magicial energy that Simon used, the man became ill, and felt drained. It was still more barable then when he was in control, as he needlessly would waste his magic on any excuse to be lazy. Simon lowered himself so that his feet met the ground, and the ice at the bottom of his shoes crumbled off almost instantly. He stumbled once his full weight had settled on land, and fell a few feet forward into the mouth of the cave, his cold slender hands meeting the equally cold rocky texture of the wall. He panted, feeling fatigued as he dragged his feet towards the oddly placed light purple cottage in the centre of the cave. At one point, Simon had to make due with standing by himself as he made his way to the front door. Finally he stood at the bottom of the steps that led to the dark weathered door and he hesitated, lingering on that first step. Suddenly a terrible thought crossed by their minds.
"What if she's not home?" The Ice King spoke, bringing Simon out of his loosing staring contest with the cracked window of the front door.
"I would really rather not think about that. I've already wasted most of the power you have lent me just to get here..." Simon huffed, blowing a loose strand of white hair from his glasses in a farty sounding fashion. His gaze shifted to his feet.
"Well it wasn't my idea to fly here..."
"It's always your idea when you are in comand! Using that big stupid flappy beard! You don't understand how psysics work at all!"
"And you can't decide just exactly how magic exists, so I'd just shut the glob up."
"I might not know how it exists, but I certainly know how to apply science to fucking gibberish to..."
And that was when the door swung open.

~*~
Broken pieces of

A barely breathing story

Where there once was love

Now there's only me and the lonely.
~*~
The ghostly image of the Ice King wasn't visable to the observer, so it appeared as if Simon was yelling at the door dirrectly. As his arguement was cut short, his eyes snapped upwards to see a floating dark figure in the light emitting from inside the house. Simon's jaw just hung there as he tried to figure out something to say, but nothing came. His knees felt shaky and he faltered as a wave of nausea hit him, forcing him to put most of his weight on the railing. Staring back at him, the figure flipped on the porch lights and gasped, not completely beleiving the sight in front of them.
"Simon! Oh. My. GLOB! Is it really you?" a fermiliar feminine voice called out to him. He groaned and the feeling passed allowing him to stand upright and look up into her worry struck eyes.
"Well yes... And no... Maybe... It's wonderful to see you again anyways, Marcy." Simon shakily whispered, feeling terrible that she had to see that display of insanity. Even the Ice King was disturbed by it and choose to fall silent in his dark inner bubble inside Simon's mind. Marceline crouched and took his hand in hers, smiling at him, her eyes noticing the crown at his side. She looked at his hands which were much warmer then they should have been, and rubbed her thumb on his knuckles, gently tugging him to follow her. He obliged, happy to get inside where it was warmer. She guided him upstairs, past every room until she came to one at the end of the hall, next to hers. Within moments he was promptly sat at the bed, and the beautiful vampire floated in front of him.
"It is wonderful to see you too... Simon?" Her eyes were glossy, almost on the verge of tears as she bit her lip, looking into his eyes. All he could do was nod as he took the crown from his waist and placed it on the bedside table, the centre jewel glowing faintly. She glanced at the crown, then her gaze came to rest on the tired face of the man he used to be when she was little. Thoughts danced through his mind, but tired and needed rest. His head started to pound once more and his stomach felt as though he were being shaken madly. Simon's face twisted into that of pain and he coughed harshly, blood splattering onto his hands and beard. Marceline's surprise rocked him to his core, forcing the Ice King's heart to crack.
There before them, was that same little girl all grown up with her own curse. A beautiful vampire royal, floating in front of him just a few feet away. This time, he had the time to look at her, unlike when the crown had failed completely and he was desperate to get it working again to live. Her hair was the same, but there was some sort of hair clip in it that looks like a bacon strip with a flower. Her attire was a simple black day dress with red bats all over. She wore black lace gloves that only covered the back of her hands. Now his eyes felt heavy and puffy, and his back was aching.
"I... I'm dying Marcy." Simon bluntly broke the news to her. He didn't see any point in lying to her, and since she was his oldest friend, she had the right to know first. That was the steel ball that shattered her glass heart. The tears came, slowly at first. Then soon her eyes were leaking profusly and her arms were suddenly flung around his shoulders, her face burrying into his neck. This sent Simon into a silent shock, tears of his own welling up in his eyes. He was perfectly content to wrap his arms around her and pull her into his lap for a hug, just like he used to. She quietly sobbed into his neck, repeating the words "No, it can't be." over and over. Gently, he rocked back and forth, cradling her thin frame in his arms, stroking his long raven hair along her back slowly.

~*~
Dancing slowly in an empty room

Can the lonely take the place of you?

I sing myself a quiet lullaby

Let you go and let the lonely in

To take my heart again.
~*~
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

1000 Years