Prompt: The Midas Touch, 2min

A kingdom thrived, thrived because the kings and queens were compassionate. But as generations passed, luxury replaced their compassion with greed. Soon the kingdom began to deteriorate as it had more wealth than grain. The lands were barren as it had not rained for decades. The Kings and Queens were forced to trade their gold for supplies to sustain themselves and their people, but it cracked their pride on seeing their vaults and dungeons empty.

One day the King was out on a hunt, taking his adolescent prince along. In pursuit of a handsome stag, they rode deeper than any man had, encountering a dark cave hidden behind the thicket of trees. Curious, the King held his son close and ventured inside only to find mountains of gold before his eyes. He let go of his son in his awe and greed and began filling up his pockets, his satchel and every little fold in his robes with gold.

The boy sensed someone approaching and called out to his father, but it was all a waste as the King had lost himself in the pile of glistening wealth before him.

When the King had turned, satiated with all the wealth he had collected, he found his son shivering frantically, which made him drop all the gold he held and rush to him.

Frightened to the bone, the boy latched his arms around his father, closing his eyes to let the tears flow, whimpering as he tried to speak what had just transpired.

Before he could have breathed a word, he felt a sharp chill of a metal instead of the warmth of his father’s hold and he opened his eyes, finding his father still and glistening.

He did not know for how long had cried, he did not know when he had fainted, stuck between his father’s arms of gold.

But when he woke up next in his chamber, his little self knew well...that he had been cursed with the touch of gold.

It had rained the first time in decades when they had found him, stuck in his father’s arms, cheeks stained with dried tears.

It was not a curse but a boon, they said, for now the Kingdom was no longer barren and their prince had the power to turn dust to gold.

But only the cursed prince knew that it was truly a curse.

The curse, the words that had been whispered into his ears by the shadows, had faded from his memory with time, but he could never forget the fear that had strangled him then, the fear that had taken many a forms as he grew up.

He could touch no one, nothing except water and fire, without turning them to gold within split seconds; and hence he wore gloves whose strands turned to gold on his touch. They were stiff, but still granted him freedom as gold was malleable in the form of thread. They prevented his touch to pass on to whatever he touched whilst wearing them.

He had lost the sense of touch, he no longer knew what warm, soft or gentle was. All he knew was cold metal.

He lived without warmth, lived not as a son, or even a human. He lived as a spinning wheel that spun gold for his kingdom.

He began to hate himself, hate what he could do.

He had burnt his hands, tried to skin them, tried to touch himself and be turned to gold, but all of it was futile.

He knew if he took his life, or even cut his hands off, everything might end.

But there was something that forever made his hands shake when he held the dagger against his wrist. There was something that prevented him from doing the painful deed. Perhaps it was the curse, perhaps it was just cowardice.

No matter what he did, no matter what happened, there was no stopping this curse. For the true curse was not to turn dust to gold. It was to turn his heart to gold.

And his heart was turning to what truly gold was.

Hard and cold.

He sat, partly illuminated by the fire crackling before him- the only warmth he could satiate himself with. His dark hair fell upon murky, grey eyes as they followed lines of a bind lethargically. Fingers fitted in golden gloves, played with the page that was soon to be flipped, tearing the page apart the next minute. Crumpling the torn page and tossing it away, he began to read the next page, playing it with in a similar way, only to halt when a meek voice interrupted the silence of his dim chamber.

“Another threat has arrived, Prince Taemin.”

Taemin raised his palm and the soldier dropped off the envelope upon it before taking his leave. With patience, Taemin managed to tear the envelope open, pulling out a sheet of paper which read exactly the same word that he had received in a similar fashion the past three times.

Surrender.

Taemin sighed, crumpling the paper along with the envelope and tossing it to the farthest corner of his chamber.

He had given up on his kingdom and hence had never crowned himself king despite being the only heir, despite having passed the proper age.

He knew ignoring these threats would lead him to his death.

Every single man in the castle was anxious, but Taemin was not.

He was full with anticipation.

“Death.” Taemin looked up to the unlit chandelier, smiling, “How sweet that would be.”

A soft, gruff voice accompanied the chill of a blade, threatening to slice Taemin into half, “They say you can turn dust to gold?”

“It is a rumor.” Taemin smirked, uncaring of how he was contained in his armchair by numerous blades pointing to him, uncaring that one of them had began to cut him, “A rumor spread by a greedy, cunning  prince.”

The sword grazed closer, and Taemin felt something warm run down his arm.

His pain was numbed by the warmth he could finally sense and a sick smile grew on his face.

“Why do you wear those golden gloves then?” He was inquired again and Taemin began to laugh, “How slow you are. I am the greedy, cunning prince. I love gold! You ask about my gloves? You should not be surprised even if I had a whole set