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The Slave

'Damn it, it was not supposed to be like this,' he rests his head on Fuschia's shoulder while grabbing Fuschia's arm tightly. “How… how can you know?”

Fuschia smelled the man's neck. It smelled damp like the smell of earth after heavy rain. Not the type of fragrance that her nose likes, however, it brings her peace. “Because you… are definitely different from him,”

"But I resemble him,"

Fuschia scoffed. "I know. You really resemble him physically, but you guys are so different. That's why I know."

“You… know about the potion, right?” He looks surprised as he stares at her deep oceanic blue eyes. Like looking for the truth from those clear eyes. “But… how?” his question trailed off.

'Because in the past, you couldn't tell us apart at all, until you… eugh-' he grunted internally as he reminisced about his past life.

***

Before being thrown into prison, he

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