Memories of Sand

Hello! EB here with a new experimental AU story. Why is it experimental? Because it has very little to do with the Kyou Kara Maou world and mythology – only the very basics. This is a plot that has been bouncing around in my head for a while.

I wanted to post the first couple chapters and see how you all like it and depending on your response, I'll decide if I should continue or not. So it is very important that you leave a review. The continuation of this story is dependent on how many people are actually interested in seeing how it ends.

Synopsis: Wolfram has spent his entire life in poverty, living hand to mouth, using whatever means to survive. He thinks this is his lot in life but a visit from a raven haired man in glasses changes everything and he realizes it was all a lie.

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The fact that he was tossed into a puddle of mud only added to Wolfram's ire.

"Get out and stay out!" The elderly, but very strong, innkeeper bellowed at the tattered young demon who kept propositioning his customers.

"This is an honorable establishment!" The man hissed as Wolfram slowly pushed himself up to glare back at the innkeeper. "I don't want little chits like you ruining my reputation!"

"It's a damned inn!" Wolfram shot back. "You'd get more business if you let me hang around and lure people!"

"I don't want no diseased, stinking whores on my doorstep!" The Innkeeper shot over his shoulder as he stomped back into the building. "Much less of all you!"

The Innkeeper finished his statement with a violent slam of the door, leaving Wolfram out in the cold and filth with the other vermin who lurked in Shin Makoku's alleyways.

The young demon sighed and vainly fixed his worn and dirty clothes to maintain some dignity – what little dignity could be maintained for a street rat like himself.

"Won't be going there anymore," he mumbled to himself as he joined the throngs of people meandering down the market street. He had just lost his best "fishing spot" as the others called it. It had the best access to more affluent clients, which meant more money for food and maybe some shelter for the night. Now he would have to search elsewhere for his income.

Wolfram made sure to pull the headband over the right side of his face – his "bad side" as he walked into the bright afternoon sun and made his way down the main street, looking for pockets to pick. He tried to avoid stealing for moral and legal reasons, but when he couldn't find any clients, it was his only means of support.

His hands ghosted expertly over the unsuspecting crowds that crammed the capital's market streets. Vendors calling out their wares to rapt customers were a sharp sound over the hustle and bustle of the citizens as they went about their daily business.

No one paid the young man any attention. His features were far softer and fairer than the typical thief. His eyes were hard, but still held a strange innocence about them that was disarming to anyone who looked upon them. It was perfect for getting up close to his targets and robbing them of their small trinkets and coins and no one ever thought to tell the local soldiers about any mysterious beautiful blonde men skulking about.

With years of practice and wisdom learned from errors, Wolfram weaved in and out of the throng. Barely an afterthought to the busy minded peasants. He pulled his thinning cloak tighter about his shoulders to hide his small prizes until he ducked away from the flow of people into an alleyway to examine his modest haul.

He smiled triumphantly when he opened his hand to reveal the brass pocket watch. The artisanship was impressive – though not garish like the pocket watches of the aristocracy – but well made and definitely worth a good bit of money. He could pawn this off for a good price at the black market.

A great commotion sounded behind Wolfram.

"Augh! Thief! Thief! I've been robbed!"

Wolfram didn't bother to look back at the old man he had just stolen the watch from. The old coot shouldn't have been walking in a very crowded street with the chain visibly draped from his pocket in a shallow attempt to mimic the upper class.

Wolfram ignored the man's outraged shouts and the concerned murmurs of the people nearby and made his way down the alley to cash in on his haul.

The narrow alleyways that made up the black market of the capital were teaming with the filth of society. Pimps dragged their whores behind them on worn ropes, thieves disguised as honest sellers hawked their wares to passersby, the poorest of the poor meekly darted in and out of the crowds search for the cheapest supplies for their families and Wolfram melted seamlessly into the fray heading towards his favorite pawn shop down at the very end of the street – Mark's.

Mark's pawn ship was little more than a short dead-end alley that had been fastened to look like a stout building wedged between two brothels. A crude faded sign named the place and welcomed all customers and clients to the facility. Tattered red curtains framed the windows in a perverse emulation of sophistication was all so pretentious in this place and yet so like Mark, the braggadocio owner.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite client!" Mark bellowed from his stool behind the counter as Wolfram sauntered in, fully confident of the new piece he had to sell to the picky pawner.

"Mark," Wolfram said smoothly, letting his voice drop into a sultry purr that always got under Mark's skin in the very best way.

"I swear, you get me going every time," Mark growled, giving Wolfram a once over. Wolfram responded by swaying his hips just a little more, accentuating his slim figure for Mark's enjoyment. However, Wolfram noticed that his gaze veered away from the "bad side" of his face. Besides, Mark didn't really care about a face as long as the body that went with it was desirable.

"Whaddya got for me today, Wolfie?" Mark said as Wolfram reached the counter.

Wolfram didn't bother to hide the sneer at the obnoxious nickname the pawner gave him. He absolutely abhorred being called "Wolfie" and yet Mark seemed to do it just to grate on him.

Reaching into his pocket, Wolfram produced the brass watch and chain, he grew hopeful when Mark's eyes appraised the piece in interest.

"Got this from an old man in the square," Wolfram explained. Mark didn't care how his clients got their stuff, he just cared for the value. "It's fine brass, the craftsmanship is clearly for the aristocracy, and it works too."

"Let's take a look-see," Mark mumbled, watching the clock drop into his hand.

Wolfram watched in silence and Mark examined the watch more closely, looking for any scratches or imperfections in the case and any malfunctions in the clock face. He had been through this process so many times that he knew Mark would fight him tooth and nail for a low price, but Wolfram was smart and he could figure the value of the watch – it would always be worth more than what Mark wanted to pay, no matter what small blemish the man found on it.

"Twenty quid," Mark announced after a brief moment. He started his bid low.

Wolfram started his bid high. "It's worth at least fifty – you know that. The watch you got over there is listed for sixty and it isn't nearly as fine as this."

"That's an antique," Mark countered. "Still worth more than this. It's got a big scratch on the brass. Take a look."

Wolfram humored Mark by looking where a calloused finger pointed on the backside of the watch. There was a miniscule scratch. But nothing that warranted the depreciated value that Mark suggested.

"Forty-five…." Wolfram amended.

"Thirty."

"Forty..." Wolfram leaned forward to tuck a piece of Mark's dark hair with a knowing smile. "And I might come see you later…"

The lascivious smile split Mark's face in half. In addition to buying stolen goods from Wolfram he was also one of the demon's "regulars."

"With a discount?" he smiled hopefully, running a rough thumb over Wolfram's bottom lip.

"Maybe." Wolfram purred. "If you do me good this time."

"I always do!"

'Yeah, right…" Wolfram thought dryly, briefly contemplating if he should charge his customers more for making him fake it every time.

Their seduction was cut off by a blast from several horns outside the shop. The sound was so loud that it carried over from the main street and into the black market alley.

"Goddamn it!" Mark groaned. "I'm getting really sick of their bullocks! Do we really need to know every single damned time a fat cat meanders through the main streets and fucks up traffic for an hour?"

"They think we do," Wolfram said with a smirk, though he too was annoyed by the constant blowing from the horn that announced the arrival of Shin Makoku's allies.

"Can't wait for the wedding," Mark said. "Then they'll all go home and we'll have some darned peace and quiet!"

Wolfram grunted noncommittally and shoved the forty quid from Mark into his pocket. That would be enough to support him till the end of the month if he was careful.

"I'll be seein' you tonight then?" Mark grinned.

Wolfram indulged him with a flirtatious wink. "You know where to find me."

Mark let out a boisterous laugh. "Ah yes! Little Lord Wolfram of Truffle and Dobson!" He guffawed, referring the street corner Wolfram called home.

"You bet," and with that, Wolfram was quickly out of the door before Mark could see the disgusted shudder ripple through his body.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram shoved his way through the even more congested streets, making his way to the nearest pub for some dinner and a beer. The crowds pressed in from all sides as they made space for the large caravan of carriages, carts and soldiers.

Wolfram sighed in irritation. This had been going on for weeks now. Every few days a nobleman or woman from some Podunk country would arrive the city for the upcoming wedding of the young demon king. Ever since the announcement had been made to the joyous crowds of the marriage of King Yuuri and that king from some country Wolfram didn't know or care about, Shin Makoku had turned into a conglomerate of the rich and powerful all there to rub shoulders with the king and impress the new Consort.

"Make way! Make way!" shouted the caller leading the caravan. "Make way for the Demon King Yuuri Shibuya and the future Prince Consort Saralegui of Shou Cimarron!"

As if it were even possible, the crowd pressed together even more. Wolfram was suffocated under the pressure from all sides as peasants crushed in and fought for a chance for the rare sighting of their king.

Yes, Wolfram couldn't wait until this was all over. Rumor had it that the ceremony would take place within a few weeks and he was counting the days till then. He hated the big crowds and increased traffic that clogged the streets. It was too noisy and unpleasant with all the increased pushing, shoving and shouting that occurred whenever there was a big event. He hated it when royals visited the capital. The only saving grace was that it meant there were more out-of-towners he could steal from.

The caravan finally passed by and the crowd was allowed to spread out and move. Wolfram pushed his away impatiently through the throngs of people and headed toward his usual haunt.

The air in the pub was heavy with the smell of roasting meat and soot from the kitchen. The dozen or so tables were sparsely occupied with a few ruffians. Wolfram was glad he had made it before the dinner rush. He would get the best of the food and drink then before it was all gobbled up by the day laborers.

He sat at the chipped bar and waved a barwench over. Within minutes he had a big mug of beer and a plate of roasted meat and bread. With a flourish of someone with more wealth than he had, he dropped a few coins into the waiting hands of the wench who just shrugged and went about her business.

Not having had a good meal in days, Wolfram scarfed down the food and washed it down with the beer. He hacked at the burning sensation, but went back to gulping it down, so very happy to finally have decent food in him.

He was so engrossed in eating that he didn't notice that the mostly empty bar had a new visitor. This visitor focused in on the young demon and made a beeline for the stool at Wolfram's right.

Wolfram only registered the new presence long enough to feel irritation as to why someone would sit next to him when they had the entire bar to themselves. He didn't like being crowded and he set down his empty mug and meant to leave the pub.

"Well, someone's got a healthy appetite…"

Wolfram had been propositioned and molested at this bar many times. Mostly from grungy fiefs looking for a quick lay and Wolfram was an easy target, he supposed. He had learned to either ignore them or seduce them long enough to steal their precious coins, but today, he wasn't in the mood for cheesy pick-ups and gross men.

However, it was the stranger's voice that caught his attention. It was too aristocratic and proper to be the lazy pidgin spoken by the common folk. Wolfram himself had been made fun of for his "posh talk" not understanding why he didn't have the slang or accents of his peers, but the educated speech of someone much higher class then he. Honestly, he had to make an effort to speak more "normal" so as to not put off his clients.

Wolfram said nothing to the man, didn't even look at him, hoping that this would convey his message clearly.

But the man wasn't getting the hint. "You come here often?"

Wolfram rolled his eyes. He had heard that a thousand times.

"No," he said curtly. "I just came for the food."

"I can see that," said the man.

Wolfram heard the man shift on his seat to turn to face him fully. He still didn't look at the man.

"I've been looking for you for a very long time."

This time, Wolfram did deign to acknowledge the stranger. Mildly disturbed, he turned to the man.

He wasn't remarkably handsome. He had dark eyes framed by spectacles, hair blond as Wolfram's framed his face. He had a strange smile upon his face as he watched Wolfram stare at him. It was a smile that hinted at knowing more than it gave away.

"For me?" Wolfram asked, voice laced with suspicion. His free hand gently fingered the short dagger hidden under his robe, ready for any threat. "Have we met before?"

The odd smile grew. "You could say that. We were quite well acquainted."

Wolfram opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by yet another obnoxious blast from the horns.

The man simply chuckled and turned to watch the crowd part of the long procession outside the pub door.

Over the top of the crowd, Wolfram could see the colorful banners and streamers tied to flag poles and the roofs of the carriages that passed them by.

"More and more come every day," The man beside him muttered.

Wolfram nodded, fixated on the procession of colors. He couldn't make out what the caller was saying over the noise of the crowd. However, it was the same old make way speech that every caller repeated obnoxiously during the procession.

"Do you ever feel like you should be among them?" The man asked Wolfram suddenly, an unperceivable look in his eyes.

"No," Wolfram answered bluntly. "Never."

"Really?" said the man. "Don't you feel like it should be you in that gilded carriage, waving as the common folk bow down to you?"

"No, I don't," Wolfram said irritably. What was this man's issue? "Such things are for little girls."

"Not necessarily," replied the man smoothly, not at all bothered by Wolfram's curt replies. "You are the type that is meant for greater things….much greater than life on the streets."

"Is this your weird way of propositioning me, sir?" Wolfram asked in a huff, growing tired of the man's cryptic words.

"No, not at all!" The man said quickly, waving his hands dismissively. "I am merely pointing out the fact that you don't carry yourself like a common street rat. You possess the dignity of someone born into royalty."

This time, Wolfram had to laugh. "Are you serious? What were you drinking back there? I'm no different from the other filthy whores and thieves that sneak around these parts. You're mistaken!"

"I don't think so," Wolfram was suddenly frozen by the piercing stare of the mysterious man. He noticed for the first time that the man possessed the blackest eyes he had ever seen. Such eyes were unheard of.

The man held Wolfram prisoner with his stare as he continued. "You are descended from greatness. It should be you in that procession."

"What are you-"

But the man disappeared as suddenly as he had come. Wolfram spun around and sputtered, looking into the crowd for the location of the mysterious stranger. He found himself alone in the cheering crowd, left to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing after all.

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King Yuuri Shibuya of the Great Demon Kingdom leaned out of his carriage to wave at the adoring crowd, much to the chagrin of the other occupant.

"Yuuri, try to maintain some decorum!" the other man scolded, though it was half-hearted.

"I'm only greeting the masses, my dear," Yuuri said cheerfully. "They took the time to come see me after all."

"But you shouldn't wave like a lunatic!" the blonde man said in a huff. "Honestly, after four years as king, one would think you would have learned proper public behavior!"

"Don't be so uptight, Sara," Yuuri pouted. "This is supposed to be a time of joy! We're getting married!"

Sara couldn't help but smile a little. "Yes, we are."

Their romance had been the talk of the century. King Yuuri of the Demon Kingdom traveled to the small country of Shou Cimarron and fell madly in love with its young beautiful King Saralegui. The two began a whirlwind romance that was the topic of every minstrel's repertoire in addition to King Yuuri's benevolence and Saralegui's immeasurable beauty. Truly, they were the couple of the hour across the great continent.

"But that doesn't mean you can just wave like a hoodlum and nearly fall out the window!" Sara added when Yuuri leaned even further out of the window.

"Sara, calm down. I'm not going to – ah!"

Sara leaped from his perch to catch his clumsy fiancé by the jacket as Yuuri lost his balance and the upper half of his body slid out of the window. The crowd responded with enthusiastic yells at finally getting a better look at their sovereign. Yuuri tried to maintain his composure and waved good-naturedly as his frazzled lover pulled him back into the carriage.

"See?" Sara hissed. "I said be careful!"

"That was…new!" Yuuri chirped, not at all bothered by the incident. "They liked it."

Sara shook his head. "Oh, Yuuri!"

Yuuri only grinned and continued to watch the crowds of people move past as they made their way to the palace. He loved these tours of the capital. He enjoyed seeing the faces of his subjects and getting the chance to interact with them. When he did this, he felt closer to his kingdom and it gave his role as king new purpose. He loved that he could share in the joy of marrying his true love with his people and that they supported him.

Something caught Yuuri's eye in the crowd. He paused to look a little closer to see that it wasn't an object, but someone's golden blond hair. A very beautiful someone who didn't look like he belonged among the rough common folk. This young man carried himself with a dignity that Yuuri only saw among the nobility. But this young man looked like nothing more than a street urchin. He was certainly dressed like one; his clothes were little more than rags.

It was his eyes and hair that demanded attention – or really, his one eye as the other was covered by a dirty bandana wrapped tightly around his head. But it was the greenest eye framed by the blondest hair Yuuri had ever seen. It was breath taking.

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri was jolted from his thoughts by the sharp voice of his fiancé. He suddenly felt guilty for staring at another man while his lover was present. He had no idea what had come over him.

"Yes, Sara?"

Sara gestured towards the front of the carriage. "We're almost here. Get yourself ready. I believe one of our guests arrived while we were out."

"Oh, yay…" Yuuri groaned. Every day for the past month they had been forced to host a reception for every single wedding guest that came through their gates. It was starting to get really bothersome to the easily bored monarch.

"I hope Gunter remembered to set up the reception room, because I didn't."

"Like usual," said Sara with an eye roll. "I'm sure he has everything all prepared."

"I bet he does," Yuuri said and settled back to enjoy the remainder of their ride.

"Hey, Sara?" Yuuri said after a couple minutes of silence. The noise of the crowd had died down enough for them to speak without nearly shouting.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Sara asked.

Yuuri leaned over and gave Sara a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

Sara smiled back and turned to make Yuuri give him a real kiss. "I love you, my king."

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The streets were quiet this evening. Wolfram wondered if it had to do with the procession earlier that day. He tried to shake the image of the king nearly falling out of his carriage from his mind as he concentrated on finding himself a client for the night.

Wolfram couldn't help but chuckle as the memory pushed its way into his vision anyhow. He had heard that King Yuuri was a bit clumsy, but he never thought he would see it with his own eyes. The sight of the king being pulled back into the carriage by his frazzled fiancé after nearly falling to the ground was priceless and Wolfram would cherish the funny image for the rest of his meager life.

Wolfram was absolutely charmed by the king's antics. He was nothing like the uptight nobility that looked down on the common folk. It was surprising and refreshing to see someone of such high regard greeting his subjects so warmly, even if it was a little unrefined. Wolfram liked that and he wondered if he would get to see the king again.

Wolfram's thoughts drifted over the sight of the king sticking his head out and waving at the crowd. King Yuuri was certainly very handsome with his unusual black hair and eyes – a subject that many people gossiped about daily. No one knew exactly where the king had come from, only that he had been chosen by Divine rule. But the king's unusual features and coloring made him very exotic and Wolfram had seen many a youth and young girl spend ridiculous amounts of money to dye their hair and tan their skin to look more like the attractive monarch.

Wolfram sighed and leaned against the street pole. He wouldn't mind catering to someone like the king. It would be a nice change from the unwashed vagabonds and crusty old men that frequented Wolfram's small abode. He would even go so far as to guess that the king looked like he would be a gentleman in bed. Wolfram would like one of those once in a while.

Wolfram's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the obnoxious sound of the other prostitutes flirting with a potential client. He only picked up bits and pieces of their conversation. It was the same drivel of empty compliments, double entendres, and price negotiating that made up the majority of these conversations. Wolfram rarely took part in them because his client pool was very specific – it consisted of the men too poor to afford the unscarred prostitutes and those who got a kick out of rutting a down-on-his-luck, disfigured and bitter young man. They usually came to him with little enticement.

The conversation suddenly stopped and Wolfram looked over curiously at the two women. They were looking at a nicely dressed man with shocked expressions…before looking over at him with disgust.

Wolfram stood up straight and faced them head on. He wouldn't be intimidated by their disdain. He may have been the cheapest lay on Truffle and Dobson, but he still had his dignity.

"You want him?" one of the girls said, a pretty auburn haired girl named Sue that Wolfram tended to get into altercations with on a regular basis. Wolfram didn't miss the barely contained repulsion in her voice and the rude way she jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm looking for him specifically," replied the man smoothly and turned to Wolfram with a wry smile.

Wolfram was shocked. This was the strange man from earlier! How had he found this place! He didn't strike Wolfram as someone who picked up whores on street corners at night – quite the opposite. He looked like a well to do man that could easily afford a mistress of high caliber, not streetwalkers.

"Are you sure you be wanting him, sir?" said the other girl, Holly, a blond trollop new to the business and Sue's little protégé. Though not as bad as Sue, Wolfram found her to be way too hyper and clumsy when it came to seduction. "He services the riffraff that Sue an' I throw aside! He'll take anyone. He probably got a ton of diseases!"

"I am well aware of the risks of partaking in prostitution," said the man. "And I am sure you lovely ladies are of the highest quality of professionals in your field. However, I must decline and settle for Lord Wolfram over there."

"You're settlin' for a case o'da worms, sir," said Sue with a disgusted sneer.

Wolfram was getting angry. He probably took more care in his health and hygiene than any of these women! He always set aside enough money for a quick trip to the pubic bathhouses once a week so he would always be clean and disease-free for his clients. He would bet that none of these girls bathed as frequently! They only dipped old cloths in the public fountains and scrubbed off with those. Hardly a proper bath!

"I'm sure Wolfram is well-versed in safe sex practices," the man said with a smile and winked at Wolfram. The blonde demon just snorted and continued to watch the exchange.

"Pfff, he's well-versed in things that no self-respectin' whore would ever agree to!" snorted Holly. "But it's your funeral, sir! I jus' wish you'd not be so adamant."

Wolfram was about to leave his post and give that bitch a piece of his mind, but the man replied – rather loudly.

"Then he's absolutely perfect! I'll take him!"

The man spun on his heel and left the flabbergasted girls behind without a second glance. He walked up to Wolfram with great bravado and boldly grabbed Wolfram's hand and kissed it as if she were a fine lady and not a hooker.

"Good evening, Lord Wolfram!" the man grinned. "I am in need of your company tonight. Would you indulge a weary traveler and invite me to your humble abode?"

Wolfram stammered for a minute, not really sure of how to respond. He looked back up at the girls who were giving him the stink eye from behind the man.

"Yeah….I can indulge you for the night," Wolfram said hesitantly. Money was money, right? And the man wasn't ugly – rather easy on the eyes now that Wolfram had a better look at him and judging by his clothes, he was better off than Wolfram's usual clients. It wouldn't be a bad deal.

"Lead the way!" the man said with a grand sweeping gesture. Wolfram resisted the urge to roll his eyes and lead the man to the little hole in the wall he called his home.

It was a single room hovel in the side of an abandoned building that was home to many of the city's prostitutes. Truffle and Dobson were known at the sex streets in Shin Makoku's dark underbelly. It was far way from "upstanding citizens" and its dozens of rotting houses and taverns were perfect for the city's sexual deviants to practice their pleasures in peace.

Wolfram kicked open the door with little ceremony as he mentally prepared himself for a night of sexual release. He found no pleasure in this line of work. It was a last ditch effort to support himself and lessen the extreme poverty that was his daily life. He needed to take a hit of opiates before he could perform for his clients to numb the feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing that usually followed. He could usually get his clients to take some of the drug as well. It made them more cooperative and lessened the chances of them turning violent.

"Soooo…" He drawled, kneeling down to retrieve the opium and a pipe from a small wooden box next to the cot he called a bed. "Anything specific in mind you be wanting?"

The man watched him silently with a look of both pity and repugnance for the drug paraphernalia Wolfram was arranging on the bed. Wolfram ignored the disapproving look and inwardly groaned. He really didn't want this guy to be one of those self-righteous posh people who wanted to "save him." He didn't really need one of those and they always dropped their hero façade when he worked them with his mouth and hands.

"Want some? It's complimentary," He said, handing the man an extra pipe.

"No, thank you," said the man flatly. "I've never understood the appeal of opium."

Wolfram snorted. "Whatever, then. It helps loosen you up…especially if it's your first time doing this sort of thing."

"Do you always smoke opium?" The man asked. Wolfram detected concern in his voice and it was starting to tick him off.

"Everyone smokes opium," Wolfram said with a shrug. What was this man's deal? "I've never met anyone who didn't."

"I asked if you always smoked it," the man interjected with a frown. "It's not good for you."

"Yeah, I do. So what?" Wolfram said, letting his annoyance show. "What are you after? Are you here to rut or did you come all this way so you can talk down to me? Because I have other things to do."

"I apologize," the man said gently. "I was just curious…."

"Sure you were," Wolfram sniffed and lit his pipe. The two stood in awkward silence for a while. Wolfram watched the man through the bluish wisps of smoke as he waited for the high to overcome him. The man looked everywhere except at Wolfram, clearly uncomfortable with witnessing someone taking drugs right in front of him with no shame.

Tired of the silence and the man's judgmental stare, Wolfram spoke up.

"Okay, so is there anything in particular you want me to do or are you just gonna stand there all night? 'Cause I can't make money if you're just gonna waste my time."

"Is it true?" The man asked, waving a stray billow of smoke out of his face.

"Is what true?" Wolfram said irritably.

"That you'll do things no self-respecting whore would do?" The man clarified with an unreadable smirk.

"It depends on what it is," Wolfram replied nonchalantly. "And how much money you got."

"Fair enough," said the man. "I have an unusual proposal for you. "

Wolfram's interest was piqued. "What?"

The man suddenly became very serious and pinned Wolfram in place with his intense black gaze. "First, you must answer something for me."

Wolfram took a step back. "Like what?"

The man sighed in frustration. "I…don't know how to say this without sounding insane. But, what if I told you that this-" He made a sweeping gesture to the spartan room and Wolfram's bad life choices. " – was not meant for you? What if I told you that you were – and are – something more?"

"Then you'd be confirming my earlier assumption that you are a loony," Wolfram said with a sharp bark of a laugh. "I've always been here. Ain't nothing gonna change."

"Yes…I understand that it is inconceivable," the man said quickly. He stepped closer to Wolfram and the young man was struck by the sharpness of his eyes behind the big spectacles. "What is your name?"

Wolfram scoffed, bemused and annoyed at the man's antics. "It's Wolfram. You know that…though I don't know how."

"No surname?"

"Sur-what?"

"You don't have a last name?" The man explained. "No Family?"

"No, I don't. Don't got none of those things," Wolfram said. "What do you want from me?"

"Do you remember anything beyond the past four years?" The man asked suddenly. He was starting to scare Wolfram. He was becoming more and more agitated and the prostitute fingered the hidden knife in his pocket.

"What the hell are you getting at?!" Wolfram blurted. He slipped his hand into his pocket to grasp at the knife. "It ain't your business!"

The man reached into his pocket and tossed Wolfram a small bag. He let it fall to the ground, eyeing it suspiciously before bending over – not taking his eyes off the man – to pick it up. He opened it and gasped when he saw the shiny gold coins.

"If you tell me everything about your life. If you help me, " the man said. "I will give you another bag."

Wolfram just stared at the man in confusion. He found himself wishing it had just been another normal night with some grungy old laborer with four teeth and not this!

"What the hell?" he scoffed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I've been looking for you for the past four years and I can't do anything without you!" the man said, watching, and waiting, for Wolfram's next move like he expected him to do or say something profound.

"Are you dead serious?" Wolfram shouted. "You think I'm someone you're looking for?"

"I know you are the one I'm looking for," the man said emphatically. "But I must know how badly you've been affected by the spell."

"The hell, man?" Wolfram was ready to punch this guy. "What spell? No wonder you didn't wan the opium! You're already on something! Who the hell are you?!"

The man stopped, suddenly realizing he'd gone about this the wrong way. With a long suffering groan, he just outright said it.

"I am Murata Ken. I'm the Great Sage of the Demon Kingdom and I've been in hiding for four years, trying to find a way to break the spell that has fallen over the entire kingdom. I can't use my magic or I'll be found out and killed. I've been on the run and I need you to help me break the spell and save the kingdom."

The man, Murata Ken, pointed a finger at Wolfram's stunned face.

"And you! You are Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld, third son of the 26th Demon Queen Cecilie von Spitzweg, heir to the Bielefeld family, and the real fiancé of the 27th Demon King Yuuri Shibuya. You are the key to saving the kingdom from the tyranny of King Saralegui of Shou Cimarron, who plans to use the demon king's power to destroy Dai Cimarron and plunge the entire continent into war for his own gain!"

"Get the hell outta my flat!" Wolfram suddenly shouted. Something inside him snapped. It was a psychological knee jerk reaction that told him he should get this man out of his flat as quickly as possible.

"W-what?" Murata stuttered and then he quickly recovered. "I know this is crazy. But you have to believe me!"

"I believe that you are a complete lunatic who needs to get the hell out my place!" Wolfram spat, brandishing the opium pipe like a sword.

"Are you sure about that?" Murata persisted. "Think about it! Haven't you felt like you were in the wrong place? Like this wasn't what your life was meant to be? You've been under a spell for four years that erased your memory. But I can help you get it back!"

Wolfram stared wide-eyed at the man. His words struck a chord in the street rat that hinted to a terrible truth that he never wanted to face.

He had no memories.

Murata took the stunned silence as confirmation. "You know that, don't you? I speak the truth. You are the heir to one of the most powerful aristocratic families in the country. You are the rightful Prince Consort to the Demon King!"

"Lies!"

"What is a lie, Lord Wolfram, is you walking the streets and selling your body like it's a cheap piece of meat and smoking opiates! You are better than this!" Murata shouted back. He was clearly not giving up without a fight.

"No, it isn't!" Wolfram cried out, suddenly overcome with despair. "This is my lot in life! This is my home. I know nothing else. I've always been a thief and a whore for pay! You made a mistake!"

"No, I haven't!" Murata shouted back, determined to get through to the demon. "You are the one who is mistaken! The life that you have known was conjured by a powerful and manipulative sorcerer who wanted everything you had and stopped at nothing until he stole it from you!"

"You mean King Saralegui?" Wolfram scoffed in disbelief. "The king of Shou Cimarron and fiancé to King Yuuri of the Demon Kingdom!? Why would he want what I have? I have nothing!"

"You once had everything!" Murata Ken said. "And Saralegui hated you for it. He hated you more than anyone for what you had."

"What did I have?" Wolfram asked. His tone was meant to be mocking, but both could hear the slight tinge of fear and hope underneath the sarcasm.

"You had power and wealth," Murata began slowly. "But more importantly, you had the love of King Yuuri, the greatest monarch to ever rule Shin Makoku. Saralegui wanted Yuuri for himself, but you were in the way, so he got rid of you."

Wolfram just couldn't wrap his mind around it. The man in front of him was clearly insane and Wolfram didn't know why he was letting this Murata bloke ramble on and waste his time when he should kick him out. But Murata had touched on a nerve inside the blonde demon and Wolfram couldn't let him go just yet.

"If he hated so much, why didn't he kill me?" Wolfram asked barely above a whisper.

Murata frowned and his black eyes flashed in anger.

"Because watching you go from wealth and success to a wretch, who sells himself to survive only to die early from disease and starvation, was much more satisfying than killing you. That's how much Saralegui hates you."

Wolfram was quiet. It was too much. There was no possible way in hell that this crazy man's claims could be true. Wolfram was and always had been a street rat and he would die was one. Just like all the others that lived on Dobson. Only his fleas would mourn his death.

And yet, it would explain so much. It would explain why he couldn't remember his life beyond waking up in a ditch beside the road. This could be the answer he was looking for and had given up on so long ago.

Wolfram shook his head roughly. No, no! It was impossible! He shouldn't be toying with the fantastical ideas of a raving lunatic standing in his flat!

"This is ridiculous! I shouldn't even be humoring you!" Wolfram jabbed a finger at the door. "You need to leave right now! I don't wanna see you around these parts again!"

Murata Ken looked frustrated. "Lord Wolfra-"

"Stop calling me that!" Wolfram spat. "I ain't no one's lord! You don't come here and fill my head with these stupid stories! How dumb do you think I am!? Now get!"

Murata deflated. He gave a heavy sigh and looked at Wolfram with pity and sadness. Giving up, he slowly turned towards the door, but as he opened it to got out into the night, He turned to speak one last time.

"I will leave you for now, Lord Wolfram. However, I beg you to try and think back as far as you can. Can you remember your childhood? Your family? Where you grew up? Can you remember a time when you weren't the way you are? If you can, come find me. I will be at the Swallow Inn on Main Street. I will wait for as long as it takes."

"Don't hold your breath!" Wolfram snapped. "Now leave before I cut you!"

Murata sighed again and let himself out. Wolfram glared at the closed door for a long time before collapsing onto his cot in exhaustion.

Murata took out another little sack of gold coins and tossed it at Wolfram, who deftly caught it this time. "You won't lose any income. I'll pay you for however long it takes. Just think about it. Consider that and the other one a down payment."

Without waiting for a response, Murata left and shut the door behind himself, leaving Wolfram alone with his thoughts and more money than he had ever made in a week.

Wolfram fixed himself another hit of opium. He would need some help getting rest this night and tried to shake the weird urge to follow the man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hello, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my new story!

This fic was inspired by the one-shot KKM fan fiction Shallow Insight by Popkat and an old episode of Aladdin; The Animated Series. If you haven't read Shallow Insight already, please check it out, it's very good!

I had to make Wolfram slightly OOC for this story because he's been living among the common people and thinks he's one of them, so I had to change his speech patterns a little to be more like someone who lives in a rough neighborhood. I didn't change his personality, I just wanted him to be more street-like in his conduct.

Once again, this story is very experimental and outside my usual story-types. The continuation of this fic really depends on whether or not you, my readers, think it's worth completing. So it is very important that you leave a brief review