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6:30 flashed on the clock beside the unkempt bed.
The blinds were drawn closed with a heap of clothing beside the bedroom door. It wasn't particularly bright out yet there was enough light to see without any help.
Merlin curled more into himself under the large Blue winter blanket. His scraggly beard was uncapped just as his bed was and getting rather itchy, he needed a bit of a trim.
There was red everywhere,
Silver was covered by Red,
Blue was covered by Grey.
The clock beside the young hemp to bed blared deafeningly. It was 6:40 now.
Merlin didn't move his body, staying limp under the blankets. A book floated off the dresser's surface, slamming onto the loud clock across the room.
There was no more gold,
Only another funeral.
6:45 flashed on the silenced clock.
The blinds Drew open lighting in the light grey sky. Camelot used to be full of Sunny days, though, no one alive knew that. Merlin slowly sat up, still in his bed, beard and needing a trim. He stared at the green pot across the room and before his golden eyes strawberries bloomed. Sign, Merlin got up from his bed just as slowly as he had sat up. The news forecast clicked on, and Merlin went to the sink.
He was a God thing, always had been, though Merlin had not treated his body kindly throughout the centuries. There was no perceivable need to, his friends and loved ones would not wake. None of his begging and pleading had reached them in their relocated home on the other side of Avalon.
Red turn from fear to pride to pain-
Merlin brushes teeth and washed his mouth but did not attempt to groom his hair. There was no one here he cared to impress. The world had adapted fine without magic. Enoch came at the front door, Merlin did not answer it.
The magic user did not eat breakfast.
Merlin dressed in society approved clothes and hooked his leather messenger bag over his shoulder. The forecast warned of rain again and soon. A pot of coffee was poured steaming and almost too hot to the touch. Everything in Merlin's house had a thin layer of dust coating it. The forecast was turned off, there was nothing new.
The clock flashed 8:42 has Merlin left the house and the front door locked behind him.
The sky was a brighter grey than earlier, clouds lackadaisically swirling with old stories. The concrete was damp, still a grey color.
Everything around Merlin felt grey.
Even the grass is a sickly yellow-grey to him.
For hours, Merlin wanted his way through concrete streets, passing by a world moving on without him and his. A woman with her hair curled was drinking a caffeinated coffee as she scrolled on her small electronic tablet. Merlin passed on by a man who was unwrapping his breakfast from his plastic encasement.
For what felt like no time at all and simultaneously like forever, Merlin walked.
By the time Merlin came to a stop, he was in a forest preserve, a no-name pastor by modern society's memory. To Merlin's memory, something much older and more vast, however... It was the place he was raised in. Nature had reclaimed his hometown, a crossroads Village that went by the name of Ealdor. The unnamed forest was the grave of his mother, his first home, and his first best friend.
Merlin was tired of waiting, everything felt so grey