Categories wip

ATOM: A Cruel Taste of Desire – I

Lord Vern’ese couldn’t stop a deep creeping fear.

Lorian was sitting by the ornamental desk, both of them in his audience room. His pose relaxed, showing no sign of anger – but in his eyes, a deadly amusement, which promised worst scenarios.

After all, his wife was captured by the palace guard, with a sentence of a treason. How long would it take for Lorian, to spread this over him, his family? He knew, deep under his skin, that Astra did a deadly mistake trying to pull cords of that slave woman.

Lorian was always patient, waiting to give most harmful blow, even if it took more time, never reacted by a whim; and Vern’ese knew what he is capable of.

Lorian leaned in his seat, his one leg on his knee.

“We are living in intriguing times, Kolerial” he mused, still piercing him with his black gaze. “New lands were added to Ain’asel. Some of the still opposing races may think our realm is unbalanced… and weak. If we allow disrupting the state of things.”

“I tried to stop her, Your Majesty” Lord Vern’ese tried his last mean. “Surely someone had to manipulate her. I never seen her craving for the throne before. I swear, I would stop that much sooner if I saw that a danger for Ain’asel.”

Lorian rised a brow, his smile kind, but his tone cold as ice.

“Please, do not insult my intelligence, Kolerial. I know each word your wife uttered. None of these words were manipulated, more even! She deeply enjoyed speaking them aloud.”

Vern’ese knew this of course. He heard Astra. Passion, deadly and almost unhealhy.

“I am sure such a noble lord as you knows the gravity of admission. Astra refuses to aknowledge her wrongs” Lorian tapped his knee with a finger. “And I do not plan to bother to… convince her to do so.”

He felt Kolerial’s thoughts, frantic, desperate… fearful. Wondering how to protect himself from punishment. Ah, the fairy kind… so selfish…

“You though, surely aknowledge all of yours” his grin became predatory. “Your house became a source of dangerous ideas. Yet I know that you didn’t participate, more even, you remained… stubbornly faithful.”

Vern’ese felt as fear slithers deeper. Why he is here then? He knew everything. That human woman was closer to him, that he ever would guess. She told him. All.

“Your Majesty—”

“We are in the impass, Kolerial. Someone like your wife isn’t well seen dying out of treason. It lowers faith in nobility and digs a hole under powerful families. One of which she sadly, also represents.”

Vern’ese was silent. He knew that nothing he can say will speak on Astra’s behalf.

“I am giving her a chance of a peaceful death” Lorian continued, mercilessly, his shadows dancing around him, slowly, like in trance. “I am sure that public executions are… enjoyable, but I do not like making an entertaiment show from someone’s pain. Silent ones… have certain calmth and beauty to them.”

“Why I am here, Your Majesty? If… you know I never spoke against you or Ain’Dal line?

Lorian chuckled. Vern’ese skin crept. Who laughs sentencing someone to death?

“I thought that we did agree that your innocence is slightly questionable. A good noble – and I am assured that you are one – would help his wife and told me long ago. That way, she would be stopped earlier – and do not sink deeper into treason.”

“How could I…” Kolerial’s eyes opened a bit wider.

“But now, we are truly in trouble. How can I trust you? How can I still share my palace with you, if I know that you hide important informations?”

Lord Vern’erse knew where this all is going. Lorian knew him all too well.

“Will you ask for my life as well, Your Majesty?” he looked just into Lorian’s pitch black eyes.

“You forget one thing, Kolerial” Lorian returned the gaze, intense as a dying star. “You might think of me as ruthless; I will kill your wife, after all. But…”

His shadows amassed around Lord Vern’ese.

“… I am not a monster.”

*

Nymre played with her necklace, looking how Lorian conversed with two High Fae – their faces serious and focused. The chamber was filled with most important court members; some of them were loyal – Lorian knew their thoughts and they truly were. But some…

Lorian treated them like an amusing break from boredom.

Either he had a plan, which will wipe all enemies from the face of Ain’asel… or he really treated it as a game. Both were possible, knowing him.

And maybe both were true.

Lorian laughed, a silent, tempting laugh. He also knew how to gain followers. The fact that he read in their minds, knew their most secret dreams and fears was convenient and dangerous… for them.

Some of them feared him. That was good too.

But Nymre couldn’t stop suspecting that he hides more than just a secret of his sullen moods.

She had to try, until she knew… everything.

Her most powerful light spell, the truth, floated in Lorian’s direction. She didn’t had high hopes and they proved to be real. The spell sank into the darkness of Lorian’s aura and was swallowed by it, without giving any explanations.

He didn’t seem to acknowledge it, but she knew him. She was not a fool. Partially, she wanted him to feel her spells and force him to open more.

She worried; she craved honesty.

You knew who you took as a lover.

Perhaps, but her worries weren’t smaller because of it.

Maybe even… worse.

What could he hide that never shared with her, even if in the past, they shared everything?

She caught herself burying the thread of a necklace deep into her own neck. She stopped. She didn’t need another place which she would have to hide.

Lorian dismissed the High Fae, their stern faces showed no real emotions. She had a suspicion they worked for him, of course only slight, but her obsession became really unbearable. If they were spies, it would be quite unfortunate, because she should have been initiated into it too. Again something he was hiding from her. Perhaps though it was a call for her. Maybe he wanted her to see through his game and ask him directly. The thought of asking him, instead of hiding her intentions, was tempting. He long ago told her that he never read her mind against her will. Maybe he still was up to his word.

She wouldn’t even mind, if that meant he knew her worries. Maybe he was calling her and she didn’t have enough of will to understand this call.

She saw him approaching her, his smile still perfect like rising morn… or a cruel twilight.

And she knew both of them were true. One of the things she loved in him.

The chamber murmured with talks and Nymre caught herself trying to focus on too many conversations. She sighed; she was tired. Last night she caught Lorian next to her, in bed, awake, all in sweat, with his shadowed hair wet like after a bath. That was making her unable to truly rest.

She sat on the bench, surrounded by flowers. The scent of jasmine engulfed her. Soon to be broken by a delicate scent of violets.

Lorian sat near her, one hand on the back of the bench, casually relaxed, while his eyes were all the time observing what was happening in the room.

His face turned to her; clear, unable to lie, beautiful… Yet she knew he hold many lies under the surface. He wouldn’t be a king, if he didn’t.

“What bothers my cruel raven?” he whispered into her ear. Nymre shook her head.

“Maybe… you.”

He chuckled, almost disarming her.

Almost.

“That would break my heart, if I didn’t know you better.”

Nymre scoffed. He was always so perfectly confident. Even if he shouldn’t.

“You are difficult to understand lately, that scares me.”

“My charm is boundless, then.”

She shook her head, angrily. That was not what she wanted to hear.

“Nymre…” he halted for a second, like he wanted to add something, pull his entrails out for her, fill her with truth, his expression troubled, a rare sight. But the moment passed, like cut with a dagger.

She had even more worries though, she was losing fae working for her. She produced a spell, a thin gossamer protective bubble, not wanting anyone to hear what she had to say. The net cracked around them, invisible for all others, aside of her.

And him.

“One of my best spies didn’t return from her mission.”

“Spies… are not irreplaceable. That is the charm of their hard and cruel profession” Lorian traced a circle over her arm, and Nymre involuntarily leaned to his touch.

Curse you.

“And we know perfectly how others end when falling into our hungry hands.”

“If she breaks under their pressure… she may reveal what we already know about our enemies.”

“I don’t doubt they will try. Would it be so bad, Nymre? Your people don’t know even small part of what we do, we, enamoured with whole net of truths.”

“You are very sure that they will only try.”

“I know your spies,” his grin annoyingly charming. “And sometimes have very intriguing conversations with them. I like to enter their minds. They allow me to do this, so eagerly.”

“They won’t be able to break. You put your shadows in their minds” she was almost angry that she didn’t ask him to do so herself. Perhaps she was still having remorses he didn’t have.

“What a beautiful justice…”

Nymre sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t even bother to guess what he plans, what he hides. Maybe she should just stand by his side and support him. But that was not in her personality, in her character. And Lorian knew that, he loved her for that. And she loved him – among many – because of this annoying confidence and ability to win against all odds.

Maybe she worried too much.

But something still creeped into her soul, a dreadful vine, a root with a sharp end, a cruel stalk of soul-eating grass.

Did he still feel the same towards her? Crisises happen… but they were so long, so intensely long together… it was almost not embraceable. She knew their relationship wasn’t always kind to them. They had ups and downs. Light insignificant ones… and cruel too, shattering their hearts into pieces. She hoped it’s only temporary and as always… will pass.

She would trade her immortality to read in minds, like him. To know all his pain, his thoughts and plans. And maybe be able to understand his new face better.

She reached him, her hand brushed his arm. She wanted to tell him, at last. Ask. Just ask. No matter if he read her or not.

She sensed pain. A lot of. And even more determination. That’s why she didn’t ask in the end. Cursing herself, because she somehow knew, that if she asked… he would open. Maybe not now… but eventually, he would.

Her hand squeezed his arm, like she wanted to keep him from drifting away.

Riddles, puzzles and labyrinths. That was Lorian.

Riddles which she was even more eager to solve.

“Lady Vern’ese decided to betray me” added Lorian, leaning over her, his lips touching her ear. “My good will was touching, though.”

That was not new to her. Vern’ese family was old, with roots reaching to third summer king. And what she admired in her lover, other fae feared. Maybe Lady Vern’ese saw her chance.

Nymre gazed at her with questioning expression. He didn’t even need to read her mind to guess her.

“She was given grace of moderately quick death” Lorian said, with a slight smile. “Isn’t it touching, in the end?”

Truly. Truly, indeed.

But his unfinished sentence hung between them. “Nymre…”. A call for her? Or just a feeling of guilt.

Categories sitely

Real Break

I am not sleeping well, hmm, I don’t sleep almost at all.

I am doing a break, until insomnia stop killing me. This time it’s serious. I am molting here.

Categories wip

ATOM: Shadowlands – III

The raw mountain sight of Shadowlands engraved in his mind like his own reflection. The days passed, similar, covered with falling snow and sharp ridges.

Qhal didn’t talk with him about what happened, but Tiyan sensed something had changed. His gaze became even more curious, and… darker. Like something he suspected all the time proved to be true. When Tiyan poured the blood liquid into his throat, for a few tense, awful minutes, he thought he poisoned him. Killed him. But then, his pale – too pale – complexion started to gain natural colors and his eyes slowly opened. Tiyan didn’t know what Qhal saw in his own mind… but it left a mark on the usually collected fairy.

He told him Shadowland’s massive is his home. Maybe they showed him something he wanted to be left in the past.

When he asked about the blue blood… Qhal just smiled – an annoying, all-knowing grin. Dark, in its alien way. Everything in him in that moment seemed alien and distant.

But something changed in Qhal. Maybe horror he went through due to mirages… maybe gratefulness for saving him from them. Tiyan realized that fae don’t like to say “thank you.” Or only Qhal doesn’t like to.

But he felt like Qhal changed opinion on him.

No pet.

Maybe… young child trying to act like an adult.

But not a toy or an animal.

He also understood one surprising thing – against his fear and doubt. The power the Shadow wanted him for – he wanted to dive into it more, before Qhal and him reached the fairy palace. To learn if he can use it to defend himself… and save Mina. Because he was aware that they won’t free her, he will have to fight for her. Until now, he thought he wouldn’t manage, forcing his soul through the hopeless crevice in the dark painting created of shadows and night. He wanted to see Mina again, and try to save her… but he was scared, so scared that he won’t be able and they’ll both die trying.

But now… he felt strength, while he walked through the melting snow, safe from nightmares, among flames that could harm all living beings… but not him. The fire slowly burned in him, all this time, until he allowed it to touch his heart… and started to eat his fear out. Swallowing it thought after thought, doubt after doubt.

He still felt fear. And doubt.

But now he really had hope. That he had a chance.

He hoped it wasn’t a cruel game the fey liked so much. And that Mina is still alive.

Qhal led them through the cruel massive, days became one with nights, differing only by lack of walking and warmth of the green canopy. Days, which beamed with fresh and pallid snow, carried during hungry nights – colder and cruel. And nights – taken from a dream of a warm fireplace, opposing the bloodthirsty face of Ain’asel. Mirages, again. Maybe he shouldn’t attach to them.

Attaching to anything that was elusive and out of reach.

“You must be prepared when we reach Dorh-arsol” one day he heard the silent voice of Qhal, now not muted by the blows, which calmed down, a quiet but freezing wind; it made Tiyan feel safe enough to drown in his own thoughts.

Qhal turned to him to see his face and it had to be not wise, because he smiled, with his usual, calm way. Kinder than any fairy he has ever seen so far.

“Perhaps my advice comes too late. We are in Shadowlands. This land has a special connection with our gods.”

Perhaps. For Tiyan, who was tired and everything started to slowly blur in his head – cruelty of the fae and amiable behavior of Qhal – the mention of gods didn’t cause any effect. Maybe they are worse than fae, maybe not.

“They are dead” Qhal seemed to again read in his mind; Tiyan hoped he didn’t. Or simply it was that obvious. “But left a gate, which can be used by humans.”

A gate.

Just like the one through which he passed the border between Ain’sel and Avras. Which took part of his soul, maimed it and returned, almost the same, but somehow… not fitting anymore.

Tiyan shook his head. If he again had to go through the portal, he would need more than being prepared.

“How many will we have to pass?”

“Only two” Qhal grinned again, and again in a very knowing way. “They may cause a painful body reaction. My king equipped me for that, so we reached Dal’coler sooner. Maybe, after I use my means,  it will be even… pleasant for someone like you” wild sparks in his eyes, amused ones.

Ah, kind king. So thoughtful. Who knew he will be slowly disintegrating and putting together again. And thought so much of his pain and pleasure.

Dark shadows, under his clothes. A touch of night between his legs.

Something that was both alluring and unwanted, something forceful… but not completely.

He hung on the name; not wanting to dwell into these thoughts. Not now, at least.

“Dal’coler…”

“The palace which grows in the Nihelia mountains, our capital. The heart of our land. Beautiful. And tempting. One should never wish to live there.”

Contradictions.

Somehow Tiyan didn’t want to know more.

Qhal pulled the hood off his head, his hair fluttered on the wind, waving like spring ribbons. He possibly wanted to use the slowly emerging sun and lack of wind, to feed himself. He parted the collar of his shirt; his throat already beaming slightly, glittering. His head pulled back, like he lived through an ecstasy, when the sun embraced him with familiar rays.

Tiyan pulled the dry meat he got from Qhal in the morning. A bit wet, but still delicious in comparison to what he was getting in Avras. And he didn’t have to kill any animal to eat it.

The meat tasted different. Maybe it was the wet structure, or more salt, but he devoured it much faster and eager than during previous days. How many of them already? The path through Shadowlands seemed endless; pushing rock on the hill, only to see it rolling down again.

Suddenly, a taste of Ona’s chocolate tingled on his taste buds. A memory. A fond one.

He didn’t think of Ona during the whole road he passed in this cursed realm. He wondered if she reached her destination and if she managed to deal with her demons, which were so raging, that she didn’t even share them with him.

Maybe he meets her again… if they both won’t die… if the flame won’t devour him with its strength…

A pang of hurt reached his heart. The life he has left behind, the love he still needed to confess. The flames could separate him from someone else. Someone he held in his heart like the fire that walked with him. Maybe he will be able to return to Noyd and tell her all that he held hidden so far, and didn’t dare to admit.

Maybe…

So many maybes in his future. And so few real chances.

Do not think of that. You have more chances that in the beginning,

“Tomorrow we will reach the gate” he heard Qhal like through the mist. His voice invigorated, gaining new strength, and a little sprinkles of joy.

Tiyan chewed the meat.

Thinking of chocolate and what he has left behind.

Categories fairy realm

The Wild Hunt

The wild spring overgrowth swallowed them with green and yellow; light touching their skin with soft caress.

For Leira, it was a beautiful time, stolen from her sad reality. Her father would never allow her to spend time with a mere hunter. Mira was for him not more than a peasant – and she knew in the eyes of other nobles or noble born, she was just a wild child, secretly sneaking from under the protective canopy of her rich life, to indulge into forbidden activity – loving a lowly born.

How false it sounded for her, how… cruel. This was unnecessary cruelty. Not even for them both, as much as obvious it was. It was cruel for her. This protective canopy was made of empty rooms, numerous and haunted, of one time angry and now broken father, who couldn’t even think of finding new love in place of her mother. Love is a sadistic goddess – her choosing another was a thing that broke his soul in half. How should it feel for him to see her so happy with someone she truly loves? Maybe that’s why he would chase Mira away, to not invite love under his roof. To not invite something that would drill his broken soul; to the bare bone.

Yet… Leira didn’t intend to be the vessel for his love. Since her mother left, he didn’t allow himself to treat her with affection that she wanted – affection from father to his daughter; she longer for laugh, for joy, and they became for her a forbidden treat. Something that she had to be stealing for herself to feel them. She was hungry for love, thirsty for touch. Lonely years made her even more willing to abandon herself in her hunter’s love… forbidden, yes, yet made just for her. Not for her father, not for a silent house in which she lived.

For her.

And she was ready to swallow each drop of happiness that trickled from this high hanging fruit.

Her lips pressed to Mira’s one’s. Her legs embraced his waist, pushing him inside. The thick and swelling richness of spring around her, was making her even more passionate and even more lost in the feeling.

He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes.

His eyes, green. Like leaves. Like young life.

“Leira…” Mira was never vocal during sex. But her name whispered during their union, always bringing her on the edge.

She embraced him and pushed between her neck and collarbone, wanting to feel his lips in one of her most fragile places. He obeyed, his kiss sent a shiver through her.

She wanted to come when he was kissing him. Far from home, she wanted to leave her home forever. And stay here, tangled with Mira into one person, not thinking of sadness and pain.

The sun gleamed through leaves, caressing her just like his fingers.

I so want you to fill me…

The sun.

Silent murmur of the leaves.

Warmth of the day and his heated body, pressed to hers.

And a gust of cold wind.

It raised the hair on her hands.

His thrust was especially hard, and she came. Her eyes opened from delight, but something crept into her, something unwanted.

He had to feel something, because he raised his eyes and looked into her irises, with visible worry.

“Leira…? Is everything alright? Have I hurt you?”

“No… just…”

She felt winter. Winter in spring. Not a winter she would want to feel now.

She felt guilt; Mira didn’t feel anything. Were her worries really so deep, that it caused mirages?

Something was not right.

Mira kissed her, but she couldn’t respond with similar fire. He withdrew.

“If something’s wrong, tell me” he sat next to her, confused, but trying to turn it into a relaxed joke. “I am not – hopefully – that bad as a lover.”

“Do you feel it?” was her response.

“Feel? Should I feel something more than you?”

“I sense… cold.”

He looked at her with visible worry… and a slight dose of disbelief. He really could think that she disliked it. She wanted it. So much.
But…

… the winter was slowly creeping in. Mira looked around, confused. Now, he felt that too.

The cold air danced around them, and embraced her soul, squeezing the unrequited fear from it. Unnatural, even if only a touch of the air on her skin.

And in the moment she was watching the leaves fall from the trees, dry and dead, like late autumn vermillion…

She saw them.

At first, her mind didn’t connect. Really couldn’t embrace it. She felt a strong gust of love… and strong fear. Her mind lost for a moment in reverie of adoration and a need to run, far from them, far from their gleaming wonder.

Pointy ears, like taken from old stories. Five men and one woman, beautiful, so beautiful, like dreams coming through… but ready to turn into nightmares, in every minute.

They were sitting on animals, which only by shape resemble horses. But she couldn’t understand it, because they looked like horses. But… only looked like ones. They weren’t.

A woman, with face hidden behind a bird mask, was looking at her and Mira intensely, until she broke into a scoff.

“Lovers. How cute.”

Leira’s eyes though weren’t on her. A man, next to her. Clothed in a black, belted with a wide belt, in black tight trousers and high boots. He was looking at her with attention. He was smilingly, kindly, but his gaze… his eyes were completely black, a void filled with stars and moons, so ready to drag her into the abyss.

Leira swiftly, protectively pulled her skirt down, terrified they saw her intimately.

“Do not laugh at lovers, my cruel raven” the man in black still looked at Leira with an attentive gaze. “Seeing them reminds me of possibilities of… attachment.”

Leira swallowed, hard. His voice was deep, silent, and cruel. A voice, which promised pain.

“You Majesty… the Wild Hunt awaits us” one of them looked at them with scorn… but with hunger too.

“I am the Wild Hunt” the black-eyed’s tone not allowing any objections.

The man hit his horse with his feet, and it started to approach them, Leira involuntarily backing off, fast, wanting to get as far from them both, as possible.

Mira pulled the knife, ready to protect her.

Don’t.

Please.

“Do not come closer” Mira uttered with clenched teeth, but his knife-holding hand was almost invisibly shaking.

Of course they saw it too.

The man smiled wider, charmingly. Beautifully. The scent of violets reached her. Her favorite flowers.

He didn’t say anything, but approached closer, not minding his pose, ready to attack or defend. The horse-like creature between his legs looked blanky just into Leira’s eyes.

“I will kill you, if you do” she felt that under Mira’s voice, a panic, deep, gut-wrenching, hope-stealing.

“Oh. How… bold. Is that what you are going to do? Kill me, send me to my gods? Pull out my entrails with that knife?”

“Y-yes…”

“Interesting!”

His horse stepped in place, restless. Awaiting something.

Something started to creep from behind the black-eyed man. Something very dark, something that had its roots in the very first night. Shadows, which Leira felt were hungry. Just as the man in black.

And they slowly, very slowly started to swirl around her lover, caressing his skin with soft strokes; his confused expression reminded her of her father, when her mother told him she leaves.  They crept, binding his arms and legs in a tight grip.

And just as slowly, entered him through his skin, filling him up.

Mira’s eyes opened wide. So wide. A groan left his mouth. Pained and not pained one, at the same time.

“Humans are created for pain… and pleasure” a kind, cruel words. “Both are equally carnal for them. And both can be their undoing.”

Mira groaned again, this time louder. Leira saw sweat on his temples. Something was in him… and caused him feelings that scared Leira.

She felt as her limbs became weak. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her whole being screamed against this. She still felt him inside, how he loved her. And now..

The man’s smile was predatory, and Leira felt it in her bones… blooming in her with hopeless fear.

Run.

Now.

Leira knew, though, that they wouldn’t allow her to run.

Mira didn’t scream, but his body was suffering, and so did Leira. His skin tensed, showing slowly blackening, swollen veins. Leira could see as they grew and spread under his skin.

He started to utter heart-wrenching moans, falling on his knees, also – almost – like her father, when her mother left. Leira had to do something. Anything! Her mind raced but her acts were faster than her thoughts.

She decided to do something stupid. So stupid. Reckless. Foolish. But she couldn’t look at his torment. He loved her and offered her something no one in her life did.

She slowly approached the man on the horse, trying to be brave. Trying to not think what can happen. Trying to find a spark in her that will allow her to not run.

That was never an option.

The man moved his gaze, lazily from the agony-filled Mira, to look at her, his smile always present, like he knew something that was hidden from all the others. Leira felt as she loses control over her body, she felt only a force, a force of her will, that dragged and guided her forth, like strings, attached to her strenght and determination.

“Please. Do not” her eyes rose. Boldly. Without doubt. They met the black void of his. “I will do everything, but stop.”

His smile still on his face, but only for a small, insignificant second. His lips formed an expression that sent a real shiver down her spine. Real one, because she understood it.

No matter what she’ll do, they will be dead.

“So that’s what humans do now” he mused, his tone laced with irony. “Sacrifice. Such strong feelings you have for him. Such a strong… devotion. A really admirable act.”

Humans.

And they were not ones.

Creatures of old tales, pointy ears, painful beauty, fables, terrible fairytales by the furnace fire.

“And such a promising one.”

Mira’s body twisted in an unnatural way, his eyes becoming as black as the man’s one.

“No!” empty voice, not existing tears rushed to Leira’s eyes, threatening to break the dam. She would not show them she is crying, even if they knew she did, deep into her soul, deep in her heart. If she showed… it would be the end.

It happened so fast… like a spring storm, rushing over fertile fields, flooding them with destructive rain.

She knew it would be the end of her free will. And they knew it too. The tempting love was forcing into her mind, mixed with fear… a sick and terrifying amalgamate of contradictions.

“But sacrifice would not be full without a delicious hopelessness” the man smiled again. A single shadow danced around her, and caressed her face, which she reacted to with a toss of her head; the shadow insistently followed. “He can suffer like that for months… or you will end this.”

Leira didn’t at first want to understand what he just said. Her soul rejected this immediately. But her heart pounded in her chest quicker than ever, she knew what he meant. The song of the birds, the spring green and the light breeze around her suddenly became black and dull; devoid of colors.

The others, one woman and four men who arrived with her tormentor, looked at them with beautiful and charming smiles, like they were watching a family scene. She felt nauseous.

“Kill him, show that you can sacrifice yourself. Slit his throat, end his suffering. Fill our eyes.

The woman in the back laughed. Leira feld so cold suddenly; her limbs even weaker than before.

Slit his throat.

Fill our eyes.

His eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. But when she looked at Mira, and saw his writhing in agony…

He can suffer like that for months.

And she knew she had to.

The man in black waited, curious, dangerously focused on her. A hate, strong one, filled her. Hate, fear and hopeless will to refuse. But she knew she couldn’t. And that was most cruel in this already cruel game.

Tears eventually filled her vision – her failure and their victory – but she slowly, feeling like her body didn’t belong to her, walked to Mira and picking the knife he dropped in his throes, she looked at it with blank stare.

Kill him.

Fill our eyes.

Mira looked just at her. The shadows retracted, his body still tensed, still pained, but… he was looking just at her.

“Leira…” he rasped.

She couldn’t.

She had to.

The black-eyed will fill him with shadows again. He won’t let him be. And he made him conscious only for him to look at her like that.

Her mind filled with the last lovemaking. She wanted to leave her house, join him on the hunt, and live with him.

She wanted to carry his child.

The only person who truly cared for her and loved her.

The only person that really mattered.

But now… she will die too. With his blood on his hands, her last minutes before death will be filled with anguish after taking his life.

She caressed his face, hating herself for doing so… She touched his hair… they were wet and sweaty under her trembling hand. She despised herself for daring to touch him, but she had to feel him, last time.

She remembered his scent, like leather and smoke, his lips on hers, how he was taking her to his house in the woods he built himself. The warmth of his bed, of his embrace.

Of his tender and loving touch.

She will die today, with a knife that took his life in her hand.

She couldn’t think of it, tears wanted to rush to her eyes.

“Leira, please…” his voice low, changed, not like the voice she heard every day. He didn’t want to die. And it was slicing her heart into millions of tiny pieces. She felt as huge bile chokes her, blocks the air from her lungs.

She took him by his hair… once rough in touch, familiar… now messed up and wet, so terribly wet…

She lifted his head, exposed neck, now tensed and hard as stone…

“Leira…”

Her hand didn’t shake, which terrified her even more.

… And slit his throat.

The knife went in so easily, frighteningly easily. Separating him from life they could live together.

The man in black looked at her, with his cruel void.

The others laughed, pleased, gloating, like his death was a precious prize.

Blood gushed on her hands, her vision blurred; she dropped the knife into the grass, the laughter of her tormentors reached her like from bottomless well.

The man in black looked at her though, without even a small laugh, small smile… he looked at her with morbid curiosity.

Like he measured her and pondered how much she can still withstand.

Leira’s body was shivering. Mere minutes ago, he loved her. He will never do that again.

She wanted to scream at the man in black, to tell him he should kill her now, if he finds death so thrilling. But her throat couldn’t form a word and her mind – a coherent thought.

And she didn’t want to die.

Black eyes were drilling holes in her soul.

The masked woman was telling something to her tormentor.

But she didn’t hear it. The shadows embraced her neck and delved under her clothes, to enter her skin. She felt both pain and misplaced, unwanted pleasure. So strong that she was sure she was losing herself, despising herself, her body pulsing and trying to oppose it.

But the goddess had mercy on her. She passed away, before something she would hate happened.

Allowing her to sink into the void.

*
Lorian’s smile faded. The human woman was lying unconscious under his feet.

Humans are so fragile.

So easy to control.

So eager to be broken.

He still felt fire, deadly flame in his veins, traveling into his most fragile places, mixing agony with pleasure. A faint burst of suffering, not comparable – this time – to his night torments, but for that, even worse… blurring borders.

Nymre got closer. Her gossamer aura repressed, wild; she wanted him, he felt that. His cruel raven. Violence was increasing her drive tenfold.

This human woman amused him though. She was… promising.

“We are taking her with us.”

Nymre’s smile disappeared from her features, her will for sex cut like with a sharp knife.

“Why? You have many slaves already” she didn’t add that too much, but Lorian knew she thought that, even without entering her mind.

“Your Majesty…”

Alnam. Of course. Everpresent.

“That was amusing, my Lord, but most of our portals won’t take her. She will die. If we took her the traditional way, even with the ones that let her be, it would take… much more time.”

Lorian’s gaze met with Alnam’s.

Yes, Lorian knew what Alnam thought now. Cruel. Unnecessary ruthless. Sadistic without a reason. He killed my son – this thought unwillingly was pushing on the surface, even if Alnam didn’t want to, an old wound, but still producing pus.

Pain. Hatred. So strong, touching him in an almost intimate way.

Alnam’s strong will to oppose, even if he never would, not in reality. Perhaps, Alnam’s repressed, hopeless hatred was what brought him the greatest pleasure and pain, borders blurred again, a bitter and desired taste of rot.

“She will hate you, Your Majesty,” Alnam added.

“Perhaps her hatred is what I really need” Lorian smiled at him, with his most beautiful smile. A sun rising over winter mountains.

Perhaps, hatred is what kept him sane, when the pain was coming and the world was bursting in blue color and his blood boiled in his veins.

Beautiful. Strong.

Intoxicating.

Pure.

And dangerous. Impressing him with its strength.