moral compass spinning free
black and white mixed to gray shades
To be the villain is to be without a past, without a journey, to be reduced to present actions lacking reason or justification. Thus am I perceived, as if I exist solely as a counterpoint, darkness to light. Yet you should heed my story as a warning instead of burying it beneath my current infamy. We are, after all, not so different, our paths not so separate. You could have been me, had circumstances differed just slightly – and you could still become me yet. Your advantage in this game is tenuous, and fate is fickle. I, too, was once beloved, after all; there is a millennium of royalty in my blood, and great value in the name which was stripped from me. I, too, once had comrades and companions. Do not think because you left your home willingly you are less an exile than myself. Do not think because you have found a new home, a new tribe, that it cannot be taken from you. Anything and everything can be taken away. I will prove that to you by the end of all this, if you are too proud or too cowardly to heed my example.
Welcome to my kingdom.
[ Life is super stressful right now; apologies for the string of bad writing to follow. ]
I give the abridged story
we share knowing smiles
–and then we are standing together, her and I, the sorceress resurrected, and she is showing me a sleeping kingdom wrapped in magic and thorns, a kingdom like her own which she offers to me, a gift, my very own land to rule as I wish, yet she is old and weak and I see this is her last attempt, she knows she can’t slay me but thinks maybe she can lure me away with promises of power and beauty, away from you whom I love so deeply, but I only scoff at her bribery and wake to seek you in a world where, too, the witches strive to part us yet never succeed.
afraid to speak, to startle the other into remorseful flight, he pleads with his body instead don’t go, don’t leave me gripping at jagged shoulder blades, pulling the narrow waist down to his own please, can’t you see I’m yours? as he opens himself to be filled, to be completed, shivering at the hot mouth on his skin, the teeth digging in to leave their mark yes, please, claim me as hands move to hold him in place with an iron grip against which he writhes in pain and pleasure both, thrilling at the bondage of flesh and bone, his wordless moans speaking for him as he surrenders, submits, swearing I love you, I have always loved you with every exhalation
apology and supplication in the way his hands clench on muscle, fist around silken hair and yank back for a kiss that draws blood, every movement a wordless begging as he sinks his teeth into bare flesh to muffle the moan or choke back the howl, which will it be?, such terrible need in his trembling body and through it all the overwhelming hatred of that need, every thrust of his hips the punishment for staying, for loving, for embracing this madness with open arms and willing body, he leaves bruises in his wake as he presses, desperate to be closer, skin to skin, two bodies moving as one, and when release comes it brings no easing, no comfort, yet he allows himself to be held a moment before pulling away, the ice creeping back already