Drabble: âYou werenât supposed to fall in love with me.â
Dylas would never admit his true feelings for anything. He lived his life guarded, hurt from past experiences. He lived his life for him, hiding everything underneath his anger, his frustrations. Hiding away from his anxieties. Hiding his kindness from a world that hurt him hundreds of years ago under a cold, angry demeanor to keep people away.
At least, that was before he met Rosalind.
Something about her just left a spark inside him. Was it his because he felt bad for the first time they met? When he lashed out on her crying in Arthurâs office? From watching her break down in tears one early Spring day after her father announced she would be getting married soon, and to a stranger nonetheless. Was it because months of passing notes back and forth left him feeling- and later realizing- that he had a friend.Â
His first friend.
His firstâŚ.
YeahâŚ.
The first person that made him admit all his insecurities in his journal late at night, with only the light from a single candle guiding his poorly written thoughts onto the paper.Â
Dylas cared for her in ways he couldnât admit. He would stop the world for her if he could- if he even admitted it to himself. Rosalindâs softness made him soft, turned him away from thinking others were still out to hurt him. To harm him. To force him to commit sacrifice to please them.
Did she care for him? He didnât know and he shouldnât. He shouldnât care if she did or not. He should never care. Not anymore.
Will you take me there?
The question came one rainy afternoon. It had just finished pouring, as the rain droplets hit the roof of the restaurant slower than during the storm just an hour earlier. Rosalind had came to Selphia to visit her uncle in tow of her older (and just fucking stupid) brother. The former guardian canât remember what brought on the question, why he mentioned the Water Ruins, but Rosalindâs question was raw. It stung, it stung in deep. Dylas never told her about his time as a guardian, about his past. Why did she care so much?
(He noticed the blush on her face as she spoke to him time and time again, but honestly, he wasnât even sure why she would blush at him. Why else would she? What did someone of her status want to do in some awful ruins filled with goblins? Or spend an afternoon fishing for a few different types of fish, laughing as Rosalind tried to cast her reel by herself. Chatting about Rosalindâs newest book or what experiment she tried recently under a tree as the waves crashed by.)
Dylasâ feet step on leaves, dead and brown from the recent cold front. He stares at the ruins in front of him- in front of them. He canât forget that Rosalind is here with him, standing by him. Holding her guard. Being strong. Maybe even pretending to be strong.
He takes another step and leaves loudly crunching under his black, combat boots.The weather isnât even below the cold point, yet Rosalind is beside him a large winter shawl over her dress. He would joke with her, with a small smile, that a dress wasnât the right dressing for a âtripâ to the Water Ruins, but he canât today.
Dylas canât even smile as he stares at his former prison.
Getting past the monsters isnât hard- not one bit. Heâs become better at fighting in this form than he was when he first woke up. Constant fights with Doug has taught him how to fight with his fists, not hooves. Heâs learned better magic- his long ranged attacks have become more powerful thanks to Arthur and Leonâs (despite being a bit useless) pretty decent job at upgrading them.
But the hard part was feeling Rosalind grab him, not in fear from the monsters.
âYou canât tell me someone like you is scared of a little goblin?â
âI am not, Dylas!â She pouted up at him, her arms still holding onto the fur on his light overcoat. Itâs c-cute. Kind of. A little bit. âI have not been around many monsters, as you know Father and Max donât-â
Rosalind continues, but all Dylas can hear is the sounds of rustling from behind the lavender haired duchess. He looks up and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust, to spot a Sky Fish coming out at them. Itâs ready to fight, and itâs fucking pissed.
âMove!â Dylas roars. Pushing himself in front of Rosalind, he takes the hit from the Sky Fish in his chest, and then one to his forearm. It hurts for a second, just a split second. Heâs had worse injuries. Heâs been hit with stronger power. The former guardian rushes to the Sky Fish and digs his dagger to its side. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Three times. The ugly monster goes down without a hard fight. Returning back to where it belongs.
Theyâre safe, theyâre safe. He repeats in his head.
Rosalind is safe.
Dylas catches his breath- was he really out of breath from such a simple fight? He canât hear anything- He doesnât look behind him, he doesnât hear Rosalindâs screams of worry. He doesnât, or more like couldnât, hear Rosalindâs pleas to ask him to be careful.Â
He doesnât notice the duchess come beside him, checking on him, asking for him.
He doesnât notice the blood pouring from the side of his arm.Â
What he does notice is the sting in his arm as something presses against it. His head pops up to look around the ruined surroundings in fear. The pressure wasnât intense, but it was still painful. He couldnât see the attacker from where he was looking. COuld it be in the corners? Hiding from them and planning itâs awful attack. How in danger were they? How in danger was Rosalind?
Rosalind.
âYou are okay, Dylas. You are okay, Dylas.â
He hears that. He hears cooing. Sweet cooing.
âIt looks to be just a flesh wound. I pray there is no damage, but we should get you looked when we arrive back to the kingdom.â
The voice is so sweet; reminds him of the voice of someone from hundreds of years ago. Before any of the pain. Before Dylas was⌠Dylas.
âIâm glad you are safe, Dylas.â
He feels his hair being petted now- the feeling slowly edging up to his fluffy ears and rubbing them.Â
Dylas comes down. He comes back. He doesnât need to fight to survive, just fight to keep herâŚ
Alive.
Keep Rosalind-
Rosalind.
His eyes finally trace back to his side, where he finds a white cloth around his forearm. Thereâs barely any blood coming out from the white cloth, but it stings. It stings just a bit.
His eyes finally trace back to worried, light green eyes looking back into his amber eyes like they could see everything. His pain, his trauma. What these ruins mean to him.
Why he would go berserk like that suddenly and not come down.
âDylasâŚâ Rosalind begins. Her voice is so soft, sheâs so close to him. Her face is just inches from his now⌠When did she move that close? Had she been this close the whole time? Heâs sure sheâs gonna yell at him, call him reckless and stupid. Thatâs what he would do. Thatâs what he would do to someone else.
But⌠she doesnât. Rosalind whispers something softly, that at first Dylas canât hear. But it doesnât take too long for her to repeat it again, louder. Yet still in such a silent whisper.
âI love you,â she whispers ever so gently. Her hand hovers over his like a ghost- not like a ghost of his past though. She was there, she was real.
Rosalind was a real person. There, in front of him, confessing her love to someone who didnât know how to love back. Didnât know if he should. And Dylas didnât know how to respond to that- how does one even respond to a confession? By thanking them? Denying them? Lying? Admitting his own true feelings that he had hidden back for so long. âDonât.
Rosalindâs face droops, but Dylas continues. âYou shouldnât love me.â Her face droops more, her heart must be broken. But itâs better to save everything now than to make her live a life of pain from being around him.
âYou werenât supposed to fall in love with me. Iâm a monster- Iâm an awful person. Iâm angry, Iâve hurt people. Iâm a man who shouldnât have anything fucking good, Rosalind. And you- look at you. A duchess, engaged to some guy you barely know. How can you love me?â
The words come out so fast, yet it feels like Dylas spends a year mouthing off to the duchess. Even that, canât break a duchessâ heart whoâs lived for others her whole life. âBut I do.â Rosalind furrowed her brow. âBut I do love you. I do not love William- I cannot love a man I donât know, Dylas.â Her eyes start to water. âBut I know you, and for that, I love you. I am so in love with you, Dylas.â
Thatâs what pains him to know. That she loves him now. That sheâs seen the worst of him, maybe not even the worst, but she loves him.
Sheâs engaged. She could have a safe life with this William guy- whoever he is. Whatever he does, heâs probably safe. He doesnât have problems. He probably wasnât also turned into a monster to protect a town like⌠Dylas.
Dylas ignores those tears coming out of Rosalind's eyes. He ignores the sounds of her voice breaking. He ignores his own feelings that have been laying dormant for months now. âYou shouldnât.â
Rosalind doesnât say anything, but the tears donât let up. She stares at him with that pitiful (in a cute way too) look, heart hurt but also⌠What point of âdonât love meâ does she not get?Â
Rosalind moves her hand from his hair, his ears, back to his shoulder. âDylasâŚâ She whispers. Her voice is so hurt, yet she knows. âI love you.â
His heart hurts.
Her heart hurts.
Can he even⌠can he ever be truthful about how he feels.
About how on nights he canât sleep well or days where customers (or fucking Doug) piss him off, he goes and reads her letters. How he feels like heâs important when heâs with her. How she tries to learn about his passions and in turn, Dylas is trying to learn more about her. How heâs been reading the book she sent off to him months ago but he wonât tell her yet. He wanted to surprise her.Â
He paused. Could she- could Rosalind be the one who taught him how to live in the presence, live for someone else who wasnât him?Â
To be the one person he could end up telling everything too- instead of pretending to be secretive?
His uninjured arm moves to where Rosalindâs hand is placed on his shoulder as he steadies himself with the arm thatâs bandaged. He looks at her in the eyes back, straight faced. His face feels wet, but he doesnât care right now. Thereâs only one thing he cares about.
âI may love you too.â
~~~
âEven though the young boy wasnât sure where he was from, he knew one thing. The flower town was where he belonged. Monster or human- or both- he knew he was home wherever the flowers were.â
Itâs a sight Dylas never thought he would see; something he didnât think, all those hundreds of years ago, that he would see. His wife and child, cuddled up in a bed together, reading the ninth picture book of the night. Their hair, lavender and dark blue, beaming against the childâs night light on the white and pastel green nightstand.
He watches from the doorway, a smile on his face as the boy- his four year old son- looks back up to his mother with a small frown on his pale face. âCan we read another story, mama?â He asks, almost pleading to his mother, with a high pitched voice.Â
The woman laughs as she closes the book gently and places it on the nightstand beside her. Her hand goes to her stomach where a bump peaks up through her pink nightgown. âWe read so many tonight, Victor.â She answers to the boy- Victor- pressing a gentle kiss onto his forehead. âWe can read more books tomorrow when you awake if you would like, my little dove.â
âYour mom needs her rest, kiddo.â Dylas speaks out, finally. Two pairs of light green eyes stareÂ
One he never dreamed of, to have a love, to have a son, and to be awaiting the arrival of the second child of theirs.
âMay I please sleep with you and dad?â Victor pouted from his bed, his face resembling Rosalindâs side. The little boy was too much like his mother. Sweet, polite, already calling people by their last names and learning how to be a proper young man (unlike the two unruly, royal children that were his perfect sonâs ageâŚ). Victor looked at him with big eyes; big sweet eyes that Dylas was slowly learning to say no to.
Dylas barely opened his mouth when Rosalind gently responded instead. âNo, sweetheart. Not tonight. We need you to sleep in your bed tonight like a big boy.â Her hand patted through their sonâs dark blue hair, only for it to rest on his cheek. âWe need you to learn how to sleep on your own for your little sisterâs sake.â
Victorâs pout stayed on his face. âOkay, mama.â The little boy mumbled before getting up from his spot on the bed. âGood night mama-â he said, ever so sweetly, kissing his mother on the cheek. Victor moved down to his pregnant motherâs stomach, giving it a gentle kiss as well. âGood night baby sister.â
Dylas really canât help but chuckle at the sweetness of his son . His son- his precious, pretty adorable son if he had to say so- was becoming the young man that would make Rosalind proud. His anger passed over a generation, his anxieties skipped over Victor.Â
There were days when Victor was a newborn, crying softly in his makeshift crib in their cabin by Selphia lake, where Dylas felt like he couldnât take it. When Dylas felt like fatherhood was a curse- no wonder his own parents had left him behind so young. He remembered the moment where he realized everything needed to change, when he screamed at a two month old Victor to shut up from the overwhelming frustrations of not being able to get his son to sleep peacefully. The look on Rosalindâs face- absolute horror. Dylas never wanted to see his wife look at him in such horror again, like he was a monster.
Parenting was an adventure. Not one he wanted to sign up for so quickly, but Victor was perfect.
He was normal too- no features from Dylasâ former guardian years. No horse ears. No fluffy tail that became matted in water.Â
Dylas just hoped every morning that the new baby would be just as perfect as her older brother. He knew she would- but there were still nights where he stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep, what ifâs plaguing his mind.
âI think someone needs to tell Victor good night too. Do you not think so, Dylas?â
Dylas looked at his wife, then back to his son. Sauntering over, he gave the boy a kiss on the top of his dark blue hair. âGood night, Victor.â Dylas whispered to his son. He helped the boy into his bed, covering him with blankets as Rosalind handed him his favorite plush- a worned out Blue that Porcoline had given as a present for the boy when he was just a small newborn. Back then, the boy was so small that he could fit in one of Dylasâ hands. Now, he was so big, yet still so tiny that he was still dwarfed by the Blue stuffed plush.
âGood night, mon ange.â Rosalind copies Dylas, pressing yet another kiss onto the same spot that Dylas has. She gets out of the childâs bed by herself (âDylas, darling, we are fine. Iâm not even that far along, my Dylasâ) and walks to beside her husband, looking at her son as he slowly closes his eyes. âDream of something lovely tonight for me, dear.â
âDream of beating up Doug for me.â
âDylas.â
Rosalind stifles her laughter as she grabs her husbandâs hand into her own hand and walks him out of the childâs bedroom. Victor doesnât even react to his parents leaving or to Dylas comment about beating up his âuncleâ Doug, as the child is slowly drifting off to dreamland. The door gently shuts behind them and Rosalind smiles at her husband.
Itâs the same smile she gave him when they admitted they loved each other. The same one she gave him when he proposed, when they were married, when she told him she was pregnant (twice!), and when Victor was born. The smile she gave him when he burst the door of their bedroom, breaking it off the hidge ever so slightly, while she held the small bundle close to her chest. The words he can still recall that gave him a smile every time he thought about it- âhe is okay, my love.â
A warm, sweet, smile that made him think of nothing but her. Everything else in the world stopped when Rosalind gave him that smile.
Suddenly, her smile changed into a wince. And that changes everything. The world can stop for another reason.
âAre you doing alright, baby?â Dylas worrisomely asks. Rosalind shakes her own head as a ânoâ, but thereâs a part of Dylas that doesnât believe it. âBaby giving you difficulties again?â
âAre you asking to be my overprotective husband and worry for hours over me and your daughter or are you asking to check?â
Clever girl. Always had one up on him. Always knew how to get over his head.
âChecking, baby.â
Rosalind lets out a sigh as she moves into a hug to her husband. Arms wrapped around his neck as she whispers, âitâs just a difficult day for us, that is all, Dylas. But we are fine. We are fine.â
The confirmation doesnât help his overprotectiveness, but it makes his heart feel softer.Â
Dylas curls up into her neck, pressing a kiss onto his wifeâs neck. âI thought it was something else. I thought the baby was making you sick or hurting you.âÂ
The pregnancy with Victor had been so easy, but with this one, he worried every time Rosalind mentioned the baby wasnât kicking as much or that the baby kicked too much. There was no inbetween with the child. Already causing her parents worry.
Dylas fucking loved her so much and he hadnât even met her.
Rosalind returns the affection to him by brushing his long periwinkle hair out with her fingers. Her fingers move up to his ears, petting them ever so delicately. âThis is what I love about you, my love.â She whispers to him. Still just standing outside their young sonâs bedroom as he falls asleep. âYour true caring nature is what made me fall in love with you.â
âYou werenât supposed to fall for me,â he says to her, a blush and large smile on his face.
Rosalind laughed, ever so gently, ever so sweetly. He could feel his heart doing backflips in his chest, just from her gentle and kind laugh that he heard every morning when Victor curled up in bed with his parents. That he got to hear when he kissed her one too many times before he left for work at the restaurant before Rosalind pushed him out of the house herself.Â
âBut I did.â She smiled as they walked down the short hallway to their own bedroom. âI fell for you, I fell in love with you.â Dylas opens the door for them once they get to their creaky (but it wasnât a problem) bedroom door. Rosalind walks in front of him, pulling him by his hands with her. âI was- I was just so lucky to meet you when I did.â
Dylas closed the door behind them, knowing that in just a few hours it would be cracked open when little emerald eyes will peer in with silent pleads to sleep with his parents. âYou did.â He repeated with a grin on his face. âYou did, and I fell for you as well.â He sat his hand on top of the bump, smiling down at it. âAnd we have a beautiful family, weâre going to have a really beautiful family.â
âSuch as in one of those romance novels I would read when I was younger,â Rosalind jokes as she curls up to Dylasâ chest. She places her hand, perfect and soft, on top of his hand, rough from a past he canât forget and a current present where heâs content. The child kicks in place softly, to remind their parents that they are there. They are real. âWe lived happily ever after, my love.â
Dylas doesnât need to say anything after. He doesnât need to confirm her words, because itâs true. His love for Rosalind would never die, never leave, and he would never regret the past. Those hundred years ago were moments that wouldnât leave his mind. They would be stuck with him forever until the day he passed on.
But all that pain did something good. It brought him to Rosalind. It brought him letters that heâs kept, hidden in a box that maybe one day, heâll show Victor and their unborn, unnamed, little baby. Maybe that one day, heâd tell his children about the day Rosalind told him she loved him at a place that caused him trauma and anger for hundreds of years.Â
Her falling for him brought him true love. True, undying, love that he would be ever grateful for.










