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Carrie is a cutie and deserves to have a friend who understands her~ Ever since I heard FT13 wanted to have a crossover with Carrie I couldn’t stop thinking about it! I’m so sad Stephen King shot down the idea. So I did a crossover with Camp Counselor Jason as a resultÂ
This is too damn cute. And Carrie looks so sweet!
(I honestly have a headcanon that the slashers are all protective of Carrie in their own way because she’s a precious thing that simply deserves all the best in the world).
I usually don’t do anything related to politics on this site.
But with the amount of lies being spread (especially by a media that has long ago been bought and manipulated), I felt it was necessary to share this video I made to show support to the President Bolsonaro and the manifestation planned for day 7.
For Bolsonaro. For freedom. For my country. We are doing our best so our country won’t become a land of sheep who can only say “Four legs good, two legs better”
I usually don’t do anything related to politics on this site.
But with the amount of lies being spread (especially by a media that has long ago been bought and manipulated), I felt it was necessary to share this video I made to show support to the President Bolsonaro and the manifestation planned for day 7.
For Bolsonaro. For freedom. For my country. We are doing our best so our country won’t become a land of sheep who can only say “Four legs good, two legs better”
The creature stopped walking, turning his head just enough, the pretense of innocent puzzlement ruined by what his smile revealed. The girl ignored the cold that at once clawed at her heart.
The fey could always make a threat out of the simplest of gestures.
“Is it not enough,” She continued in a tone that was even and nothing more. “That we’re all under your curse?”
He turned to her. The forest seemed to flinch around them. The shadows of the intertwined branches above were a spiderweb around them. Moonlight dripped from the spaces it found, becoming weaker when near him. The fey just stared at her, his eyes almost glowing. Eyes of an animal.
More than that cold glow, more than the sharpness of his teeth or the sound of his voice, the girl always thought that what could be seen in Rothbart’s eyes denounced his nature the most.
“Oh, it’s you…” He said, as if only now recognizing her. “The little plain swan.” The jab went ignored. She had heard it all before, in her days in the court as one of Princess Odette’s ladies-in-waiting. The beauty of their princess (Queen now, for her and the others) had always been remarked about; it seemed only natural that her ladies-in-waiting would also be a vision of exotic loveliness, smaller gemstones around the crown jewel. And they were.
Except for her, that was.
It was a fact long ago accepted. No poet would ever write about the color of her hair or compare her eyes to the stars. However, she didn’t despair over it, time hardening her against the veiled derogation she at times received from other women back in the palace.
And what care had she for such matters now?
Seeing her lack of reaction, Rothbart gestured a dismissal.
“No need to worry so much about your precious Swan Queen,” It was not clear if the fey meant to provoke her by scorning Odette or because he was aware that the girl hated those pet names he came up with for the Queen, knowing what lay beneath them. “I merely wish to make sure my swans are… Comfortable.”
At that moment, she hated him enough to kill him.
“Because life anywhere near you is so pleasant!” She rolled her eyes. Rothbart tilted his head as if charmed by her sarcasm. She felt like she was in front of a snake.
“If your condition is such an agony, little swan” He walked to her, the soft tone making spiders scurry away from beneath the fallen leaves. “I am sure I could find a more suitable form.”
His voice brushed against her face, like the touch of the moonlight. For a second, she could almost feel the curse responding to its master, flowing to the surface of her skin, ready to twist her flesh in response to his desires. There was no telling if this was another provocation or a threat, but she had no doubt Rothbart would follow with it should she made him angry… The girl stared at those bright eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her fear when he leaned towards her.
“Do I allow hunters to harm or cage you? Do I allow you to go hungry until you feed on weeds and frogs?”
The mockery invited her anger back, and she held on to it like a lifeline. Plain she was, but not stupid.
“You do so because you don’t like others interfering in your entertainment.”
He smiled, apparently rather pleased with her understanding.
“So tell me why you believe I would… How did you put it? Leave her be?” He smiled at her. “More importantly, what do you think you can do?”
Somewhere in the night, a crow laughed.
The answer was simple: Nothing. He could call upon storms with the same ease he had left her body under the mercy of the sun and moon. She could not fight him, and she could not dissuade him. The fey had no sense of morality, no compassion she might try to appeal to.
The girl almost asked him why he had done it at all, why had he subjugated them to the despair of being caged in bodies that weren’t theirs, why isolate them from the rest of the world, why he took such pleasure in their misery.
The question remained locked inside her.
He likely wouldn’t answer. Perhaps this was also part of the torture, not knowing why.
They wondered, of course. A few in the Court of Swans mused if Odette’s parents had somehow offended the fey. Others thought that the princess of the neighboring country had made a bargain to get rid of Odette. A younger swan-maiden had suggested Rothbart was in love with their Queen and the curse was so she would have no choice but to wed him someday…
Having seen him talking with their Queen at times, the girl very much doubted this last theory.
And looking at the fey now, she thought there was no reason other than it amused him.
She closed her fists, thinking about Queen Odette. It was for her sake the swan-maiden had approached Rothbart at all.
Like so often, the fey had come that night, shooing the swan-maidens away in order to speak with Odette. The girls stayed as close as they dared, but never enough to listen, let alone to interfere. And like always, the Queen seemed weary when he left. She insisted all was well, but she had tears in her eyes.
Odette never danced when Rothbart came.
Nor did she try to do anything to distract herself or to at least enjoy the few hours they have to be themselves again.
“If you wish to see her suffering, I dare say you achieved that already.” The plain girl hissed, her voice full of venom. “I do not care if you’re fey. I do not care if you’re powerful. Odette is my Queen. I will no longer cower away while you hurt her.”
The forest went silent. The air grew heavy with the scent of a storm.
A cruel smile sliced Rothbart’s face.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t think one of my swans would turn out to be a knight!”
Something crawled on her feet, slithering against her legs. She felt the cold through the fabric of her dress, the slippery touch. And another. And another. One went up, reaching her thigh.
The girl kept a scream inside her and did not look down.
“Like I said, my dear, what can you do?” Rothbart laughed, turning away. The cold veins faded into nothing. She released a breath she hadn’t realize she was holding. “But perhaps your beloved White Swan does deserve some respite…”
He looked over his shoulder at her.
The last time she had seen him like this had been right after he had kidnapped them all. The sun had been rising. She and the others had screamed, feeling the curse’s touch on their bodies for the first time. Â
“Maybe you’ll turn out to be more amusing than she is.”
<3 Hey, Wolfie! I've been following your Hunter blog for a long time and I'm so in love with your writing! Can I request a piece with this prompt: The Hermit reached up with a white piece of cloth in his hand.“What is that for?” I asked.“Now we blindfold the High Priestess,” he replied. If you can, could you do something a little gothic or creepy with it? Thnx!!! <3<3<3
I will never be able to explain, even to myself, how I have come to be here.
If I try telling the truth, I already know the people around me will just ignore me or insist I am suffering from the remains of a feverish dream. As such, I have no option left, except to deal with things as best as I can and try blaming whatever lack of knowledge or memory I display on the lingering effects of my apparent “fever” and hope with all my soul it works. When this happens, the people around me usually explain what is to be expected and pat my head or assure me I will remember everything with time. Seeing their smiles, I often wonder if it could be that they are well aware of the truth and merely playing with me, taking pleasure from my distress.
After what I’ve witnessed, I wouldn’t put it past them.
I’ve never been so alone.
Had I known this would’ve happened, I would have done everything to avoid it.
But how was I supposed to know that day, which had begun like any other, would end up with me tossed in another world, in a role I understand little of and with no apparent means of returning home?
Not that this means I will give up. If I find how I came to this world, I might find a way back.
If only I could find the room where I first appeared…
As my “maids” guide me through a hallway, I look around with the corner of my eyes. No escape routes that I can see. Only stones placed so neatly together they might’ve been weaved somehow, shaping what I would sooner call a tunnel rather than a hallway. I hate walking through here. It always makes me sick if I try looking around too much. The corners never seem right. The way the walls close above me is suffocating. I’m sure the ceiling’s height changes from time to time.
It never feels like I’m walking in a straight path.
God, please, let me go home.
I’ve studied several civilizations of the past and myths. Wherever (and whenever) I am, it doesn’t resemble anything I know. I’ve seen statues of these people’s “gods” and I don’t think any human mind could’ve imagined such shapes. Not a sane mind, anyway.
There is no lack of a language barrier, either. Whatever that happened to me caused me to understand their words and speak it without realizing it… Yet, something in me knows I’m not speaking English, but I’m unable to make myself hear the actual sound of their words.
We turn left and I’m sure the walls are crooked somehow. It’s the only way to explain the way my stomach turns if I look around for too long.
Not for the first time, I wish this place had windows.
The maids stop before a door. I might’ve been here before in the few times I left my room, but I can’t tell for sure. Only when they open it and stand aside I can confirm it. This is the room used for ritualistic preparations of some sort… There is a circle painted on the floor, candles, and symbols that I don’t understand but that I don’t like...
I know the man standing right there. They call him “The Hermit”, though I have no idea why.
Then again, they call me “The High Priestess” and I don’t know why either. I certainly don’t feel in a high hierarchy position and while the maids and servants never look me in the eyes, most of the others regard me with what seems to be calculated politeness and pretended affection.
It's a fabrication that just can’t pass as the real thing, but I feel it wouldn’t do me any good to confront them about it. From ever since my arrival, I decided that faking ignorance might be my best chance.
“Oh, the High Priestess!” The Hermit says, bowing his head in a way that makes the small amulet on the center of his diadem twinkle in the light of the candles on the walls. His smile grows and for a moment, his skin seems about to melt. Then, it passes and he seems like a harmless old man. “I take you’re ready for the ritual?”
“I hope I am…” I keep a firm tone. They have spoken of this before, though they gave little explanations beyond the steps I need to take and the words I’ll need to say. The only reason I decided to go with it is that this is the first (and perhaps only) chance I have of going outside. I bow my head no more than necessary, keeping my eyes on The Hermit. It never seems a good idea to let him out of my sight if I’m in his presence. “I hope the Gods shall forgive my lack of memories and look kindly upon my devotion.” The words meant nothing to me, but acting like a devoted priestess wouldn’t hurt.
“Just a little more and I’ll be outside. Just a little more…” I could run. I could escape. I could learn where I was.
“I am sure they will, High Priestess.” The Hermit nodded. “Why, you were always ready to serve them no matter what, with everything you have!” He looked at me, up and down. Whether he was evaluating the state of my robes and if the maids had prepared me well or evaluating something else, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Keeping my head held high, I kneeled in the center of the circle, as requested.
The following preparations were strange. My heart kept beating so loud I feared it would denounce my plans. I tried to focus on what to say and do, receiving what seemed to be a crown of thin branches and dead flowers, holding back a scream when the false flesh of the maids touched my head. I spoke of the greatness of the Gods whose names I could say, but not understand, of how my devotion was as everlasting as the moon… My usual love for learning about other cultures and rituals (especially of the past) remained dead in me. Fear had won against it long ago after seeing…
No. That I don’t wish to remember. I can’t. Not if I want to remain sane.
Everything will work out. I will escape. I will find my way back home.
The Hermit reached up with a white piece of cloth in his hand.
“What is that for?” I asked.
“Now we blindfold the High Priestess,” he replied.
I held back a swear word and merely nodded, trying to keep my lie.
Damn it, damn it!
Wait. Breathe. Easy.
Eaasy.
I’ll just have to take it off, after all. Push the cloth up and then run. It will make things harder, but not impossible.
I’ll not let this chance pass by.
The Hermit approached me and I tried to not recoil or give away the disgust I feel. He’s smiling again, showing teeth that are not human. His skin is again wax about to drip. I don’t want him near me. I don’t know what is hiding under that skin but I know I don’t want it to touch me.
I held my head up.
Keep the plan in mind. Don’t ruin it.
Don’t let them know.
The cloth against my skin felt too much like a shroud.
I felt The Hermit’s face leaning to mine. More than never, with my sight no longer being fooled by shapes, I can almost feel its real nature.
“Oh, dear High Priestess…” He whispered and, for the first time, I heard its real voice. “Do you believe escaping will be so easy?”
This was a fact of life I thought I had long ago understood, but I’ve heard that understanding and comprehending can, more than often, be two different things. Another valuable lesson that I wish I had learned sooner. Another one for the list…
If this was a story, I suppose we would be the heroes. The friends at the side of justice, gathered by fate to fight and cleanse the land of an ancient evil. The ones that, with love and determination alone, would be victorious no matter the adversity faced. Isn’t this how the fairy tales go?
What a foolish notion.
The thing is, many stories speak of heroic deeds. Few addresses the scars, the nightmares, the sacrifices along the way.
Oh, we are friends. Gathered, by mistake rather than fate, against what is indeed an ancient evil, with the odds not favoring us. Fighting in the shadows, trying to keep our loved ones blissfully unaware and safe. Make no mistake, I would sacrifice everything that was requested of me for them… But none of us will win with love and determination alone and we are not invincible or untouched, be by our enemies or the “after” of our battles.
Can we win? We are not sure, but we know we can’t simply give up and accept pain and death like sheep being slaughtered. Still, we want to believe victory is a possibility. If it isn’t, at least we are saving a few lives from time to time and this is reason enough to keep going.
If we die, there will be some peace in knowing we did everything we could.
If we survive, we will be lucky to still be sane.
If there is anything of “us” left…
We are no longer ourselves as it was… We all know it, though no one dares to speak about it. Whatever for, anyway? I know we can all see it in each other’s eyes, hear it in the sound of our voices, feel it whenever we touch one another, be with a hug or just holding hands… Sometimes, nothing feels right when we are trying to just hang out like before everything started. It always feels… Wrong. A mockery of what we used to be.
I can’t say we are losing the war or not…
But I can say I fear we are losing ourselves.
We soon understood the sacrifices we would have to make, how this isn’t the sort of fight that can be won while keeping our hands clean and holding our morals above all else. Many times, we did things we never would have, should the circumstances allowed us.
I tell myself it is worth it. That I’m saving people.
It helps me less and less each time.
I leave a piece of me with the corpse of an enemy, with another lie I tell my parents, with the breaking of what I considered yet another personal, sacred rule of mine…
When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize my own eyes.
Perhaps the worst part is… I’m caring less and less for those pieces I lose. I care less and less for the morals I have to forsake (and barely try to uphold the ones that are already broken even when I can)… The blood in my hands, so disgusting at first, doesn’t bother me anymore… Once, I mutilated the corpse of an enemy, telling myself I merely meant it as a message…
I keep telling myself that despite the waves of pleasure I felt.
He had come in the room as he often did: Not through the door and as silent as a shadow. No human should be able to notice him until it was too late, but nevertheless, her eyes opened. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him that, as weak as she was, she was still able to feel his presence…
Had she learned it by instinct, due to exposure? Or had it been a conscious effort?
He had never asked, had he?
In the past days (weeks, months) her immediate reaction upon seeing him varied from rejection to threats, and when fear could no longer be denied, pleas and tears… Now, she remained quiet. Still. Just watching as he approached the hospital bed.
A vase of flowers had been placed at the small table at the bed’s side. White lilies. Her favorite. A gift from her mother? Her friends? The window was closed, the drapes pulled so she could see the night’s sky (likely by her own request). He knew her enough to guess she lamented that the doctors had refused to let it open so she could feel the air. As if that would make any difference in the end…
The sheets, placed with care over her body, were as white as the clothes she wore. It was wrong. It was all wrong. Everything looked too big for her and he hated how the color that had made her look beautiful before was making her look like a sacrificial lamb.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Sara noticed the proximity seemed to affect Ian’s self-control as a shiver ran through him. After so long, she had come to learn the subtle telling signs of his emotional state. It was a fact she now regarded with distant curiosity.
It didn’t matter, anyway.
“You can’t stop this…” The human girl said and the man who was not human couldn’t tell if she just disliked the silence or was moved by some remaining desire of defying him, though it didn’t seem quite so. Sara had always been too honest with her own emotions, full of life and love and fire and… And now, all she had to show was serenity, as if in the acceptance of her fate, she had found the peace she had lost.
No… The peace he had taken from her.
“Sara…” Ian’s tone was a whisper as he stood at her side, not wanting to see her recoil if he kneeled next to her. She was so pale… So thin… Finally breaking after the last months as it was, her body no longer cared to hide the signs of deterioration caused by stress and fear… Many times Ian had seen death, many times had delivered it, yet…
“Let her be, Ian” Raphael had warned him once, eyes burning. “Before you kill her.”
He had dismissed those words, had considered them an exaggeration of the other.
“I’ve never wanted this…” His voice broke and he didn’t care. “I never meant for this to happen…” A sudden desire of holding her hand as a loved one would have done came to him, but he stopped himself. It was a rare occurrence, ignoring his own wishes, but Ian knew he had no right of such acts when he was the one who, in the end, had done this to her.
A vague curiosity came to Sara at the unusual display of tears forming in his eyes.
“I loved you ever since I met you…” As true as they were, the words hurt somehow. Made him ashamed. Was this part of what she had so often told him? That love, real love, wasn’t meant to hurt? “I loved you so much I wanted you with me no matter what…” This was not meant as an excuse, but came from a need, a sudden, desperate need, of trying to… To make her understand? To make it clear he had never meant to kill her?
What difference did his intentions make?
The tears escaped, rolling down his face. He didn’t care.
For once, he didn’t care.
“I know…”
He hadn’t expected that. In the last months, whenever he spoke of loving her, the girl would retort that all he could feel was ownership. Her eyes, as honest as they always were, found his with no fear or scorn…
It was the first time in months that she looked at him like that…
“She’s calm only because she’s dying. And I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything about it…”
Had his insistence tortured her so much that death was a relief?
“Despite what you’ve done…” Sara whispered, not looking away. Coming to terms with her own death had made her think about what had happened (about her whole life really) in ways she hadn’t before. There had been days in the past when she had dreamt about seeing him suffer, making him suffer… Now, this all seemed so distant. “I guess you… Loved me the only way you knew how…”
She said nothing else, but he could see that she pitied him for it.
It was too much. Ian wanted to kneel, to beg her, God, anyone for her to stay… He… He would go away. He would get out of her life as she wanted, she would never see him again, he would do anything if she just didn’t leave…
“Ian…” She said slowly, not for any reason other than her own weariness. “You have to let me go.”
“You can’t stop this…” Her words came back to him. Another time, the idea of his powers being useless, of him not being able to do something might have hurt his pride more than anything else.
He raised his head, aware her parents were coming. Perhaps two or three close friends would be with them. The ones who had tried over and over to protect her from him. The ones who deserved to be with her in her final hour.
His tears dripped in her hand. He wanted so badly to hold it, to touch her just one last time…
“I’m so sorry, my love… I’m so sorry” He managed to say as he wept, forcing himself away from her, only his eyes never leaving her. “I will love you forever…”
“I’m scared.” The words came with a force of their own, breaking whatever cage the Hero had kept them in for so long. The Friend turned around, with that gentle curiosity… Yet, their eyes were different. Heavier. Marked by all they had gone through. They said nothing, their expression being more than enough incentive for the other to carry on.
“Everyone was smiling, celebrating, and… I realized I don’t feel anything.” They confessed. “I just feel… This sort of emptiness. And people ask me what I will do now and I realized I’m not sure… I’m not even sure I want tomorrow to come. Hell if I know why!”
The Friend understood far too well. They had fought together too many times, experienced the same pain. This allowed a new level of understanding, they supposed. The others had fought and carried their own scars, sure… But not in the same way. Not so… Personally?
Hell if I know why, indeed.
“And you end up wondering…” The Friend found themselves saying. “If there is a life after this whole mess?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be…” The Hero stopped. Stupid words, those. Things, they had both learned long ago, were never as they were supposed to be. If they lived in a fair world, then they wouldn’t have seen all those horrors, they wouldn’t know how it felt to have people dying in their arms, they wouldn’t have learned the fine details of cruelty and pain.
The Hero let out a frustrated sound that was too close to a sob.
They had won. They had won and the war was over…
And they had not found peace.
Suddenly, warmth. The Friend was holding their hand. The Hero held it and took a deep breath, trying to organize their thoughts in a way that allowed them to force their feelings into words.
“I thought… I hoped,” They corrected themselves. “We might get a better… A better ending.” They looked at their Friend’s eyes, almost as if searching for something, for a way out, for something that had been lost. It was, again, a stupid idea. Lost was lost. Broken was broken.
There was no going back.
“Was it too much to ask for?”
The Friend hesitated.
“No… I don’t think so.” They said slowly, carefully. “You know it wasn’t… We sacrificed enough, that’s for sure.” And what they hadn’t sacrificed, it had been taken away by force until they had been left with nothing. Well, like the world had ever cared for such things. This only worked in stories, when a happy ending – a completely happy ending – was possible. It was an irony, perhaps… The Villain had often told them they wouldn’t ever truly win, had often mocked them, and said they wouldn’t ever get a “happy ending”… At times, after destroying something else they had tried to protected, taken yet another piece of their innocence, of the people they had once been…
What was left now?
The Hero could see those memories in the Friend’s eyes.
“The bastard was right, then. At least about that…” They muttered, exhaustion preventing whatever bitterness that there might be from touching their voice. The Friend remained in silence, unsure of what could be said…
The Hero looked back at their friend.
“The nightmares will never stop, will they?”
They both knew the answer.
“No…” The Friend said, hating the taste of the truth.
Slowly, the Friend embraced the Hero. Let the others celebrate. They should be allowed a few moments to themselves, to their own mourning.
“What happens now?” The Hero muttered. “What we do now, if this… Thing inside us will never stop? Never heal?”
“I… I don’t know… But we face it like we always did. Together…”
They had won the war… But perhaps they had lost themselves in the process.
The dragon roared at the knights, its tail whipping in their direction. A few, more experienced, kept their ground, trying to slice the flesh with their swords in response. It was of little use. The animal’s scales were too resilient, its movements too quick. Most fell, trying to recover their breathing.
From another tower, came a rain of arrows. The dragon shielded itself with one wing. The arrows fell in the ground, useless. The ones that managed to land a hit were no more than superficial scratches.
A few knights, unable to bear the horror the creature brought, fled. Others stayed, rushing towards the creature, swinging their swords. With a hiss, the dragon stretched its wings, a posture of intimidation as it backed away to where, moments ago, there had been walls. More bricks fell as the animal adjusted itself. Its tail moved again with violence.
No one would be able to tell this had once been the princess’ room. What hadn’t been ripped apart by the dragon’s talons had been kicked or broken by the knights’ attempts to free her. The woman, still held in one of the dragon’s paws, wept and cried at them to run, to save themselves.
“It is useless, save yourselves!” She screamed, still squirming and trying to get out of the creature’s hold. A knight yelled something and lunged forward. The dragon swung its paw, sending the man across the room, and turned around. From down below, people watched and screamed, either too scared to run or too confused. Moments ago, everything had been as it always had been, normal, safe. Then suddenly, the large dragon had crossed the skies, broken the walls of the tower where the princess’ room was and taken the girl.
The screams were like one single sound, made of several tones, of terror and despair.
The dragon lowered its head, looking at them with its red eyes. The princess saw some people running away, survival instinct coming to life at least, fearing the animal was about to send a breath of fire at them. Others seemed too scared to move. Behind the dragon, the knights still attacked, but whatever wounds they inflicted was not enough.
The dragon roared once again… And took the skies.
The princess looked down, still hearing the screams of the knights left in her room. Down there, some were taking their horses, wanting to chase the dragon. Despite the height and the wind, she could pick some words they shouted, vows of saving her.
The chase didn’t last long. The horses were fast, but the dragon was faster and soon, the forest below was just a stain of green.
It was over.
It was all over.
And it was… Amusing, if anyone asked her, which no one would.
No one ever had, save the so-called monster carrying her.
Seeing they were far enough from the castle and that it was unlikely their pursuers could see them, the dragon slowed its pace and lifted its paw, so she could climb its back easily.
“Don’t you think,” The woman (not a princess anymore) said. There was no need to shout, not at this speed and not with the dragon’s sharp senses. “That the whole roaring and growling was a little too much?”
A rumble ran through the animal’s body. The dragon was trying to hold a chuckle back.
“I meant it. I almost went deaf back there!”
“Hey, sorry.” The dragon said, turning its serpent-like neck, looking at the princess. The red eyes, so empty of emotion before, were warm. Warmer than the king’s eyes had ever been. “I just thought that, since I could only do it once, I had to do it properly!”
The princess faked a look of disdain and made a sound of displeasure that was equally false. The pretense was ruined by the smile playing at the corner of her lips and how one hand kept caressing the dragon’s back. The dragon, in its turn, rolled its eyes.
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, your highness. You know I live to serve you!” The exaggerated servitude in those words was too much and both shared a look before laughing.
Thanking the dragon, the woman laid her head on its back with no fear of falling, should she fall asleep. She knew the dragon would never let it happen.
She closed her eyes, feeling free for the first time in ages. No more a breeding mare to be sold by her father, no more a pawn to be sacrificed in a game she had never agreed to participate.
She smiled.
Really, what people sometimes didn’t understand was that the dragon wasn’t kidnapping the princess…
The thought of the Hero lying still, battered, broken had often enticed the Villain, to the point of becoming close to a personal fantasy…
Then why seeing them like this now brought no joy or contentment?
The Villain studied the Hero once more, with no signs of emotion whatsoever. It was the same detachment one would display upon examining a dissected frog. A bruise here. A bandage there. The Villain had experience with pain (inflicting and receiving) so the smallest signs stood out with the same intensity of a severed limb. This was the one who defied them over and over, the one who had so often fought them… Now, laying in a hospital bed, looking more like a broken doll than a soldier, only able to sleep thanks to the painkillers.
“Oh, yes, this is their so-called hero. Their beacon of hope.” The thought was laced with the usual disdain. Beaten by someone they claimed to love, more the irony if one recalled how the Hero fought when protecting others.
Pathetic.
The Villain was still... Displeased.
They frowned. Why couldn’t they savor this moment? That they had not caused this certainly played a part, but they had expected to feel something akin to satisfaction at the very least. But no…
It made no sense. Just like it made no sense for them to stand there. The initial idea was to satisfy the curiosity, to see the damage, perhaps mock the Hero (not killing them, there would be no pleasure in killing them when someone else had already weakened them). Taking in how they were asleep and would likely be for a long time, there was no reason for the Villain to remain there.
Unaware of the enemy’s presence, the Hero remained in a drugged sleep, chest moving slowly as they breathed. A side of their face hidden under bandages. Someone they loved had done this. Someone they had protected several times. Suddenly, the Villain wondered if this was the first time…
Why did they care? Yes, they despised such things, but the story between them and the Hero and the hate they felt should make it easy to forsake those few morals. Yet, when the Villain tried to use those same morals to justify their displeasure (approaching the realm of anger now), it seemed this was not enough. What they felt was close to being personal, somehow.
“Figures. Nothing is simple when it comes down to you…” They thought to the Hero, with less disdain than before. If they had been awake, the Hero would probably have replied with some sarcastic remark. The Villain couldn’t help a smile at the idea. Â
Was it because this had been done by someone weaker than the Villain? Weaker than both of them? Yes… Yes, it might be. The Hero was strong, after all, no sense in denying it (underestimating an enemy was to set foot on the path to eventual defeat). It was almost insulting then, that the Hero had basically allowed themselves to be hurt by that person.
It wasn’t just that… This couldn’t be the only reason why the circumstances made the Villain feel like that.
“I’ve hurt them time and time again and it never bothered me. Well, except for not being able to kill the little pest.” True that. Yet… It wasn’t quite the same, was it? Those wounds of now, they hurt deeper than anything else the Hero had already suffered in battle.
Their eyes ran over the form lying in the bed as if seeing the Hero for the first time. Strange… No matter how much they had hurt the Hero in the past, they had never looked as fragile as they did now.
The Villain realized their hand had moved with a will of its own, stopping inches from the wounded side of the Hero’s face.
The Villain stopped at once, bringing their hand back.
What were they doing?
It… It was a sense of propriety that moved them, nothing else. After so many fights, it was natural that their relationship had gained a quality of… Exclusiveness, they supposed. There was a certain intimacy in their mutual hatred and the Villain felt to have earned the right to be the only one who could hurt the Hero.
That was all.
Wasn’t it?
This was not helping matters. They could think about this later. It was enough to be angered at the sight of the Hero’s body… To sudden have the desire of breaking that person’s bones for what they had done…
The Villain leaned closer, lips touching the skin of the Hero’s ear.
“You are mine.” They whispered, not without what they considered gentleness. Anyone else hearing it, however, wouldn’t be able to tell if the tone was meant to be loving or threatening. “And I don’t take kindly to others touching what belongs to me.”
They left the room as they had entered it, without being noticed. Hmm… Far too easy to enter this hospital (and the Hero’s room), wasn’t it? This wouldn’t do in the future. But at the moment, the Villain had more pressing business to deal with.
Once they left the building, the Villain looked back, to the window of the Hero’s room… They considered delivering the abuser’s head once they were done…
A pity the Hero would likely mistake the gift for a gesture of provocation.
Of all the things he had thought to say or do when (and if) this ever happened, this wasn’t part of the list. But seeing his friend there, after such a long time of bitter silence, staring at him with those eyes, it was as if the words had a life of their own. Â
He knew it was the wrong thing to say when something flashed in his friend’s eyes.
“I’m really…”
“Sorry?” The friend’s voice was like a thin blade. “You’re… Sorry?”
The words felt even weaker when repeated back at him. He wanted to say more. Needed to say more, anything that would properly convey how much he regretted his mistake, how much he wished he could take things back, but nothing came to mind except that. Others often said he wasn’t particularly good with words when it came down to things of this nature and now, more than ever before, he wished he had at least tried to change this aspect of himself.
He wished he could change much about himself.
“You… You bother me all this time to see you again…” The friend continued, teeth clenched in an attempt to keep control. He forced himself to not lower his eyes. His friend had never looked at him like that, despite all the mistakes and all the times they had fought. “And that’s what you have to say? That you’re sorry? Are you actually kidding me?”
“Please… I…” He hesitated, his heart aching.
“No, no!” The friend stood up, the coldness replaced by a burning rage that didn’t completely hide the hurt. Perhaps that was the worst part. Once, an enemy of theirs had said that he would destroy everything he held dear by simply being himself. Back then, in his arrogance, he had assumed the villain meant people would suffer for being associated with him.
“You don’t get to just come here and say “sorry” as if you had just forgotten a chore or broke something!!!” Now the friend was screaming. “You can’t just do what you did and then say that!”
“I… I…”
His friend was having none of that.
“You don’t even understand what you did, do you?” The friend asked, trying to keep the tears from forming while trying to reclaim self-control. “They are dead. They are all dead and you want to say sorry?”
He tried to not wince. It was the truth. He was the only one to blame. It hadn’t been an elaborate plan of the villain, demanding a sadistic choice to be made, it hadn’t been out of necessity or anything…
It had just been his arrogance. Nothing more and nothing less.
“Look, I know I… I just… I can’t change what I did. If I could, I swear I…”
“I don’t want to listen. You’ve been pestering me for months to see you again, at least once. Well, I did. We’re done here.” The friend stood up, picking their coat and casting him a last glance of pure hate before whispering.
“The people I loved are dead because of you. I will never forgive you.”
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