Malleus learns what love is later than most—not that he hadn’t known of it. He’s exceptionally well-read, and beyond that, there’s an entire kingdom to sing his praises! Still, he is a practical learner; The prince waxes you poetry, sings you sonnets, battles ruthlessly in your honour—it is not enough. Your love is greedy, and he is abundant in the face of your impunity.
I love you,
Say his hands, which shroud your eyes and dabble your rationale in primitive fear. They leave behind cold, viscous ink in a manner that makes you wish he’d just let you help. You see no evil.
I love you,
Sings his lips, encapsulating yours until you grow too weary to argue and too intoxicated on his petty magic tricks to awaken. You speak no evil.
I love you,
Screams the blot that blooms from him. Your memory fades time and time again—to resist him is to be erased. You think you hear a ghost of salvation, once; A do-good knight in shining armour fit to piece together whatever you were before this. Before him. You hear no evil.
”I love you,”
He sobs, mutilated and truly defeated. You are numb, and Malleus, no matter how many people love and are loved by him in return, is Evil.
Love has made him do terrible things; Malleus has learned to resent it, for had he known sooner, been better, this could have been prevented—
Love is pain. He is full of it.
