“So, unless you think you can take on three warriors by yourself, or a hundred drakai, you are not getting past it.”
“But tonight, I…”
“You found a tiny sliver that acts as a walkway, but not across the pit, beside it. It leads to the dungeons. If you think you can use the dungeons to escape, you’re more foolish than I thought.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“I know this isn’t what you want. But for you, there is… some good to be found here. It’s not—” He closes his eyes. “It’s not ideal. But there is no escaping. If there was, I would have done it already.”
43
Haze
Iwatch her peaceful face, curled up in the blankets. Her chest rises and falls.
She is so soft. So gentle. So good.
I almost hate her for it. How lovely and trusting she is.
I hate it because it should have been for me. It could have been if it weren’t for the Ancient One I now serve.
But it’s not really her I hate. It’s this place. It’s the priestess and the Ancient and Nihil. It’s myself, I hate the most, because I don’t believe I’ll ever be worthy of such light.
I’ve avoided her as much as physically possible, because each moment I linger in her presence, the weaker my self-control becomes. I am at my breaking point.
It’s too much. This pain. This fear.
The chasm between us is too wide to even attempt crossing, but sometimes I sit at the edge and imagine. I watch in awe, each breath she takes.
How did she survive in all of this? How is she still here? She is a living miracle.
In these moments, I succumb to the hope that would destroy me and imagine. Her smile for me. Her lips against mine. Iimagine her thighs around me. Her back arched. Her little gasps and moans.
Her song. Her joy. Her head against my chest.
Her belly swollen?—
I drop to my knees at that image, my soul cracking wide open. My chest convulses with violent breaths.
I suck in and wheeze out until my vision peppers black. The pain is overwhelming. The darkness writhes inside, desperate to get out.
How long can I control it?
How long until I become the darkness and it kills she and I both?
I fist my hair so tightly it hurts.
I don’t even notice that she woke until her fingers brush the bottom of my chin, lifting my face to hers.
I blink, eyes wide. Like a child, desperate for connection. Desperate for relief from the fear that rages inside.
“You’re different, aren’t you?” Her voice is so quiet.
She’s like an angel. Her smooth skin, beautiful pink lips, and hair the color of a tiny flame in the darkness. Golden at some moments, red at others.
When I don’t respond, she places her palm on my chest—right where it hurts the most. The ache settles. The darkness halts.
She and I breathe as one.
