Pairing: Grell/Madam
Theme: Desperation
Summary: No one told him the pain never goes away.
Music: My Escape by Sonic Syndicate
Will I spend my life wondering
What could have been
If I didn't throw it away
Or will I struggle on
And find a better path for myself
I've built my life upon decades of experience
But what I built for years took days for you to raze
In the end I learned that one single snowflake
Can set an avalanche in motion
Some questions are dangerous, the truth is not an option
This is the illusion I pulled down over your eyes
But I left my guard down and you caught me by surprise
Nothing is ever carved in stone
He could still feel her kiss on him, those cherry painted lips pressing innocently and yet devilishly to his own. He could still hear her warm breath, sighing out along his neck and stirring his crimson hair. He could taste the blood on her tongue while he suckled at the cuts his teeth had made along it. But most of all he could smell the fire that burned within her spirit, raging, and caressing against his own with a dance that matched their fervours murders. He had come to love these things about his scarlet lady, his precious blood red maiden.
Yet what was love? What was this reason he spent hours lost in thought, merely thinking about those carmine smiles and vermillion caresses? Why did he crave the warmth he found her arms, no matter if they were covered with blood or water? How could he have allowed himself to fall so far just to be her reason, her voice, and her servant? When he had noticed how corrupted she had made him, he knew it was already too late. Who would have ever guessed that his black heart could fill with the soft words she'd speak, and beat under her nurturing care?
That was why he killed her, stared into those scarlet eyes as they reflected his own face. A reflection of his soul, shrouded with everything she had done to him—her love for her nephew had merely just been a convenient way to hide it all for him. To draw an end to the servitude he had place himself under—to cut away those strings of love before he too would die from it. He was so use to having control over life and death—he truly believed he could kill his own love with her life.
But no one told him… they didn't tell him he had no control over that black heart of his. They never told him it would beat even after she was gone. He never knew that traitorous organ could sound for her, instead of because. Perhaps if he had known how truly powerless he was, and that she would remain his mistress even in death he would have thought twice. But he has run out of options, out of reasons, and the only thing he had left was the memories she had given him. Such a bittersweet way to realize the one thing you needed you'd casted away so carelessly.
He'd sit at her grave, with a melancholy grin and a rose he never left. He'd trace the letters of her name, like he had once whispered to her ear. He'd contemplate his death like a normal man would contemplate a new suit. He'd consider the pros and cons of his existence as if he was merely considering butchering the cow he had raised all winter. It would be so simple he decided with cheek resting to the icy surface of her tombstone. If her death would not take away these feelings, then perhaps his own death would be his salvation. He'd close his eyes then, head tilting as he pressed his lips against the marker of her grave. A gentle action he had once given to her in life, he'd now give her to her death.
The graveyard keeper was very use to his coming and going, and he was very keen with people and their grief. He seen many beloved of the dead come and go through the gates he watched over. Yet it was that crimson man that seemed to take his interest—never before he had he seen a man so deeply wounded by the death of a women. Never before had he seen someone spend hours sitting by a grave caressing his finger over their name and whispering to themselves. He was determined that if it continued he would approach the man—try to convince him to find some counseling perhaps.
As the keeper made his way up the old grassy hill he knew suddenly something was not right. He'd turn, half in horror to hear the roar of a chainsaw and the splattering of fresh blood. He stared in pure disbelieve as that crimson man dove the rugged teeth of the weapon deep into his chest. The shovel he had been holding was dropped-- lost behind him as he sprinted over the distance, and came to a shuttering halt as he heard the man's final words.
Grell had once again covered her in blood, sweet scarlet and crimson hues. The reaper had so very much loved her in blood—and she would look so much more beautiful in his own he imagined. Thus he murdered himself over her grave, with her name on his lips and his blood seeping down into the dark earth around her.