Empty. So empty. They were big, shining brown orbs, and beautiful…but flawed, in that they were blank and lifeless.
"Your fault," she says…or does she? The fake smile again, tired and dull to match her soul. There is nothing. And he shudders. Is it really his fault…is he to blame for twisting her to this? He looks at her, a pale angel in the moonlight. His angel. His fallen angel. And her empty eyes stared into the night.
"Will you always be here?" She flips over onto her stomach, facing him, eyes clouded still with sleep. Her full red lips are highlighted by the yellow sunshine that filters through the window. It rests on her dark hair as she wraps her arms around him, her soft body clinging to him like a second skin. He is shaking slightly, the smile on his face contrived and mechanical, because he knows he doesn't deserve his angel. He doesn't deserve to be loved by her, and in fact he doesn't deserve tainting her with is love. Because love is such a beautiful and pure emotion, not fit for an ugly being like him. He knows he is ugly, not on the outside but within, where it counts most. He imagines that his heart is a diseased, black, pulsating thing. And then there is the mark that has scarred over on his left forearm, an abandoned badge of allegiance to a madman who failed. He thinks that it is an abomination, and it sickens him that she should be exposed to such filth. But she laughs at his fears when he tells her, and says that they are silly. And when they make love she runs her tongue over the mark, making him moan, tracing the skull and snake with great care. She says it's beautiful, that it's a mark of courage, and that he should never be ashamed.
She nips at his ear now, impatient. He looks at her and says, "Yes. Always." She gazed at him, her brown eyes expressive as always, full of love. "No matter what I do?" He had felt a shock of foreboding then, though he couldn't explain it at the time. "Of course…I will always love you, don't you know that?" he asked, knowing that what he'd said wasn't true, that he was letting a lie pass his lips. But how could he answer otherwise? Her eyes were watching him still, pleading. "Of course," he repeated, for he had lied every day of his life and the idea of being truthful when it was not necessary did not even occur to him. After all, she was his angel, and she could do nothing to displease him, he thought. It turned out that he was wrong.
He remembers the first time he saw her there, her slim profile swathed in the blackness of that accursed cloak. He'd concealed his shock; it was not wise to show emotion in such a place, in the presence of…Him. He'd felt faint and slightly dizzy, and very, very close to falling right then and there. How could this have happened? How could he not have known. He blinked a couple of times, and closed his eyes, praying that it wasn't her. Not her, please God, not…He opened his eyes. It was her. Unmistakable, the dark curls, the tall, slender body, the pale innocent face, in a place like this. The bitter contradiction made his head spin. His angel, now fallen from grace. He felt a stabbing pain through his heart, an ache that only increased the more he watched his fallen angel kneel before Him, pledging obedience. At the moment the Dark Mark was seared into her pale skin, she looked across the room in his direction. Their eyes met for a moment. Guilt, and passion he saw. A keen lust for power that he'd never seen before. And indifference. At that, his heart broke for the final time. He ripped his eyes away from her and glared at the ground, furious, feeling betrayed. And he promised himself that he would make her pay for this.