The last thing I remember I was reading a text from a friend who was trying to convince that my wonderful fanfiction pair up of Galadriel and Sauron in my marvelous fanfiction was less than ideal. What does she know about it! Sure, she reads those books and others about salamanders and stuff but I know that Sauron is secretly a poor, tortured soul who can be redeemed by the right woman! He is my Gorthaur the Cute, my neck romancer and dark lord of temptation and I have seen some hot fan art of him too!
Now I was simply standing in some dark stone room, no recollection of how I came to be here, waiting for something to happen. The only light that enters this places comes from two narrow slits in the wall that I begin to imagine are windows but the light isn't sunlight as it is too faint and red to fully illuminate the room. In fact, most of the room is in shadows that made the sparse furniture invisible to me until I literally stumbled into it, tripping over a wooden bucket and crashing onto an already broken cot of sorts. Putrid smelling liquid spills from the bucket and begins to soak into my brand new jeans and socks as I hurriedly attempt to right myself. I wince as I push myself off the cold, stone floor, splintered remains of the cot press into my bleeding hands, and make my way towards the windows, using my hands to avoid any more surprises in the dark.
I reach the closest window and discover that it is larger than I expected, as I am able to fit my shoulders through as I lean out. Glowing fires dot the otherwise drab landscape bellow. Hot air buffers at me, bringing with it the unmistakable stench of brimstone, forcing my retreat from the window. As I stumble back across the room, I hear the muffled sound of footsteps approaching. Without thinking, I make my way to the door and try the bulky, rust-covered handle. No luck, it was locked. Nevertheless, the sound of movement stops; replaced by the sound of a gruff, guttural voice.
"Help! I think I'm stuck!" I yelled, my voice betraying my near panicked state. Slamming my fists against the thick wooden door and continuing my desperate cry, I was unable to hear the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. Suddenly I fell into the outstretched arms of ironclad orc, the scent wafting from him like an open sewer. He gave a cruel, crooked grin at my startled reaction.
"Well, well, the Master might just be pleased with me yet!" his vile breath rendering me unconscious.
Even before my eyelids could flutter open, I could sense the pure malice and dread of the presence in the room. Upon opening my eyes, I beheld him, the Lord of the Rings, sitting on a twisted throne, staring down at me in contempt. Fire filled my mind and vision. All I could do was to surrender to his overwhelming domination. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the retched orc who brought me to the Dark Lord shrink back in terror as if it would be flayed alive at any moment if it stood next to me.
Maybe this is why you are here? To tame the heart of the fallen Maia and bring him back from the shadows that he now calls home, an unbidden thought entered my mind. Was this the work of he, whom I nicknamed the Neck-romancer, to bring me here so that I could love him into redemption? Could I love him now that I see him, as he is, blacked skin like lava that has begun to cool but with the brightness of fire in his eyes?
His eyes; they had a will of their own as they drew me towards him. I could see a hunger there as well as something that looked like amusement. Before I was even aware of what was happening I found myself approaching the towering figure of the Dark Lord. Heat emanating from him cast a shimmering aura over his inhuman form. As I drew closer, the malice gave way to gut-wrenching compulsion to embrace my new Master.
Another step closer and other step towards the living embodiment of fire and destruction, my clothes were starting to smoke and my breathing was becoming painfully difficult. The heat of a thousand furnaces was nothing compared to what I face, as I grew ever closer to my one true love. Smell of singeing hair stung my nose and the skin on my face began to blister under the intense heat.
My love will keep me safe, my mind protest. This is my destiny. I will redeem him, my Love, my Master. I repeated this thought to myself to bolster my courage, even as every part of my body shouted out in absolute agony.
Flames that raced across my loose fitted t-shirt, boot-cut jeans, the soles of my shoes had melted off. I stood there, bare and bloodied feet, on fire but unflinching as my exposed nerves burn away. Last thing I am aware of as I drape my blazing arms around the source of my love and misery, as my eyes pop in their sockets like gory water balloons and finger nails shoot off in all directions, is deep, pitiless laughter rolling over me. The last ounce of my will extinguished in the heat of his presence.