A/N: Every time I post about an extended hiatus, I'm back within a few weeks. Go figure.
This one's just a quick experimental horror/romance shortfic that's obviously been heavily influenced by the fact that I'm majoring in English at a Catholic university (props to anyone who catches all of the religious and literary references). I do hope you'll enjoy it... and, as always, concrit will be very warmly accepted.
Let us dispense with unnecessary pretenses, Cassandra, love—you imagine yourself to be my savior, don't you?
So scarcely concealed, darling, for even as you imagine me bound and constrained by madness and misguided devotion, never have I been bereft of wit and cunning. There's an ever-present lightness to you, something bright and pure, simultaneously beautiful and infuriating. You willingly ascend these cold, barren peaks only to begin your descent into the depths of hell, cast yourself into the frozen hold of Dante's Cocytus armed only with the pure, selfless love you ever fail to disguise, wielding it as though it might prove sufficient holy ward within this land of infernal torment.
And all to save me. What a wonderful delusion, you magnificent, foolish girl. Never could I myself have devised a more beautiful punishment to befall you.
"I know there's still goodness somewhere inside you," you opine, all lamb-eyed love and sweetness, and, oh, how I revel in your well-intentioned ignorance, my prodigal one.
Such to my benefit, this, as well as your gentle naivety, your lack of formal schooling. You stride about with such purpose, determined and proud, holding to your blessed light like a newborn babe to his nurse, as if this alone will sustain you indefinitely here in this land of darkness, darkness so deep it fairly lives and breathes.
Ever in ignorance, my love. Ever in ignorance.
For even as you vainly cast your light into the depths, you shall forever fail to recognize me as I tempt you in the desert with that which you most desire, with false and broken promises of love and devotion. I shall continue to kindle the smoldering spark of muted wrath into passion and inflamed lust, turn your sweetness and light to vice and sin. I shall hold you and bind you, lead you to my bed, crowned and bound by bloody thorns.
So naïve, beautiful Cassandra—for why would I seek the confines of paltry salvation while I may reign triumphant over the damned?
Let it not be said, however, that I am not without my own brand of kindness, my darling, for even the fallen have the capacity to feel, in their own way, as I have deigned to feel for you.
Revel in my generosity, then, love. I shall liberate you from your misguided and fruitless holiness, your dying light.
My dear Cassandra.
I shall be your savior.
