What they had was forbidden.
And they both knew it.
If their secret became known, became public knowledge … god, they'd shiver in their thoughts just thinking about it. They'd be ripped limb from limb, denounced as evil, immoral people.
But, how can love be wrong?
Apparently, theirs was.
What did others know? Did they know how when, late at night, one of them would shudder, shake and turn as he was assaulted with memories that was his, yet at the same time, were not. Were they even true? He didn't know.
Did others know that sometimes at night, the other would toss and turn, seeking out the body heat of another instinctively, even when he was asleep. Did they know that if he didn't find that heat, he curled up in a small ball, hugging his knees tightly to his chest as he sobbed softly, rejection cutting deep and not healing too well.
How can love be wrong?
Apparently, theirs was.
But, they were happy together. Happy living their life curled up together, like two little kittens, until an observer couldn't tell where one began and the other ended, and the people involved couldn't really tell either.
However, like all great love, theirs was destined to be tested, not only by others, but by themselves. There is a thin line between love and hate.
How can love be wrong?
One was condemned as a murderer, never to return to his home, never to return to his lover.
The other was left to deal with the aftermath of the murder, and as he did, he thought his feelings slowly turned from the purest love, into the blackest hate.
How can love be wrong?
Blood, life blood, precious precious blood, trying to get to a place where it was no longer connected dripped down one's arms as he held his dying lover in his arms, the one that he had tried to kill himself, for petty revenge. As his lover died, he whispered, his voice forever haunting his love,
How can love be wrong?
A year later, there was a remarkably similar scene. The differences were that it was with the other lover, the still living one. Blood dripped from slashed wrists, trying to get to a place it was no longer wanted.
As he died, he whispered a sentence:
How can love be wrong?
