Disclaimer: The series Demon Diary does not belong to me.
Progression
©2005 by Kei
He wears her down like water wears down a rock. She is just a tiny pebble now, and finds herself too small and tired to fight anymore.
Each scar is an idol to those gold eyes and his pagan lips worship them lavishly, and she is unmoving.
She is unmoved.
What a waste, she thinks at the close of the following day, because nothing changed.
His pursuit is relentless, like she is still a virgin resistant to his advances, like he is the sun god and she a nymph who has inadvertently caught his blazing eye.
Meeting his adoring gaze, she wonders if perhaps he is slightly mad.
She grimaces in pity and lightly kisses his silly song singing lips.
As she walks away, she thinks she could turn into a laurel tree.
She makes sure to obtain and imbibe a certain special drink, and the brilliant blood between her legs each month assures her of the potion's success.
He doesn't seem to notice or mind, for all he wants is her and all she wants is him gone.
Lines slowly begin forming on her once flawless skin. She hopes he'll lose interest this way.
No.
His dream-speaking tongue caresses every shallow crevice and there is the tiniest frisson through her body.
She attributes it to age.
Her hair is grey and she can hardly bear the weight of her sword anymore.
He carries her wherever she wishes to go—except away from him.
Lovingly he bathes her and she is too tired to protest or push him away.
He demands nothing of her in the darkness, seemingly content to simply hold her arthritic body in his ageless arms.
She wishes for the strength to push him away.
At the brink of her death he casts a powerful spell that shakes her to her core.
She opens the eyes she thought would never more open, sees him smiling down at her with what might be tears sparkling in his eyes.
He is overjoyed and she speechless, not understanding.
Grasping her hands, he pulls her up, and nothing aches, nothing creaks.
He has made her young again.
In his embrace, she thinks she ought to be wishing she had died, but such a desire never comes.
Is it possible? He loves her even more than before after coming so blisteringly close to losing her.
His attentions don't grate as harshly on her old soul. She recognizes his gift for what it is.
Slicing through the air with her blade, she thinks of him.
Her thoughts are not unbeautiful.
She stops for a moment, meets his adoring gaze, and he is perhaps only slightly mad for love of her.
Finding that she doesn't particularly mind the fact, she returns to her swordplay.
A night arrives when she moves beneath him and the ecstasy is such that she cannot help her tiny cry.
He holds her so close and can barely speak for the happiness welling in his throat.
She touches his mussed hair and says nothing, does nothing more.
-finis-