Suddenly, Light - by Harukami
I am alone here in the darkness.
Perhaps it is vanity, to wait here right next to the door out of this labyrinth. Wishful thinking and blasphemy: I hope that Asellus will make my lord vanish, will then own this labyrinth and let me out.
Blasphemy. And a lie.
I am dry, like old bones, far hungrier than I was in my coffin. I wonder how the Mandrake survived? He probably opened doors until he found other monsters, and ate them. I could do that, could allow myself to be attacked and drain that monster dry. Still, I am afraid to leave this door out, just in case.
The worst part for me is how little of anything is here. Empty space and doors like options, teasing me. This is the only door that means anything, and I have no options right now.
I am alone here with my thoughts, curling sickeningly. About my lord and about my love.
They aren't the same person any more, if they ever were.
I worry for my lord and feel sick for doing so, but I cannot seem to stop. He cherished me, if nothing else, kept me like something he valued. How can I fault him? I was something to him.
What, I'm not sure. But something.
Asellus is different. Her charm isn't glass and velvet as my lord's is. It's fire, burning fire. Clocks start when she walks past them. She entered my life like a whirlwind; I had no choice but to go along.
I saw the world at her side. Soon, although I still had no choice, I went along for a completely different reason.
Ildon realized, I'm sure, and disapproved. Ildon often disapproves of things. He himself is in a relationship, or perhaps several, and likely he disapproves of that, too. Like me, he is submissive to anyone with greater charm. He disapproves of that as well. I accept it.
I am alone here with my acceptance, I suppose.
Love is a danger, though, and Ildon is a fighter. I never was, though I can fight if I must. I am a princess, I am a slave.
I don't disapprove, but for a while, I was terrified of what Orlouge would do if he learned that one of his mistresses had fallen in love with his heir.
Of course, he is probably pleased that Asellus has worked her charm so young. I am the one to be punished for running off with her.
I cannot fault him for that. Nor her.
Zozma knew as well. I saw him, now and then, following at a respectful distance. I don't believe Asellus saw him; if so, she never mentioned it. Zozma knew. Zozma would always know these things. He would not disapprove.
Blasphemy.
To be in love. Lust is normal. Love is rare, and like all rare, fragile things, is not to be spoken of. There is no one here to talk to. Asellus never knew. She will never know, I don't think. She will refuse to know.
It hurts. But I can smile still and think of her.
I am so tired, so hungry, so alone.
Suddenly, light. Orlouge is dying. Orlouge is fading. Orlouge is gone; I can feel him twist and fade away inside me. Asellus has won, Asellus has won.
I am laughing and crying, all at the same time, broken inside, whole. I push my hands to the door and wait, and wait for a heat to come through it, for life, for sudden blooming and pain and joy and her, and her.
I wait. It is lonely here, I wait.
I am alone here in the darkness.
Perhaps it is vanity, to wait here right next to the door out of this labyrinth. Wishful thinking and blasphemy: I hope that Asellus will make my lord vanish, will then own this labyrinth and let me out.
Blasphemy. And a lie.
I am dry, like old bones, far hungrier than I was in my coffin. I wonder how the Mandrake survived? He probably opened doors until he found other monsters, and ate them. I could do that, could allow myself to be attacked and drain that monster dry. Still, I am afraid to leave this door out, just in case.
The worst part for me is how little of anything is here. Empty space and doors like options, teasing me. This is the only door that means anything, and I have no options right now.
I am alone here with my thoughts, curling sickeningly. About my lord and about my love.
They aren't the same person any more, if they ever were.
I worry for my lord and feel sick for doing so, but I cannot seem to stop. He cherished me, if nothing else, kept me like something he valued. How can I fault him? I was something to him.
What, I'm not sure. But something.
Asellus is different. Her charm isn't glass and velvet as my lord's is. It's fire, burning fire. Clocks start when she walks past them. She entered my life like a whirlwind; I had no choice but to go along.
I saw the world at her side. Soon, although I still had no choice, I went along for a completely different reason.
Ildon realized, I'm sure, and disapproved. Ildon often disapproves of things. He himself is in a relationship, or perhaps several, and likely he disapproves of that, too. Like me, he is submissive to anyone with greater charm. He disapproves of that as well. I accept it.
I am alone here with my acceptance, I suppose.
Love is a danger, though, and Ildon is a fighter. I never was, though I can fight if I must. I am a princess, I am a slave.
I don't disapprove, but for a while, I was terrified of what Orlouge would do if he learned that one of his mistresses had fallen in love with his heir.
Of course, he is probably pleased that Asellus has worked her charm so young. I am the one to be punished for running off with her.
I cannot fault him for that. Nor her.
Zozma knew as well. I saw him, now and then, following at a respectful distance. I don't believe Asellus saw him; if so, she never mentioned it. Zozma knew. Zozma would always know these things. He would not disapprove.
Blasphemy.
To be in love. Lust is normal. Love is rare, and like all rare, fragile things, is not to be spoken of. There is no one here to talk to. Asellus never knew. She will never know, I don't think. She will refuse to know.
It hurts. But I can smile still and think of her.
I am so tired, so hungry, so alone.
Suddenly, light. Orlouge is dying. Orlouge is fading. Orlouge is gone; I can feel him twist and fade away inside me. Asellus has won, Asellus has won.
I am laughing and crying, all at the same time, broken inside, whole. I push my hands to the door and wait, and wait for a heat to come through it, for life, for sudden blooming and pain and joy and her, and her.
I wait. It is lonely here, I wait.