Damn Theresa for ever sending her there in the first place.
Hair dripping with mud and her pale skin caked in blood and muck, she had stumbled up the cobblestone streets of Bloodstone, her limbs threatening to give out but her goal clear in mind. The sword at her side and the crossbow on her back had both proven equally useful in fending for her life in those god awful marches, and if it wasn't for her will power, she was sure she would have collapsed into the ground long ago. But as the lights of Bloodstone mansion called out to her, and the whispers of the men and woman on the streets met her ears, a determination filled her to reach the top of the hill before her fatigue gave out.
She was doomed from the very first moment she walked through his door.
His words had been welcoming, his aura kind, if a bit arrogant. The mysterious man had happily introduced her to his large home; his humble abode, he had called it, his own little corner of paradise. But the words that coyly followed paired with that very attractive smirk had made her usually strong legs buckle and a faint tinge of crimson to spread across her cheeks. The man was so incredibly handsome – never before had she encountered such a beautiful specimen. The way he held himself above the others of the town gave him this confidence that she was instantly drawn to, like a moth to the light of a lonely streetlamp. A feeling surged through her chest at the very presence of this being; he wasn't like the other heroes she had been sent to collect. He was not going to bow down to her. He was dominant.
And she liked it.
She should have realised what he was.
He sent her away, of course, claiming he would only associate himself with people of a much higher calibre than hers. Of course, this only fuelled her efforts more when she left that mansion, her mind filled with the thought of him.
She should have realised he was a monster.
She would drop in on him from time to time, and he would comment on her growing reputation and she would smile shyly and giggle. She would spend long nights just listening to him, unintentionally boosting his ego, and when he mentioned something she didn't approve of, she would softly scold him. Many times she encouraged him to embrace his inner hero, to help the world as she had, to use his talents for good. When he would reply with some witty remark and a dismissive wave of the hand, she would roll her eyes and sigh, trying her best to persuade him.
She should have realised he wouldn't listen.
The girl had never done anything bad in her life – well, save for the time she gave that drunk his alcohol back when she was but a child – and to her, everything was an image of purity. She was able to find good in everything she saw, be it a bandit or a street urchin. To her, criminals were simply people who had been pushed over the edge and forced into a life of sin. It was impossible for her to comprehend that anyone would solely choose to be evil. To her, it was possible for everyone to have at least some good in them. Maybe that was why she stuck by and defended HIM. She thought, no, she knew there just had to be some good in him.
She was a fool.
Though he pushed her aside, told her she was not worthy enough of his precious time, she became determined to prove him wrong. So she set off back through the marches, through the Banshees, through the scores of Hollow-men and wave upon wave of Hobbes. She did not rest until her blade was soaked with the blood of the monsters, and her brow was dripping with the sweat and effort of her deeds. And when she returned, and he gave her the acknowledgement she so desired, her heart soared. It leapt into the heavens. Oh, and when he smirked at her.
She was stuck in his web.
His words were so kind and gentle in her ears, that without a second thought she picked up the odd looking disk and went prancing off on another errand for him. When she met the young girl, when she discovered the trap she was set in, and the little agreement her idol had with those shady creatures, she dismissed it as a simply human weakness. After all, nobody really wants to die, do they? She simply saw it as him taking a rather good opportunity.
Everything about him was evil, pure evil.
When she returned, he held her, told her what a marvellous job she had done. He had commented on her wonderful skills, how he was so glad that she hadn't kept the seal and let the girl go free, how he was so happy her beauty hadn't gone to waste. She had dimply blushed, and he had pulled her closer. His breath had been hot on her face as he whispered sweet nothings to her, as his hands ran themselves up and down her sides, and as his mouth had met hers with such passion, yet such tenderness. His touch was like a drug, she needed more of it with each passing second, and before she had even noticed, she had been in his bedchamber, trapped underneath his perfectly sculpted body.
She was bound to him.
When she awoke, sore and tired beyond belief, she had smiled down upon his tender form. He had spoken to her that morning, remarking upon her skill despite the fact that he had been her first. She had given him her innocence happily, believing that that held some sentimental value for him.
It didn't.
She had spoken three words that morning, three words that he had failed to return, but she thought she saw a flicker of their meaning in his eyes. When she had dressed herself, she went over to him and kissed him softly, telling him that she was his and his alone. He had only smiled at her and given her a rather hard squeeze.
She should have known what that meant.
When his bullet pierced Lucien's body, and his form fell off of the pillar, she had looked to him with wide eyes. He had asked her if she had been the one who wanted to carry out the deed, but she simply shook her head and smiled, thanking him. Afterwards, when Theresa had offered them the chance to go their separate ways, he had not even spared her a second glance before stating his intentions. He had requested to go to Samarkand, though she had begged him not to go, and only when she started to tear up did he tell her he would stay. He didn't want her making a scene, after all.
She gave him her heart.
The two travelled the land together, sharing many nights under the trees bound in each other's embrace. Often, she would repeat those three little words, but he never mirrored her affection vocally. She continued to try and convert him, t show him the error of his way whenever he wanted to jump to violent conclusions, but he would always disobey her and not listen. She would scold him, telling him she didn't like it when he was mean to other people, and when she got upset, he would cup her face in his gloved hands, whispering to her that next time he would listen. But next time never came.
He had no heart to give.
Maybe, if she had listened to what Theresa's cards had told her, what the various commoners and nobles had told her, what her own head sometimes told her, she would have woken up. She would have realised what she had gotten herself into, and maybe she would have realised she needed to get out. But her love and adoration for this man who she believed could still be saved blinded her from seeing reason. The entire world around her was drowned out by her want for him, by her lust for his purity and redemption. She believed she could be the one to put him back on the straight and narrow.
Oh, and she tried. She tried so hard.
They were traversing one of the many caves hidden below the surface, searching every crevice and behind every waterfall for the treasure her beloved dog could sense. She sometimes commented that he loved gold more than he loved her, but he would never say anything back. When they stumbled upon a great mound of glittering gold and jewels, she watched with a joyous smile as a childish expression of wonder flitted across his face. She followed behind him as he ran towards the materialistic possessions set high upon a carved pedestal. He always enjoyed this part of the expeditions the most; the part where he got things.
But her attempts were never enough for him.
In their rush for the treasure, neither of them had seen the pressure plate on the floor, nor had they seen the bones scattered across the ground like toys. When his foot hit the plate, and the ground shuddered, she had run to him as fast as she could. As the undead rose up around them, she had shouted at him to grab the loot, whilst she unsheathed her weapon and went to work maiming as many of the creatures as possible.
She would never be enough for him.
When he had grabbed the loot, he had turned around in time to see her get stabbed through the hip by one of the creatures that had snuck up behind her. He heard he scream in pain as the rusty weapon grazed through her insides, and he watched as she turned around in a fit of pain to lop of the head of the walking dead that had injured her. She had called to him, telling him to hurry up, and he had rushed back down the steps of the pedestal in time for the ceiling to start falling. She held her hip with one hand as she shielded her eyes from the dust and rubble with the other. The pair of them raced through the tunnels of the cave as fast as they could, but her injured leg and hip meant that their paced slowed substantially.
No one would ever be enough for him.
When she could run no more, and her body fell into the dust, he paused in his tracks to look at her. She coughed from her place amongst the dirt, and when she met his gaze, a look of utter helplessness was given to him. She pleaded for him to help her, and the ceiling continued to collapse around them. He looked to the entrance of the cave no more than twenty feet away, then to her pitiful form lying on the floor. He had no idea if there would be enough time to save them both. If he helped her, he ran the risk of dying along with her, and the loot in his pack would all go to waste. If he left her, however, he would have to live the fact that he let an innocent woman die, a woman who had saved so many souls and tried her hardest to save his, a woman who had pledged herself to him, body and soul. Would he leave her, or die by her side?
Well, he did what he had become used to doing.
He ran.
That was inevitable.
He felt no remorse as her screams echoed into the air around him, felt no guilt as her cries of pain were silenced by the falling of the rocks. Nothing stirred inside his heart; there was no racing pulse echoing in his veins. And even if his heart had been pounding, it would have been inaudible over the sound of the sound of clattering gold inside his pack.
A/N: This is just a little oneshot that I thought of whilst reading some Sparrow X Reaver fics. In a lot of them, Sparrow is a Mary-Sue who thinks that her love can change Reaver and save him from the monster he has become. I wanted to write a fic involving a Mary-Sue, goody-two-shoes Sparrow, and what would actually most likely happen to her were she to fall in love with Reaver. Angsty, I know, but come on, Reaver isn't going to change for anybody - please stop making such a badass character OOC in all your fics! :) Sorry if I offended anyone, but I had to rant.
Byeeeeee!