Месяц ветра 1630

Today I saw her again, after all these years, my sight sharper in the absence of strong liquor. She disgusted me. Piece of filth. All of them—disgusting. She had not changed, no, not a bit. Typical. Still as poor as fucking dirt, dragging that mongrel along. I hate her. But more than that, I hate that little rat of hers… He has her eyes, by the Leviathan, he has her eyes. They look at me like I'm the monster, as if I made them the abominations they are. I will blind them. I will make them look away. I will blind them until all they see is their own worthlessness.

I had recognised the handwriting right away, the overly diligent strokes and heavily accented edges. It was silly to think about, a drunk writing with the practiced grace of the nobility, yet the pretentiousness of it made sense. That was all he had ever been, wasn't it? Pretentious. Enough so to act as if he was any better than the rest of us, as if he hadn't lived out on the streets all the same, as if he hadn't been right there to beg for food and more hard liquor to forget himself. I didn't know why I spent all night reading his diary instead of the other, more important documents. Could be curiosity, could be self-loathing, could be the fact that the couch I occupied by myself felt lonelier than the Void ever had. Or perhaps... it was all that paired with my current inability to sleep.

I hadn't noticed my eyes trailing over to the bed again, until it was too late, the shape of Emily beneath the covers like a blow to the chest. I knew she was pretending to be asleep. Spending those days imprisoned with her had taught me at least that much. After the museum we hadn't talked, despite us sharing a room. Instead we'd settled in our individual spots. I'd tried to sleep at first, the excessive amount of pillows soon kicked to the floor in frustration. Emily hadn't reacted as I'd tossed and turned again and again, her body perfectly still beneath the thick spreads. In the end, I'd given up on finding a comfortable position, sourly realising most of my discomfort came from the lack of her.

I'd felt drawn to the booklet, its presence calling for me through darkness of the room. Trying to figure out how to work a lantern for what felt like an eternity, I'd at last managed to light it, retrieving the damaged item from the stolen chest. I hadn't been able to explain why—not at first—but I'd felt a strange familiarity towards it. I knew for a fact I'd never seen it before, yet it exuded a feeling of cognisance. Of course, I'd known exactly why as soon as I'd opened it, the characteristic handwriting all too recognisable. The first thing I'd noticed was that the pages had been shuffled, months and years all scrambled up in order. There had been a different year-count back then, the first page starting in 1630, the year of my death. As I'd thumbed through several pages, I'd noticed it went back even more years, the lowest I'd been able to find being 1614.

I hadn't thought of him as someone capable of writing down his life, keeping a diary, yet it fit him all the same; of course he'd think himself interesting enough to immortalise in paper and ink. Still, these pages spoke more words to me than he ever had, revealed more of him than I'd ever been able to glimpse. I felt like, for the first time, I was getting to know my father.

Месяц дождя 1614

I listen not to my father his heeding—he does not understand. Perhaps he would if mother was still here. Things would be different. But I remind myself, I must not lament what cannot be undone, it is a fruitless effort. Tonight, I see her again. She fears so, says her parents are traditional people. I comfort her with promises of riches and splendour. It is love, I am certain—and it is love that shall prevail.

Месяц ветра 1630

The people continue to be sceptical. I suspect it will take more to sway their beliefs. Why is it they always demand the esoteric? Why is it they cannot recognise a higher power by its merits alone? I have accepted my role. I know it is my purpose. First I take away their food. If they will not follow me when I ask, then I shall demand. I bemoan the children, the young wives—but their sacrifice shall bring forth a new world. Their families would take pride in that knowledge, that is if they knew.

Exhaustion caused my eyelids to droop, chin slipping off my hand several times.

"You look horrible," Callista commented as she cut her food to pieces, cutlery hitting her plate. I ignored her, rubbing my eyes, my own plate still untouched. Emily wasn't paying attention to the both of us, gaze unfocused, staring off into nowhere, fork pushing her food around. "I take it either the festival was a real blast, or the exact opposite?"

"We found the church," I groaned into my hands, rubbing my legs together as I tried to get some feeling back.

"Wait- what?" Callista hissed, narrowing her eyes at the both of us. "And you didn't think to tell me right away?"

I shrugged, dragging my hands down the sides of my neck, massaging the nagging ache that had played up somewhere during the night.

"Violet?" Callista turned her attention towards her former pupil, a frown on her lips.

Emily seemed to snap out of whatever daze she'd been in, gaze darting between the both of us. "Pardon me?"

I allowed my eyes to stray around the small lunchroom, observing the surrounding people as they consumed their breakfasts, most of them either engrossed in a newspaper or caught in dull conversation.

"You didn't tell me you found what we were looking for." Callista raised her brows.

"Oh," Emily appeared just as tired as I was, "I- I suppose it slipped my mind."

Callista appeared sceptical, scrutinising gaze flicking between the both of us. "And?" she pressed.

"We took something." Emily rubbed her temple as she stared down at her food. "I haven't looked at it yet, to be honest, I was too tired." She hesitated, gaze darting to me. "You'll have to ask Matvey about it."

The way she'd spoken my name brought back the hollow sense of loneliness. I cleared my throat, eyes averted, thinking of the small booklet, a private little thing. I wasn't inclined to share my discovery. "There's documents… you can't read them. They're in another language, I'm its last speaker."

Callista hummed in understanding, taking another bite, gaze burning into me. "What's in them?"

I closed my eyes, lack of sleep causing them to burn. "I haven't read them yet." I twisted the truth, and I hadn't missed Emily's curious glance.

"I take it you'll be looking into them?" Callista didn't question my answer.

"Yes," I replied, staring at Emily's shadow where it stretched across the floorboards, mind replaying our exchange in the basement over and over again.

"Good, then eat," she nodded towards my plate, "both of you."

Месяц тьмы 1630

I have done it. Finally, I have done it. I have snuffed out her life as she once snuffed mine. She had it coming. By the Leviathan, she should have known. She made her choice. This was simply her price to pay. It had been easy. The cold had gotten to her like many others of her kind, ate away her legs—always the limbs. Fucking bloody mess of severed flesh, disgusting. She should have been grateful: I put her out of her misery. I should be happy: my revenge consummated in her blood. Yet there is still turmoil within me, an emptiness that consumes my soul. It is the boy. It has to be. That fucking mongrel. Her eyes sit in his skull, her eyes still judge me, her eyes still reject me.

I will paint them black. I will make the both of them pay.

"Violet!"

I flinched as I recognised the voice, reluctant to look up. The others turned, standing several meters away from me.

"Artur?" Emily seemed uncertain of his identity, the Tyvian's face wrapped up in a thick scarf once again.

"Ah- yes!" He laughed, pulling down the fabric."I tend to forget—good to see you as well, Nora." He rubbed the back of his neck, a brainless grin on his irritating face. Emily offered him a polite laugh, its sound a jab to my stomach. "Listen I- I suppose I just wanted to see you were okay, I mean, you left in such haste yesterday…" He dared a quick glance my way. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, mind working on replaying what I'd told Emily, again and again.

"Oh, that's alright." I could hear the smile in her voice. "I was feeling a bit under the weather…" She hesitated, and I felt the painful sting of her gaze on me. "I think it might have been the cold."

"Happens to a lot of newcomers, I understand, it takes some getting used to." He appeared to be building up his courage, and I felt my toes curl in my boots at the thought. "Will you ladies give the festival another try tonight?"

"I-" Emily faltered, and I turned away from the group, gazing out into the street, biting whatever scathing remark was sure to leave my tongue otherwise. "I'm not sure I'll be feeling up to it… perhaps tomorrow."

There was a short pause, my chest tightening as I listened on, wishing to return to the inn, to the couch, to my skeletons. "A sure waste, you looked absolutely stunning in that dress." I imagined Artur's goofy smile as he spoke the flattering words, as he seized his chance at the first hint of an opportunity.

And I bit my tongue.

Месяц кланов 1614

She tells me she is certain, she says she is with child. I cannot believe her words. This cannot be. She fears her parents might enact repercussions once they hear. Foolish girl. What of my father? So what if she is driven to the streets—it makes hardly a difference. Peasants. What of me? Has she considered all I have to lose? Does she even understand the gravity of my own fate? Of course not. I should have known better. I should not have expected such intelligence from a peasant. I commanded her to deal with our complication… discreetly. Instead she wept, claiming she loved the parasite, the mongrel. How can she love something she has never seen? More than she loves me, even? Selfish. That is all she is, all they are.

Месяц урожая 1628

I have seen them. Fish the size of ships. Their jaws lined by ferocious teeth. Might I be the first man to gaze upon such beasts? I navigated their home, a vast and endless sea filled with air to breathe. Rivers streamed in opposite directions and light felt like darkness. It was a lonely place, a terrifying place. Still, I have not quite recovered from my encounters. Still, I wake at night, screaming. At first, I blamed the strong liquor, certain it had poisoned my mind. But then I had reached into my pocket, and clutched between my fingers I retrieved a rock: obsidian in colour, smooth as their skin. I can still hear their song. Oh, how I hear them sing.

There'd been a sadness in Emily's eyes as she'd closed the door behind her, following Callista, the both of them headed back into town. I'd insisted I stay behind, claiming my stomach bothered me—another half-truth. I hadn't eaten still, didn't want to. I preferred the gnaw of hunger, its painful pangs. It was familiar, the kind of pain I was used to. I wondered what had saddened her, even though I suspected I knew perfectly well—it saddened me too. It was an unpleasant feeling, to miss her while she wasn't even gone. More than anything, it was our conversations I missed, our silence a reminder of our falling out. I felt listless, anguish weighing down on me as I laid on the couch, joints stiff and muscles sore. I'd told them I'd look through the documents, I'd promised l'd help. Instead I felt my gaze linger on the small diary, the parting words of my past.

There were cracks in my resolve, tears and gashes that ripped into me and exposed my lamenting soul. I didn't know how to abate them—I had no idea how to cope. All I knew was how to justify my misery. All I wanted was to incriminate myself until no amount of heartbreak in the world could fill me with its regret.

Месяц урожая 1628

I have reformed. I have found a higher purpose. It all makes sense now, my trials, my tribulations. I have been tested by a force greater than myself, and I have come out the other end. I had always known myself to be different. Mother told me all those years ago. Before the sickness took her. Another test. Another hurdle to overcome. I have been raised from mud and grime. I have seen the edge of the world and I have gone beyond.

He no longer laughed at me there. The Leviathan they all fear, surrounded by his kin. They disgust me. Their grotesque forms, slippery skin. Beasts. All of them.

Месяц Земли 1614

She is beautiful. Wrapped in pale skin and crowned by dark hair. Eyes bright and fierce enough to pierce the soul. She is as virtuous as she is divine. By the Leviathan, I vow to capture her heart. I will not cease my pursuit. I will have her hand, I will enamour her soul. Father will understand. The people will, too. Do they not all love who they wish? Why should I be any different? Why should my life be dictated by rules and customs, if those bring me nothing but unhappiness? No. I will change those traditions. They fit no longer in a world as advanced as ours.

And then, she will look at me with those eyes. Those beautiful eyes.

Emily had returned, not speaking a word, her presence thickening the air. I loathed the silence, realising how much I wished to tell her, how I yearned to share more of myself with her. It was stupid, self-indulgent, and absolutely unlike me. But it had felt so consoling to speak my sorrows, her willingness to listen an alleviating comfort. Instead, I continued to read, pretending she wasn't there, pretending I felt fine by myself. She had gone to bed, tired body wrapped in those thick covers. I wondered what was on her mind as she lied awake, and I knew, despite my exhaustion, I wouldn't be able to sleep either.

They had been gone for hours, until evening had rolled around. I wondered if perhaps they had decided to go to the festival after all? Perhaps even with Artur. I didn't feel my hunger anymore, all of my pains joined into a single, ugly thing—all of my suffering, blackening my skin from the inside out. Cut away the rot, that is what she'd taught me. But could I be capable of cutting away my own heart?

Месяц Песен 1615

She tells me to choose. The witch, how dare she! How could she rob me of all I have? How could she betray our love! I am disgusted by her. Her and that grotesque thing that bloats her stomach. She pretends it is a gift, but it is none of that. It is a curse. A foul one. I was going to make her life better. I was going to make all of our lives better. How could she be so ungrateful? How could she be so cruel? Yet those eyes look at me with feigned innocence, pretending it is still me she loves. Disgusting. She is nothing but a whore at this point. A sad, snivelling whore that has been kicked to the street. Serves her right.

Месяц тьмы 1630

We have taken him. Bathed him first, then dressed in fine clothes. I have turned the mongrel into a proper prince—more than that whore ever has. I see myself in him. By the dead Leviathan, I see so much of myself. But more than that, it is her eyes that stare at me in judgement. He fears me now. Like he used to. It is of no consequence. He is but a pawn, a lamb for the slaughter. Let him judge all he wants, tomorrow his life ends and mine begins.

Месяц тьмы 1630

We shall do it. A new world shall be born. No longer limited by that cursed Leviathan—instead, we create our own god, in our own image. Our puppet, our tool. Mankind shall rule the Void, and I? I shall be king. If only father could see me now, if only my disgraceful brother could. I would show them, I would let them know: I have always been the true prince, not just of Tyvia, of the world.

I shall reclaim my throne, and the ruinous mongrel shall bleed for it.

I dropped the book to the floor, numerous of its pages scattering near my feet. I breathed, still breathed, hands wrapping around my head, my skull. I breathed, again, still, as my fingers wove through my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, my skull. The words crept under my skin, my tissue, my innards, my soul. Ugly, twisted little words. Words made up of overly diligent strokes and heavily accented edges. I breathed, but this time the air wouldn't come, this time my throat closed up, choked by blood, slit by the edge of a twin-bladed knife. I coughed, again, again, convulsing, wheezing, rasping. Dying, a slow death, a painful death, a horrible death, an earned death.

They cheered my name, called my name. My name, leaving her lips, begging me to breathe. The colour of her eyes like rays of sun heating my skin, begging me to come back and enjoy another day, another life. Her hands balled to fists, clutching my shirt, shaking me. I blinked, her face above mine, still calling my name. I realised I'd fallen, body crumpled to the floor, next to the pages.

"Breathe!" she called, hands beating against my chest, wrapping around my face, swiping across my skin. It all made sense. Everything made sense. She lifted me, dragging me into her lap, cradling me in her arms as I tried my best to regain lucidity. I took a breath, a wheezing gasp, hands wrapping around my skull again, as I cowered, as I continued to gasp for more air. "Matvey?" Her voice wavered, dripping with fear.

I allowed my fingers to dig into my hair, pulling the mess of strands, grasping for pain, tearing for relief. "It was me," I rasped, eyes wide, vision filled with yellowed pages, the epiphany of it all slowly setting in. "It was all me..."

"What are you talking about?" She was whispering, as if afraid too much noise might scare me away.

"I made him—I did it." My hands trembled as my back curled, the vertebrae of my spine close to cracking beneath the heavy weight that pushed down on me. I was weak, I was bleeding. Rot seeped from my skin, robbing it of life. In that moment, she was honey, she was salvation, and the thought of her leaving again felt like dying all over.

"Who?" she asked, hands traveling up my back, wrapping around my shoulders, trying to put me back together. I allowed her touches, relished in their comfort, their promise of safety. Like a desert remunerated by rain, I soaked up her presence, her nearness finally alleviating the suffocating tightness around my heart.

"My father," I choked, clenching my eyes shut, my cursed eyes, "I'm the reason for all of it."

She hesitated, taking a shaky breath before scooting closer, slowly wrapping her arms around me, bringing me more of her solace. Hurt trickled down my skin like melted ice, leaving a painful sting, a lingering cold. I closed my eyes, feeling her limbs tighten their grip on me, their warmth pouring into me. I just wanted her to stay, I only wanted her to hold me. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, breath heating my shoulder. The question was so simple, so mundane, yet it left me winded. My breath hitched and my body stilled before I dared open my eyes, glancing her way. "Do you want to talk about it?" she suggested, voice soft.

My hands released their grip, lowering as I stared at her, severe exhaustion causing every single one of my last stubborn thoughts to whither and die before they could take shape. "How?" It was a final plea, a tentative call for something human.

"You can start by telling me what you did," she suggested, fingers stroking my skin.

I frowned, confused, grappling for the right words. What had I done? I hadn't done anything, not directly, not personally. "I was born..."

She took my hand in hers, assuaging the bitter ache inside me. "And what's the crime in that?" It seemed so simple, so easy...

"I shouldn't have been," I rebutted, new waves of pain floundering my insides.

Her thumb stroked along mine, patient gaze staring into my own. "Was there anything you could have done to prevent it?"

I felt my brow furrow at the question. "No."

"Then how was it your fault?"

Waves of dread numbed my limbs, disrupted my pulse, and I knew it had absolutely nothing to do with what I was about to say. "I... I cost him his throne."

I felt her stiffen as the words made her realise, helped her understand what had shaken me. But she surprised me when her grip tightened, hold growing firmer in a reassuring squeeze. She sighed, resting her cheek against my back. "He did that to himself," she reasoned. "He made his choices, and he suffered the consequences. Why would you blame yourself over someone else's mistakes? Why would you carry a burden that doesn't belong to you?" She made everything sound so logical, but logic had nothing to with it, there was no logic, none.

I turned towards her, feeling the need to see her—partly to know I wasn't alone. Within me, I felt the pieces of my soul shift into place, every little memory her presence had brought to resurface, every forgotten detail her touch had unearthed. It all became one, it all became me. And with it came the reality of what had happened. It hurt, it was violent and ugly and unjust. It was gut-wrenchingly awful.

"Because if I don't, then why did he cut my throat?" I hadn't noticed the sting behind my eyes, the painful prickle of emotion, until a single drop fell to the floor, leaving a darkened stain that soaked into the wood.

She paled, lip quivering, eyes flitting down to my neck before she could stop them. "Oh-" She shook her head, pained gaze meeting mine again, hands reaching up to hold my face, swiping at the traitorous trail that left a chill on my skin. "Oh no," she breathed, horrified eyes watering, eyelashes sticking together as tears seeped through them.

I flinched, yet I didn't pull away from her. "I don't need your pity," I croaked, trying my best to hold on to the last shred of dignity I had, fighting off the burning shame.

She shook her head, more tears rolling down, lips pulled into a tight line, "I don't pity you," her voice was as hoarse as mine, "I admire you."

The words struck at me, bringing my walls to crumble, exposing my palpitating soul. "Why?" I cursed myself for asking, yet yearned to know, yearned for something beyond what I deserved.

She didn't answer for a while, perhaps considering the question, perhaps not knowing the answer herself. "If only you saw yourself the way I do," she spoke then, gaze roaming my features, fingers stroking my skin, tenderly, running down my temple, my cheek, my jaw. There was so much warmth packed into the simple gesture, so much care, so much...

"Show me," I whispered, mesmerised by her, chest fluttering back to life at her touch.

She considered the words, eyes traveling my face, lips parted, before she raised herself to her feet, pulling me along with her, hands wrapped around mine. I followed, silently, as she guided me to the bed, pushing me down. I had to raise my chin to keep looking her in the eye, surprising me when she bent down to unbutton my shirt. Her fingers worked slowly, gently, as her eyes followed their path. The fabric parted, revealing my chest, my stomach, my skin. She lifted the piece of clothing, guiding it down my arms. Then she righted herself, hands set on loosening the hem of her nightgown, nimble fingers working on undoing its buttons.

"Em-"

"Shh," she shooed me, a finger pressed against my lips. "No more barriers," she whispered, resuming her work, the fabric revealing more and more of the dusky skin beneath. I found myself wanting to look away, uncomfortable with her sudden forwardness, but she used a hand to guide my gaze back to her. She raised the article of clothing over her head, dropping it to the floor, leaving her in only her undergarments, chest exposed. For a moment she stood there, tilting her head at me, watching me carefully. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

I didn't move, taken aback by her question. My gaze bore into hers, trying to ignore the shivers that ran down my back. "I- yes,"

"Do you believe me when I tell you I think you are?" She followed up, eyes never leaving mine, brows raised.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing down, taking in my pale skin and wiry build. "No," I admitted, casting my eyes to the floor.

She reached for my hand, pulling it towards her, pushing it between her breasts, above her heart. I felt its beat beneath my palm, the same erratic pattern as my own, revealing her own battle with nerves. "Do you now?"

I swallowed, glancing at my limb, the warmth of her skin embracing mine. "No," I spoke again, earnestly.

She moved, slowly, allowing me plenty of time to resist as she crawled across my legs, folding hers on either side of me, the mattress dipping beneath our joint weight. I watched in wonder, hand still taking in the nervous beat of her heart, noticing the way it danced and fluttered beneath my palm, its pace quickening the closer she got, skipping several beats as she allowed herself to sit in my lap. She was close enough for her chest to touch mine, the peaks of her breasts skirting along my skin with every heavy breath she took. Her hand hadn't left mine, keeping it in place, clutching it to her heart as she lowered her face. Our breaths mingled, the tips of our noses bumping together, her other hand running through my hair, settling at the back of my head. She held me in place, gradually closing the distance, my eyes sliding shut on their own, her hand making its descend down my neck, my chest, palm coming to rest above my own throbbing heart. I felt the warmth of her mouth before it touched mine, the darkness of my closed lids replaced by a sea of light as our lips met, softly, longingly, drawing a gasp from mine.

The contact was brief, almost bittersweet, laden with a thousand sensations. I picked up on her equally racing heart, realising she was as affected as I, skin heating beneath my palm. She pulled back, only slightly, lips hovering above mine, breath tickling my skin. She whispered, yet it took me some time to hear the words. "Do you now?"

I opened my eyes, lips parted, noses touching. I was greeted by a sea of warm amber, its waves rolling invitingly, their golden depths glimmering. "Yes," I found the reply slipping from my tongue, the heart beneath my palm beating a lopsided rhythm at the word.

"Do you think I'm deserving of love?" she asked then, hand tightening its hold.

"Yes." The answer was instant, honest.

"Do you believe me when I tell you I think you are?" she asked again.

I hesitated, air stuck in my throat, chest constricting. "No," I admitted breathlessly.

The supple curves of her chest pressed against mine, my body responding immediately, the smouldering heat at the pit of my stomach roaring to life, crackling through my limbs, my mind. Her lips retook mine, causing my pulse to flutter. Her hand released my own, arm wrapping around my shoulder, fingers trailing down my back as she drew me closer, our stomachs inches apart, the hands on each other's chests close to touching. I found my free arm moving on its own accord, slipping up her leg, coming to rest on the small of her back, feeling her muscles move beneath her skin as she arched beneath my touch. My entire body flooded with warmth, a feather-light feeling drawing me closer, pulling me into her. Her kiss was ephemeral, lips lacing mine with their taste, a savoury mix of honey and spice. She drew my breath with her when she parted, mouth still lingering inches from mine, painfully close. "Do you trust me?" The words were air against my skin, yet I felt them resonate.

"Yes," I wasn't sure if I spoke the reply, senses all flooded by her curative presence.

"Then listen, don't speak." The hand she held to my chest pushed me down, arm sliding off my shoulder, the bed soft against my back. "Keep your eyes closed," she hovered above me, hair brushing my face, my neck, "and let my words be your mirror."

I swallowed, fear and uncertainty gripping my mind, eyes still closed in obedience.

"Tell me if you need me to stop." Fingers trailed across my forehead, swiping through my hair, parting the strands, jolting my heart. I nodded, feeling more exposed than ever before. I could still feel her heartbeat against my hand, its rhythmic pulse a comforting reminder of her own vulnerability. She was with me, together, joined through our palms. She continued to caress me, every stroke sending ripples through my skin, jolts of energy sizzling down my spine. It was filled with magic, except it lacked its violence—instead, it was poignant, evocative. She raised herself as she straightened her back, gaze looking down on me. Fingertips darted across my cheekbones, stroked along my jawline, skirted over my lips.

"When I look at you," she spoke, "I see pale skin marred by lines and grooves. Lines of worry," her fingers stroked down my forehead, "of sorrow and anger," down between my brows, "yet no lines of laughter, or merriment, or joy." They travelled down my temple, around my cheek.

The words pelted down on me, chest caught in the vice of her observations.

"There's a perpetual anger there, a bitterness that anchors your expressions." She took a small breath, and I felt how her heart faltered as she prepared to continue. "But your eyes…" I found myself clinging to every word she said. "For all the control you wield schooling your face, your eyes seem incapable of being anything but honest. Looking into them, I often find myself consumed by their intensity—it can be like losing yourself, and sometimes I'm uncertain where you end and I begin." She took another shaky breath. "It's beautiful, overwhelming, terrifying…"

I hadn't been aware, mortified mind instantly recounting every interaction I'd ever had.

"When I listen to you speak," she continued, "I find myself drawn in by your knowledge, your intellect, your wit. You're smart, well-spoken, yet you never give yourself any credit." She ran her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, the muscles of my body turning to liquid at her soothing touches. "Interacting with you is an absolute challenge—yet I find it never ceases to excite me, your scalding words and weaponised facts always sharp and cutting, always keeping me on edge. But at the same time, there's this habit of yours where you're suspicious of nearly everything, seeking ill-intent where sometimes there is none. Still, when people talk down to you, you take it. You never set out to defend yourself or your choices, you never take any pride in yourself or your actions. But you have so, so much to be proud of." She smoothed out the frown that had settled between my brows, her words challenging my entire understanding of who I was supposed to be.

"You're empathetic, sensitive, selfless to the point of self-sacrifice. You always put the needs of others before your own. Even as the Outsider, a God, you gave humanity the biggest gift you had to offer; their freedom. Freedom of choice, freedom of thought, freedom to do and act exactly how they wished. You could have had the world to worship you, yet you allowed them the liberty to hate you. You carried their blame, their mistakes, their misfortunes." She let out a shuddery breath, heart dancing beneath my palm. "It took me some time to understand… And even now I feel like I still have so much more to learn—but what I am convinced of, from the bottom of my heart, from my very soul, is that you, Matvey, are a good person." This time her heart leaped at the words, voice laden with conviction. "You do not deserve any of which you've gone through, you do not deserve your self-hatred or anyone else's for that matter. I want you to cling to these words, as desperately and tenaciously as you cling to your own beliefs. I want you to experience the life you've always wanted… I want you to find the love you undeniably deserve."

I opened my eyes, staring straight into hers, surprised to see more tears rolling down her cheeks. I felt breathless, weightless, mindless. And in my mindlessness I found myself asking the one thing I desperately yearned to hear from her. "Do you love me?"

Her heart skipped a beat, skin flushed, lips parted. "Yes," she nodded, brows pulling together, "with all my heart."

Said heart thudded against my palm, its beat echoing her words, kissing my soul with its adoration. It felt unreal, unbelievable, impossible. Centuries of meaningless existence felt suddenly purposeful, because I was here, wasn't I? With her. And I would die a thousand deaths, last a thousand more years—if all that meant I got to meet her in the end. I retrieved my hand from her chest, raising myself, thumbs wiping away her tears, hands cupping her cheeks as I rested my forehead against hers.

"Then don't cry for me, Emily." I stared into her eyes, flitting between them as I observed the smouldering flickers of affection within their depths, finally capable of ascribing them a name. "Promise me you won't cry for me." She nodded within my hands, teeth worrying her lower lip, glimmering eyes never leaving mine. "Because I don't care what happens to me, whether I live or die, whether I get what you think I deserve, all I care about is that you're happy."

"Then be with me," she breathed, igniting shivers across my skin, hands wrapping around mine, "that's all I need."

Need. Such a funny word. How often had I considered my own needs? How often had I disregarded my own wants? How often had I cursed myself for wanting all I needed? Because all I really wanted was her, all I really needed was her. I let out a shaky breath, allowed my eyes to stray down to her lips, those lips that had managed to make me feel all she believed, had told me more with their kiss than anyone's words ever had. Perhaps that was what it all came down to, perhaps those were all the words I had never been able to observe, the communion of unspoken secrets that would remain between lovers alone. This was humanity, this was life.

And I wanted to live.

I kissed her. My lips firm, yet gentle. Inexperienced, insecure, yet brash and genuine and wholly certain: I wanted her. I had always wanted her. She froze, if only for a second, until she gathered herself, gathered her thoughts and seemingly convinced herself that she wouldn't allow me to pull back this time. Her heated response consumed me, her lips moulding against mine feverishly, hungrily, almost desperately. I allowed myself to match her eagerness with my own, our teeth colliding several times, the pain sharp and invigorating. Her hands tightened their grip, pulled mine away from her face, pinning my arms above my head as she forced me to lie back down. The sensation briefly reminded me of the altar, the ropes, the sacrifice—but those visions were cut short by her tongue, feeling a fire engulf me as it hungrily darted across my lips. She rolled her hips in my lap, eliciting a rumbling moan from my throat that had her trembling in response, a soft whimper escaping her.

The sound was enough to drive me over the edge, instinct taking over as I overpowered her with surprising ease, pinning her beneath me, her legs wrapping around my hips. Our noses bumped into each other as I lingered inches above her waiting lips, taking in every little detail I could discern: every sound she made, every delicate movement that whispered to me its covetous promises. There was a wonder in her gaze, a look of mindful intrigue that shaded her eyes with its underlying hunger. I savoured the inviting pucker of her lips, the arch of her back in a silent plea for more; more of me. She coiled her hips against mine in response, drawing the air straight from my lungs, eyes forced closed as I struggled to maintain a sense of control. I dropped my head into the curve of her neck, breath released in hot pants as my hands slid off her wrists to join palms, fingers intertwining in a desperate clutch. I could feel the beat of her heart against my chest, the influx of air in her lungs as well as the soft swell of her breasts.

She continued to cover me in hungry kisses, traveling from the side of my face down to my neck, nipping my skin in silent demand. I grew increasingly more desperate to satiate my hunger, vision filling with blinding static every time she bucked her hips into mine. My own mouth travelled down her slender throat, teeth scraping along her heated flesh, tongue savouring the enticing taste of her. She arched into me, releasing a moan as I left tentative kisses down the junction of her neck. We were slowly conjoining into one, my body eager to curl into her warmth, the muscles of my back rippling beneath my skin. I was starting to lose myself in her, mouth recapturing hers, only realising she'd pulled her hands from mine once they had started on removing my pants. I lifted my hips to facilitate her, her fingers latching beneath the hem, pulling them down my legs before working on her undergarment. I shifted my weight, freeing my arm to help her remove the final article of clothing.

We were both naked then, chests heaving as each of us tried to catch their breath. I still leaned to one side, elbow buried into the mattress, my other hand caressing her flushed face—repeating what she had done to me, fingers stroking along her features, her otherworldly eyes gazing at me. She was the kind of beautiful that encapsulated the very essence of it, the rawness of her sharp bone structure, the gentleness of her soft contours—I could find myself staring at her all day and still be left wanting.

"I love you, too." the words tumbled down my lips, just like that, straight into eternity, straight back into the Void.

"Show me," she panted, raising a hand to cup my face, pulling my lips back down to meet hers. She wrapped one of her legs around me again, the limb pushing against my back as she arched into me, her entire body pleading for me. Our tongues met, another moan rising from her chest, her breasts pressing into me as her leg continued to pull me in closer. I centred myself, the arm I'd been leaning on traveling down her leg, stroking along her skin. The other held her to me as I bit down on her lip, drawing another ragged breath from her lungs. Her own hands had started their descent, leaving a path of embers down my back as her fingers trailed along my skin, circling down to my sensitive stomach.

I broke our kiss gasping for air, my lungs burning, heart pounding in my ears. Her eyes gazed into mine, darkened by her need, those pools of amber swimming with longing. I didn't break eye contact as one of her hands wrapped around my length, impatiently guiding it towards her entrance. She allowed its tip to slide down her dewy skin and stars burst bright enough to force me to close my eyes, my skin erupting in goose bumps, a throaty moan reverberating through my chest. She paused, allowing me a moment to recover, still holding onto me. I took her other hand into mine, weaving my fingers through hers, clutching down on the limb as I braced myself before slipping inside. I buried my face in her neck, biting down on my tongue as a weighty kind of pleasure rippled through me, rolling beneath my skin in heavy waves, blinding me as its flashes sparked behind my eyelids. She let out a shaky gasp, her nails raking down my back, drawing red lines across my pale skin. I paused, left begging for air as I pressed my face into the curve of her neck, eyes clenched shut as I clung to what remained of my control.

I was aware I had no experience, no practice to draw from, but that didn't mean I was ignorant. I had been listening, time and time again, as women huddled together to giggle about their lovers, as men boasted about their escapades. I had been witness to both sides for centuries, and I found my pleasure riddled mind still capable of recalling what had passed from lips, to ears, to practice. If anything, I was a perfectionist, and I found myself wanting to fulfill her demand until she was left incapable of thinking, until she could no longer formulate the words to question mine. I took another breath, fighting the creeping sense of release, forcing my mind to stay collected. My pulse had started to slow, despite the adrenaline that flooded my system, my heart calming as I controlled my breathing. I opened my eyes, the surrounding room much brighter than it had been, my pupils dilating as my entire body rode the ecstasy of our union.

I turned her face towards me, eyes fluttering open to meet mine, lips parted as her chest danced beneath my own. My thumb stroked along her jaw, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. I closed the distance between our lips, covering her mouth in mine, my tongue flicking along her lower lip as I regained enough discipline to draw my hips back, the movement itself sending another gratifying wave of bliss through me. I squeezed her hand, still breathing deeply to keep from losing myself as I thrust back inside her, her body arching into me, her moan swallowed by my kiss. She clung to me, her breathing fast and shallow, her fingers digging into my skin. I bit back the thrill that shot through me, allowing my hand to slip down her throat and towards her chest, cupping her breast in my palm, bringing her closer to me as I thrust again, taking my time, my thumb circling her hardening nipple.

She rolled her hips in response, pushing into me impatiently, her hand guiding my back as she tried to coach me into picking up pace. I intervened instead, hand leaving her chest in favour of wrapping around hers, pulling the limb away from my back as I forced it above her head. I thrust again, this time even slower, her own hips bucking into mine out of defiance. I ignored her, feeling a satisfactory smile curve my mouth as she bit down on my lower lip in frustration. Another slow thrust, followed by her sharp gasp.

"Please..." she was hoarse, her voice a breathy sound, "I know you're doing it on purpose," she complained.

"Am I?" My nose rubbed along her cheek as I moved my hips, thrusting into her with a little force this time, eliciting another gasp from her.

"I swear to the Void, Matvey, I will make truth of those crooked cock claims if you don-" She was interrupted by another thrust, her body left squirming beneath me as she attempted to regain some control.

"Mhmm," I hummed, placing kisses down her neck, my entire body thrumming delightfully, "my apologies, Your Majesty, it would seem I am a bit rusted after 4000 years, you'll have to excuse the delay."

"Rusted my Royal ass," she hissed, coiling her hips, driving me to bite back a groan. She used the moment of weakness to her advantage, quickly rolling us over, forcing me on my back. She smirked down on me, hair a wild mess. I stared up at her through lidded eyes, feeling increasingly dizzy as she held me inside her, the nerves that ran beneath my skin overloading.

"Watch and learn," she teased huskily, her hands spreading across my chest for support as she lifted herself slowly before sliding down in a circular motion, her hips twisting above mine enticingly. I suppressed another groan, not wanting to give in, my hands grappling for the bedsheets. Then she picked up the pace, repeating the motions, drawing out every twist. I quickly felt myself drown in exhilaration as wave after wave hit me, my mind soon overtaken by my own thundering pulse. Yet I refused to give in, not wanting to allow her the satisfaction of watching me unravel just yet.

I surprised her by using my hands to caress places I knew would drive her over the edge, suddenly overtaking her control by thrusting upwards. Her response was instantaneous, the victorious smirk wiped off her face as I picked up my pace, the muscles across my stomach tightening. Every thrust was met by her gasps for air, her hands clutching my shoulders for support. Her breathing became increasingly shallow, and I knew I didn't have much time left. I flipped us over again, feeling my own body start to reach its limit, my pulse speeding up as I felt the first blissful hints of release start to eat at my resolve. I used a hand to raise her hips, angling them towards me as the first torrent of my own climax swept over me, my veins filling with liquid fire as my vision turned completely white. I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort to distract myself, to fight off the overwhelming inferno that consumed me. Emily's nails continued to drag down my back, her teeth grazing my shoulder as she met my every movement until I finally felt her tighten around me, her arm pulling me into her as our stomachs united, our speeding hearts joined through our heaving chests.

She let out a cry against my skin, the sound buzzing through me, furthering my own release as I lost track of everything, as my muscles were overcome by a sea of numbing charges of titillating electricity. I felt my arms wrap around her, squeezing her to my chest, our skin melting together, our bodies ablaze and left shivering as the colder air of the room brushed against us, raising goosebumps in its wake. Dropping to our sides, we remained entangled, limbs woven like tapestry, foreheads pressed together as our breaths mingled to the point where I wasn't sure whether I was breathing air or just her. Her scent was everywhere, that sweet honey-like smell that never ceased to leave me lightheaded. For some reason, her embrace left me feeling more eternal than immortality ever had, a strange euphoria rushing through me, filling my veins with liquid gold.

"You're glowing," she smiled, a sense of awe colouring her voice.

My eyes fluttered open to meet her gaze, starstruck by those amber pools that pulled me straight back under, their warmth flooding me through sight alone. "That's really sweet, Emily," I croaked, "but pregnancy in men is beyond even my abilities."

She snorted with laughter, and I couldn't contain my own goofy smile at the sound. "No, I meant li-" She cut herself off, gaze trailing my features as her own grin lingered. "You're breathtaking when you smile," she whispered, causing my heart to stutter. I didn't know what to say, her earnestness leaving me tongue-tied, my own gaze flitting across hers, trying my best to comprehend the reality of it all. My mind had a difficult time understanding that I hadn't imagined any of this, that she was truly here, in my arms, skin to skin. She frowned, then, a hand parting the strands of hair that framed my face. "Promise me you're not going to push me away again." There was a vulnerability to the words that had a tightness gripping my chest, her eyes large and unguarded.

"I promise." I secured my grip around her, touching our noses together. "I'll remain by your side for as long as you want me to."

She smiled a smile that turned my insides straight into Sokolov's unappetising goop. "Then you better be prepared, because I'm not planning on letting you go." She shifted in my arms, curling up against my chest, nuzzling me with her cheek.

I felt star-struck, her words causing my stomach to flip over in overwhelming delight. How was I supposed to ever sleep again? How was I to rest when my entire body thrummed with euphoria? I couldn't even manage to close my eyes, fearful that if I did all this might disappear, dreading to think this moment would come to pass. Nothing meant anything without her presence, without her soul cradled in mine. She sensed my restlessness, raising her head, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips before whispering, "let's get cleaned up, see if we can catch some sleep after that."

She stood, hand wrapping around mine, pulling me off the bed with her. I followed, noting how small she appeared next to me. My gaze observed her body as it moved, leading me to the bathroom, the surrounding candlelight accentuating every toned muscle beneath olive skin. She was the very image of control, of strength and finesse. Gracious, yet lethal. It filled me with an outlandish sense of pride to know someone like her could fall in love with someone like me, her words still replaying in my mind, the memory of her lips still fresh on mine.

She opened the door, lighting the small lantern that hung from the wall, illuminating the space ahead. The bathroom was small, one corner occupied by a white bathtub, the other by several baskets containing towels and soaps. In front of us stood a sink, flanked by a body-length mirror, and there were more carpets, cushioning my feet as I stepped in. The walls were tiled, decorated by hand-painted florals like everything else in this town. I avoided the mirror, eyes trailing after Emily instead, observing her as she moved around, retrieving washcloths and soap before heating the water.

"Turn around," she ordered, hand wrapped in wet cloth, a delighted smile curving her lips. I eyed her warily, not wanting to face the mirror, but also not daring to make a fuss—so I complied, gaze cast to the floor, observing my pale toes as they sunk into the thick carpet. "Well if it isn't the tightest ass of the isles," Emily proclaimed loudly, earning an unexpected snort of laughter from me, head turning to send her a look of exasperation. She was biting her lip as she grinned, pearly teeth exposed and cheeks flushed, the tan skin of her bare shoulders aglow in the firelight. "Eyes forward, mister," she reprieved me, inching closer before pressing the wet cloth against my shoulder, sliding it down my back, leaving a trail of warmth. I took a deep breath, allowing myself to relax as I closed my eyes, following her motions in my mind. "We could use the bath tomorrow," she suggested, "see if we can wash the filth of our sins away."

I hummed, feeling my muscles move beneath her pressure. "You should know I as the Outsider would never condone such things." She had slowed down to a gentle caress, the cloth warming my skin as it travelled down my hip, around my posterior, spending a suspicious amount of time on my- "Are you fondling my ass?"

"So what if I am?" she challenged, "it's a nice specimen."

I took the cloth away from her, ignoring her protests as I rinsed it before turning back. "Enough checking, your turn," I cut her off, swatting away her hands as she tried to retrieve the piece of fabric, thankfully giving up as soon as I started dragging it along her skin, watching her sway beneath its touch. I was reminded of our imprisonment, when men behind masks had washed her in a similar way, her body exposed to their uncaring treatment. A nauseating pang shot through me at the thought, and I found my other hand following the cloth, caressing her dampened skin. She shivered beneath my touch, and I found myself glancing at the mirror, catching her with her eyes closed and her teeth worrying her lip. I smiled at the sight, a pleasant warmth settling in my gut as I continued. The act itself seemed so inconsequential, yet the vulnerability of it left me feeling... needed.

"Don't think I don't feel you groping my ass, you pervert," she accused, instigating the amused smirk that twisted my lips.

"It's a nice specimen."

She had dragged me back to the bed, allowing me no opportunity to return to the couch—not that I had wanted to. We hadn't bothered dressing ourselves, and I was happy for it, her soft skin a delight to feel against mine. I had wrapped her in my arms as soon as she'd laid down, pulling her into me, legs intertwining with hers. She had let out a contented sigh, resting her head against my chest, causing my pulse to flutter. I feared all that was to come, dreading our uncertain future together—but I quickly reminded myself none of that mattered. What mattered was what was right here, right now, a moment in time no one could ever take away from us. This time the sun wouldn't rise, reality wouldn't shift back into place to tear it all to pieces, not here, not in this city where the night never ended. And I smiled into her hair, still recollecting every word she'd spoken to me, rejoicing in the knowledge that, no matter how I felt about myself...

She loved me.