He was something else.
Yeah, something completely different.
In a world of customs, traditions and unwavering beliefs, he blew in offering freedom from the chains I wore.
Nobody said that being born into wealth meant happiness. I have never been happier sleeping on the ground with him, than lying under warm pelts in a room that might as well been a prison.
And, as a lady, I was always given the best.
Maybe that was why it was so difficult to love him. I mean, who loves someone that treats them as a pet. You can't love something you don't respect. And you never respect what you can control.
Oh.
How he could shut me up with a disarming smile, a soft kiss, an almost chuckling growl. Or the way his fingers played along my body, tickling the sweetest sounds from my throat…..
Hm.
He always did say I amused him. But I had never been more content as his toy than somebody else's' trophy.
Rather bare his shame than another's awe. I cared not he was a demon, but I knew my human blood was more than a problem.
It was an outrage.
And a curse to me whom wanted no more than to hold him. What good is life if you can't enjoy it in love? And what good is love when the body is restrained to time?
We never had much time, my lord and I.
His visits were quick, even when I became pregnant. And our lovemaking was always far from humans and demons alike.
He'd sweep into my rooms, as I lied awake waiting for him. Even if he didn't come, the anticipation of the chance kept my body throbbing. I had never felt so scandalous, never so free.
But my lord was a spirit never meant to be tamed. And his heart was so dark, it barely recognized my affections.
But oh, if he could love I knew how it would be. I knew that his caresses would be so much softer, and his embraces that much tighter. I knew that when we talked he wouldn't avoid looking into my eyes, hiding the skeletons that drummed along his conscience.
Demons have consciences too you know. And they do experience emotion. Maybe not the finer ones, but the feelings are still real.
His joy was real when I revealed my pregnancy. And so was his disappointment. Always the rational thinker at the wrong time, my lord, always thinking of others when he should be as selfish as I was then.
I would have given anything to keep him.
My mother had taught me about her wandering husband. My father never kept his affairs secret. Instead he pranced mistresses up and down the chambers of his room, and lavished my dowry and my mother's jewels upon their bodies. She gave me morals. My mother gave me self-respect. The respect a lady needs to run a household, and to keep anger at bay when a husband strays from his wife.
For she told me they all did eventually.
But I was young. I was a fool. Two things that never really get along well do they? To think I thought that I, little Izayoi with the too big laugh and the too sharp tongue, would win the fidelity of a man like him.
To cage him was to cage the sun.
A man like mine didn't need words to understand my pain. My betrayal. Mother always said that you never lower yourself by confronting your husband with the truth. But I never listened to her anyways.
That's when I found out that I was the mistresses, and the true wife wasn't too happy with me.
And she really didn't like that I was growing his child.
I guess she thought more of him, as I. Maybe we both thought that his intimate touches and sweet, cooing words were all we needed. Or maybe she had what he had denied me.
Himself.
Yes, I shared his bed. I may as well have been one of the cheap whores my father treasured so much. But he never shared his secrets with me, his dreams, his fears. Even if he listened to mine with half an ear.
And during the night he would wake up sweating, ghosts haunting his dreams and his guilt thundering inside his chest. I would ask what's wrong, and he would tell me he still had worthy opponents to face.
I guess everybody has something they answer to.
I know this may sound strange, but I figured that, since I was the pregnant one, he would stay. I would never ask of him to leave his son, even if he was as cold as the winter snow, or the wife that had her own list of lovers.
I thought I could have the wildest of heart.
Oh, he was my everything. And there was nothing else that mattered then. No, he never was mine to claim.
But I have his son, more than any of my father's women could say.