My head has had a dull ache in it for a long time now, nearly since I took up with him and his followers. For a time, I feared that it might be an effect of the Dark, as I was cautioned repeatedly that it can become deadly with prolonged, intense use, and I constantly pushed the boundaries to increase in ability and tolerance. No one else among us seems to be troubled by such pains, however, and once I learned for certain what form the adverse effects of the Dark take, all I could assume is that I was pushing myself too hard in other ways.
There was a time, the first time in many years, when I slept soundly through the night, every night. It was not long after we'd begun sharing a bed, and it was unusual enough that I confronted him over it. I already knew of the visions he saw, of the tears he shed quietly, and the panic that ate away at him; there was no need to bewitch me.
True to form, he merely made a snide comment - stating with a smirk that I seemed to enjoy being bewitched by him. It took more confrontations and many more nights of suspiciously restful slumber before he finally allowed me to wake before dawn to hold him, as he murmured of the apocalypse and trembled.
Now it's simple enough to name this nearly terminal ache as fatigue, but I would not trade it for anything. The alternative would be to miss those rare times that he uses me - he needs me - and does not belittle me in the process. It was a rare victory that I won against his will, and I shall not reliquish it, even for a clear head and a much-needed night of uninterrupted slumber.