You know this is wrong.
Standing there in the alcove, shifting restlessly as your wings ruffle from a calm autumn breeze, your movements are clipped. You should flee now; flee back to the dead lands which you have become accustomed to, flee from these small pleasures. But oh, fleeing is so wrong, fleeing is so cowardly and you are selfish. You must stay because, unlike your logical conscience, you are absolutely awed, stricken with amazement at the sight before you.
Soft birds sleeping in their trees surprise you; the trees themselves sway and seem to hum gently to the rhythm of the breeze. Above, obsidian is broken by small pinpricks of light – stars that you never believed truly existed. A dazzling white moon shines on one small piece of the endless black map. The fresh, earthy smell beneath you is comforting, soothing your weary mind.
Your heart cries out in wonder as you breathe expansively, wondering if you can possibly drown yourself in pleasure. For surely, you are floundering, bobbing in a tumultuous sway of emotions that toss you from side to side, back and forth, this way and that. Your heart, a voice in itself, pleas for you to stay, begs of you to remain in this all-too-perfect place.
Your mind, however, beckons you return to that cruel place which is Vroengard, to which you cannot possibly fathom any joy or pleasure existing. For it is so lonely there; so dark and dreary, so filled with terrible tragedies that no one other than you would dare flee to it. Many years ago, people would have stopped you, banished you from the hallowed ground, yet now, it has shifted, and you are self-exiled there. None bother you; none visit you; none remember you.
But oh, you grew restless; disappointed with such solitude and desperate to see something other than sadness. And so you came here – feeling as though you have broken some sacred code in itself – and immersed yourself in pleasure.
A snap of a twig startles you, a sound so terrifying it has you stock-still. The crack of a whip seems calming compared to such a dastardly sound; the sneer of a torturer sounds a lovely trill in contrast. For it is the sound of that twig – so small and insignificant – that means you have been discovered.
Hastily, you attempt to flee, your wings thrusting outward, throwing back an unsteady rush of air. Lightheaded, you stumble forward, dropping into a clumsy crouch and desperately hoping you might escape sight. But alas, your seeker appears, their eyes mellow and unprejudiced.
A voice calls your name softly – so beautifully, so perfectly, you cannot believe it is your name. Did your name ever sound that wonderful before? Certainly not on your own tongue, and never those who tormented you so long. Still, you must flee; must run.
'Wait!' they cry, pleading. Startled, you pause accordingly, your body stiff with anticipation. You know it is coming; an accusation, taunts, curses. Oh, you know it is coming and still you are hopeful; a faint glimmer of trust enters your eyes as you turn. How beautiful your captor is – is it even fair for one to be both a torturer and an enchantress at once? You don't know – nor care – as your pursuer speaks, voice melodic and seemingly birthed from song itself.
'What are you doing here?' The accusation sounds so sweet on their lips – her lips – you cannot find the heart to flee yet. 'Why have you come?' she asks again, persistent. Any other day you would be annoyed, frustrated, irritated that anyone would ask questions of you when you have been tortured so.
Yet tonight, amidst this forbidden forest, where junipers rise up to heights you never believed possible and creatures of such diversity you wouldn't have thought true exist, habits are discarded.
You will give her a chance, you decide, as you fold your wings back to your sides delicately. Oh how they ache with hunger! You wish to sink your teeth into the juicy flesh of a deer, perhaps sate it on a wild boar or two. Oh what you would even give for a scraggly dog, something to quench the insatiable hunger gnawing at your belly. You dare not excuse yourself to seek out food, having been discovered, yet your stomach rumbles discordantly in protest.
Amused laughter, so lighthearted and merry you cannot help but fall in love with it, rumbles clear through the somber clearing as you watch your seeker in wonder. How – it dominates your mind, an unanswerable question. How is it possible that you are here before her – how is it possible that she is here before you?
Your voice is lost, though, and you can only listen as she continues. 'Follow me,' she beckons, tilting her head back almost challengingly. Oh how glorious it makes her scales shine; illuminated a beatific sapphire in the soft glow of the moon. Your eyes hungrily travel down her angelical form, memorizing every dip and curve as you so wish to do by touch, not just sight.
Her velvety wings stretch, barely touching the trees as she stands, perfectly content to wait for you. Her eyes rove your body as well, as though assessing whether or not it is truly worth her time. You scramble to a more dignified stance, keeping an impassive countenance even as your heart pounds with anticipation. You must flee; you know you must.
But how can you when an angel has invited you to come with her?
Averting your eyes so as not to be tortured, you force yourself to settle. Your wings reluctantly draw back, and you can almost feel the sob breaking in your chest as you shake your head slowly. 'I cannot,' you whisper, your voice so disheartened that you know she has sensed the lie. But she, too, closes her wings, and you feel dismay clutch at your heart like a dagger.
If only, if only, you muse. You know that, had you been born in another time, to another Rider, to a man rather than a monster, you might have had a chance with her. But you mustn't taint her with your blackened heart. Drowning, you cannot indulge yourself to her expense; you cannot drag her under with you.
'I cannot,' you breathe again, aching to take the words back. Turning away from her, you stare out at the darkened forest, wondering how you have gotten so far without being discovered. Of course, there is truly no pursuit, and yet still you wonder if one of these days someone will put you out of your misery.
'Don't go,' she pleads again. You close your eyes, fighting tears. You know the rule; the instinctive law that the heartless do not cry over their own miseries.
'I must,' you insist staunchly. Oh how terrible you feel, to be rejecting her so, to be inflicting pain upon her when you know she seeks only comfort.
Comfort, you know, she cannot possibly find.
'Leave me,' you order. You silence your heart's vehement protests, continuing, 'You mustn't find me. I must leave.'
'No!' she cries, suddenly rushing forward. You stumble, a sharp growl escaping you as her body crashes into your own, forcing you to the ground. Though you are superior to her in size, you are no match for a surprise attack, and it is so that she has you upon the ground. To your surprise, she does not attempt to pin you in any way, satisfied apparently with merely knocking you down.
Rising unsteadily, you glance at her, her eyes seeming to stare right through you, an unknown urgency begging beneath them. You shuffle nervously to one side, blowing a hot breath of smoke as though to cool your rapidly beating heart. 'Don't follow me,' you say raggedly. 'Please.'
'Don't leave me,' she says instead, startling you beyond words; beyond comprehension.
You back slowly, warily, into the underbrush, as though it will conceal you. 'I have to,' you whisper. She steps forward, a sudden warmth flushing your face as she brushes her cheek against yours wordlessly. She is insistent, terribly insistent, and you find your resolve crumbling. The blush fades from your cheeks as she withdraws, yet the warmth hardly fades.
Heart pounding, ears throbbing with the sound, you raise your head and look down upon her firmly. She is hardly smaller, as she has continued growing exponentially while you have slowed. Still, it is she who appears larger now, powerful and resolute. Your eyes observe her, waiting for the inevitable dismissal, the vulgar words, some sign of hate to come.
She steps forward; your breath catches in your throat as hers washes over you, face barely a foot away. Oh how you wish to reach out and close that horrible distance between you, yet you retreat as a wave of cowardice storms over you. She steps forward again, this time purposefully placing her snout against yours.
The gesture causes your breathing to stutter slightly, your eyes to widen fractionally while you still somehow manage to cling to impassivity. A liar, you are, in many ways, for even now you remain callous in your silence. 'Stay here,' she implores, sapphire eyes pleading.
'I…' words fail you, a miserable sign of weakness as you bow your head, accidentally brushing your snout further against hers. Your heart races again, fluttering amidst the ecstatic feeling of such a gesture. 'I cannot,' you insist feebly.
She hums lightly, as though she senses the end of your inner warring approach, and adds, 'Where will you go then?'
'Vroengard.' The word is bitter on your tongue, practically a curse. She nods knowingly, though; unperturbed.
'Why have you come here?'
You know the answer to that; yet you also know that answering would be admitting defeat. For you know that, in your heart, you have come secretly hoping for this very encounter you find yourself trapped in. But oh, you can't admit that – can't dare say it. 'To see what exists beyond Vroengard,' you answer, only partially lying. Truly, you came for that as well, but it is not the real reason to your journey.
A deep, heavy sigh is your reward and you cringe internally, wishing suddenly to leave. 'I must be going,' you all but stutter in your haste, wings surging outward. 'It's a long journey back, you know.'
She nods once, solemnly, before suddenly asking, 'Why did you leave?'
'I had to,' you say tonelessly.
'No you didn't,' she counters. You stare at her, hard eyes contradicting your melting heart. You want to confess, to admit your true endearment towards her, yet you know better.
But how important, truly, is it to worry over such issues? To torment yourself over whether or not it is right or wrong as you so know it is. You sink rapidly as your strength fades, resolve dwindling away to nothing. Darkness seeps into you from everywhere, suffocating you, pouring over you. You easily see her amidst the hurt, the sorrow, the pain, and you wish to go nearer, but each time you come closer, you lure her nearer as well, pulling her down with you.
'I can't hurt you,' you say, rather weakly. You stare away in something akin to shame.
'Don't go, Shruikan,' she insists once more, voice soft. You continue to look away, determined. But you soon look back, and see the same sad blue eyes mirroring your own black ones.
This is wrong; you know it is.
And still, you step forward, closing the distance between her and you, and say boldly, 'I am selfish to accept this.' You pause, staring at her, waiting for some rejection. None comes, only patient curiosity. She is waiting for you, whether you leave, whether you stay, or whether you are silent; she is waiting, and you know that, some time, you must answer.
'But foolish to deny you,' you finish, nuzzling her neck with your snout gently. She purrs quietly and the sound delights you; oh how foolish you were to ever deny this.
For this, however wrong, is pleasure.