In life, he had been ruthless. Barbaric and malevolent in the choices he had made for others and for himself. Vicious, merciless, and savage. There was no disguise that could transform the cold-blooded creature he had been into something warm.
He had made a bargain with the very devil himself when he had been a boy. Too soft hearted, too full of gentleness. He wept at death and wrestled with injustices. It was intolerable. Standing on the ramparts, calling out into the night. Strip me of mercy, he had begged. Temper me in the forge of outrage and harden me as a weapon that will smell out the blood of others unlike me and slew them. Drain me entirely of compassion.
Men feared him, the aged shuddered before him, children wailed, but women … were either tinder to be broken to kindle his fire or as sadistic as he himself and quick to spread their legs and whisper evil into his ear. He had no use of either for very long.
Of course he had been married young, begat children of his own, but kept himself far from home, deep in the bowels of the horseman they called war, swinging sword and lance, smoking laced cigars and dining on stag meat, sleeping in bursts and fits until the horn sounded across the lands and he would be back in the saddle, wearing the blood of his enemies, howling the inhuman battle call to arms.
In death. He had been tamed. By a girl. A maiden. A naif.
Her voice had woken him. In the dream all else became a nightmare endured. He could not remember, could not recollect anything before her call.
Formidable in the skin he was wrapped inside of. He stalked the rooms and corridors, the gardens and the crossroads to find her. He would cross oceans, scale mountains, and traverse plains to be near her. She would not bend to him; she would not succumb. She had no fear of him, he sensed recognition in her eyes. She knew him. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her.
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Date: 2025-04-01 04:22 pm (UTC)He had made a bargain with the very devil himself when he had been a boy. Too soft hearted, too full of gentleness. He wept at death and wrestled with injustices. It was intolerable. Standing on the ramparts, calling out into the night. Strip me of mercy, he had begged. Temper me in the forge of outrage and harden me as a weapon that will smell out the blood of others unlike me and slew them. Drain me entirely of compassion.
Men feared him, the aged shuddered before him, children wailed, but women … were either tinder to be broken to kindle his fire or as sadistic as he himself and quick to spread their legs and whisper evil into his ear. He had no use of either for very long.
Of course he had been married young, begat children of his own, but kept himself far from home, deep in the bowels of the horseman they called war, swinging sword and lance, smoking laced cigars and dining on stag meat, sleeping in bursts and fits until the horn sounded across the lands and he would be back in the saddle, wearing the blood of his enemies, howling the inhuman battle call to arms.
In death. He had been tamed. By a girl. A maiden. A naif.
Her voice had woken him. In the dream all else became a nightmare endured. He could not remember, could not recollect anything before her call.
Formidable in the skin he was wrapped inside of. He stalked the rooms and corridors, the gardens and the crossroads to find her. He would cross oceans, scale mountains, and traverse plains to be near her. She would not bend to him; she would not succumb. She had no fear of him, he sensed recognition in her eyes. She knew him. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her.
She was the grave he had been longing.