For the love of blood
Semifictional pain
He warned her. Warned her that he was dangerous. She laughed it off. How could someone so perfect be dangerous? She didn’t realise her foolishness. Of course.
Ignored the rumbling of her gut. Her gut knew the bitter truth in his words. Chewed on that kernel, shouted a warning. Kept shouting, but was overruled. She was blinkered by lust. Of course.
She should have known better. Should have seen what was in front of her. Of course.
For a time it was good. Of course.
They fell. Fell together, laughing. Brushed the dust from their wings and flew together. Of course.
They burnt bright together. Of course.
Sometimes, he found he could not fly. Found himself encircled by daemons she tried to help him fight. This was what his afterthought of a warning had been about. Of course.
The daemons cut him. Shredded at his skin, hot blood rivers. Of course.
Sometimes they flew still, cinders trailing from flaming wings. More often, they fought daemons in the dark. Her fight, her fight as his shield soon drew the ire of the darkness that ate at him. Of course.
Soon the daemons slashed at her too. The daemons were his, and now hers. His, hers, theirs. Mine, yours, ours. Of course.
Her eyes snapped open, and she understood. From that first scar, she knew. The pain was pleasure. Release. Escape. That was why the daemons seemed to grow stronger with each new fight. Armed with this knowledge she fought anew. And failed anew. Of course.
It didn’t matter in the end. Where there is fire, someone must burn. Of course.
They burnt fierce. And then they burnt out. Of course.
Nobody knows what happened to the daemons.
Nobody knows? Lies. Like the flames of their passion. Deep down she knows. He knows. Of course. They still prowl in the shadows. Of course. Only now he and her do not fight at each others backs. Of course.
So pray that the shadows hold their grip. Of course, they won’t.
