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She is the single most destructive thing I have ever desired, and yet, it is the diamond on her finger that will destroy me.
In love with a girl I’d have bowed to long before she became my queen.
My queen. Not Kitt’s. Not Ilya’s. Mine.
Now I will never again get that privilege. So I hold on to her in the ends of my own hair.
But I suppose violence is one of your love languages.”
She paints my lips a deep red, perhaps to match the blood forever coating my hands—
“So bow at my feet with a sneer, if you must. I won’t see it with your face to the ground.”
The growl in my throat does not belong to me, nor do the hands that repeatedly sink a skull into stone.
A shake of his head. “And yet, I felt the absence of you all the same.” He looks out at the water, his gray eyes mirroring the sea before us. “I suppose that is my sentence for the rest of this life.”
My anchor in the storm.
and somehow find tranquility in the violence. As if I’ve found the eye of the storm within him, and he in me.
My favorite color is a shade of her,
“Of course you marvel at it,” I say slowly. “Because you will never know real power. Yours was given. But mine…” I shake my head. “Mine was found.”
But nothing so stunningly formidable could go unwanted.
He shakes his head at me. “But you are not quite ordinary, are you?”
“You don’t need a blade. I would bleed if only you asked.”
“I am power earned, not gifted. I became one of you. Observant enough to pose as a Psychic, strong enough to survive your Trials. Over and over, I have proved myself worthy of your loyalty.
The battle that raged behind his eyes was one he fought alone until the very end.
There is still dirt under my nails when the crown is placed on my head.
A king. A queen. A princess. A rock and an ear of corn.
