Fairydale

by Veronica Lancet

Don't. Trust. Them.

"Are we not all a little mad, Lizzie mine?"

He draws back, a gentle smile on his face—one that's shadowed by great sadness. "But what if my madness recognizes yours?" he asks, stunning me into silence.

There's an intense feeling of déjà vu that washes over me, almost as if this meeting had taken place a thousand times before—always at a standstill; always an eternity apart.

"You never have to thank me for anything, Lizzie mine," he shakes his head lightly. "I should have come earlier. I would have come earlier, but..."

"The tea." This time his voice has an exasperated quality to it. "Have you ever made it for another man?" he asks just as his hold on me tightens, pulling me closer.

His face breaks into a smile. "You're not showing me those sharp claws of yours?" He raises a brow. "Pity," he chuckles,

"I won't rush you with anything. Just let me take care of you," he whispers as he slowly pats my hair. "I don't have any nefarious intentions with you, Darcy. On the contrary. My intentions are all honorable." "What do you mean?" I suddenly pull back, frowning. "Exactly what you think I mean," he smiles.

Caleb is leaning against the wall, intently watching Dr. Bailey's every move. Tension radiates from him, and even Dr. Bailey can feel it, every now and then glancing at him for approval before touching me. And every time, Caleb barely gives him a strained nod, as if that small acquiescence costs him everything.

"I don't think you understand me, Darcy," he punctuates each word. "You belong to me," he growls. "I might go slow for you, but don't imagine for one moment that you're not mine."

"There may be forces beyond our understanding. There may be black and white, dark and light, evil and good. There may be opposites... But you, you'll forever be safe in the gray."

Not for the first time, a wave of pure electricity travels down my back from the touch of his skin on mine.

"You make it very hard for me to be a gentleman, Darcy. But that's what you want, do you not? A proper, virtuous, boring gentleman." "Doesn't everyone want that?" I counter in a soft voice—one that doesn't seem convincing even to my ears. "That's what you think you want, darlin'," he drawls, his voice a combination of decadence wrapped in seduction. "But I know what you need."

"You need a bad man, not a gentleman," he rasps as his gaze connects with mine. "You need corruption and sin, Darcy darlin'. You need someone to worship your innocence and despoil it at the same time."

"That you're mine, Lady Elizabeth," he adds with a mischievous smile. "But I'm sure I'll enjoy proving it to you."

"There is only one woman I wish to claim, Lizzie mine. Past. Present. Future—and for an eternity to come."

"The blood I spilled for you was promise enough," he murmurs. "The blood I would spill again, and again. Just to keep you safe. Happy. Mine."

"You don't know him, or his kind, my dear child,"

"You only have to exist and you're all I see," he continues, coming closer and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Wherever you are, wherever you go..." he pauses as his gaze pins me to the spot. "Whoever you are. I will find you. That is my promise to you. Always."

I am after something else," he pauses, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "And what is that?" "Your soul. Your very essence and everything that makes you, you. Will you give me that? Lizzie mine? Will you surrender everything that you are to me?"

"No one will ever deserve it, Lizzie," he rasps. "No one," he states emphatically. "But I would devote an eternity to earn the right to call it mine."

"No, this is my way of showing you that it's not your body I want, Lizzie, though that is always an added bonus," he chuckles. "I want all of you. I want to slowly unpack you. Know your likes and dislikes. Explore your mind as if it's the first time."

"Who is he indeed?" he muses. "He's a lonely man, Lizzie," he says in a low, sad tone as he turns to look at me. "He's a weary man who has seen and lived through too much. A man who has done too much. Some good, some bad. Some reversible, some irreversible," he wets his lips. "He's a man who's waited all his life for something," he pauses, intently watching me. "For what?" I whisper. "For someone to call his own," he states.

"I may not know everything about you, but I know your core, Lizzie mine. And it's the most beautiful thing in existence."

"Don't trust them."

Yet if there is one universal truth to everything, it's that I can't trust anyone. Not even...Caleb. Maybe especially Caleb.

"What if I want to be real bad, Darcy darlin'? Will you let me?"

"Ah, sweetheart, if I have to define it, you're not ready for it," he chuckles.

"They might be part of world history, but to some...they're also part of personal history," he says cryptically, stopping in front of one of the statues.

His entire mouth is stained with red, a trickle of blood running down his chin. Slowly, as if barely daring to move, I bring my hand to my neck, feeling for the gash and the blood that's still pouring out of the wound. His eyes are eerily blank as his mouth curves into a sardonic smile. "Ah, but that look, Darcy darlin'. That is what I want to paint," he says as he flashes me his blood-stained teeth—red against stark white.

For the first time, I have to entertain the idea that maybe it's not the town. Maybe it's...me.

"Oh, how wrong you are, Miss Darcy," he chuckles. "Maybe you've known what it's like to be at the bottom, but I doubt you've known hell."

And he didn't even acknowledge his son.

"I will only ever want what's best for you," he states emphatically. "I will always protect you, Darcy. From everyone. Sometimes maybe even myself," his lips twitch. "And my family?" he releases a dry laugh. "You're safest here. They won't harm you."

"Your emotions are a feast in themselves. But your fear... Your fear, Darcy darlin'," he releases a deep groan. "It would keep me sated for an eternity."

"This doesn't just heal physical wounds, Elizabeth. It heals the essence of the soul."

"You dare question my loyalty towards you?" he raises his voice, the question seemingly getting a rise out of him. "You have no idea the things I've done for you," he hisses. "Everything I've ever done has been for you."

Why is it that for me, demon or not, evil or not, he is just...Amon. My Amon. The owner of my heart.

"It's irreversible, Lizzie. The binding spell your mother put on you is irreversible. Your mark will never be active."

"What if I said no?" he inquires lazily. "What if I told you that you're my entire reason for being? That you're why I wake up in the morning. Every goddamn day from the dawn of time until now. What if I told you that you belong to me in a way no woman ever belonged to a man? That I might be evil personified, but you're the only one I'll ever be good to,"

"And I swear to you, Lizzie mine. On my never-ending life, and on my damned soul. I swear to you that my desire for you is not conditional on the mark you bear. The only condition is you. Past, present, future. Always you,"

"Let me in, Lizzie," he rasps against my mouth. "Let me taste home again, my love,"

"I fuck hard, sweetheart," he says darkly, his eyes never once leaving my chest. "You're not ready for me," a pause. "Yet

Why do I feel like neither Amon nor my mother are telling me the entire story?

"Lizzie mine," he murmurs, tilting his head to look at me. "They were going to rape and kill you. What punishment do you think is fit for them?"

"Tell me, my love. What do you think they deserve?"

"How does it feel to see the true face of the devil?"

Caleb is always with me, yet they are rarely to be seen around.

There is no such thing as universal truth. Every story has different sides, and it's up to you to assemble them together to get the final picture."