I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
All he has ever known, all he has ever been able to give, has been pain. For the barest span of time, she had offered a tiny flicker of hope, but like everything else in his life, it had been extinguished as quickly as it had been lit. Her apologies fall on deaf ears, and the anguished rage choking him prevents any answer to the question she poses from rising past his throat.
But it seems she hadn’t required an answer, even if he’d had one to give. A fucking blessing, though he would never admit it. How could he possibly explain to her that it had been a twisted combination of kindness and self-loathing that had seen him erasing her memories while leaving his own intact? They might have stayed that way forever had she not inadvertently picked at wounds still raw and festering.
Now, for the first time in a long time, he feels curiously drained. As though the infection rotting away inside him had at long last been lanced, leaving only a gaping emptiness in the space it had once filled. Whatever love (if it could truly be called that) he had once felt for her had slipped away with it, replaced by the icy realization that he had been living in a demented fantasy. They had both been lying to themselves for fucking years, actors in a decades long farce.
Just as she had been unwilling to let go, so too had he. A stolen glimmer of hope he hadn’t wanted to admit he’d been hanging onto.
Her offer, when it comes, is not met with immediate and angry rejection like it might once have been. He had always hated the thought of magic changing him, but now, as he stands before her, raw and aching and exposed, he thinks this one time it might not be so bad. His breath is faintly raspy inside his chest, his normally flint-hard eyes over-bright and bordering on madness. For a long, heart-wrenching moment, he can only stare at her, his eyes tracing features that have been more familiar to him than his own. As though he might burn them into memories that would soon be stripped away.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he finally demands, his voice more rough and gravelly than usual. It is as much permission as she would ever receive, forced passed lips gone numb with dread. He doesn’t know what he would have been without her, nor is he certain he wishes to find out. What he does know however, is that he cannot continue like this any longer.
@Ryatah