know why I haven’t died yet, but they keep telling me it’s not time. I have a purpose. A mission. I’m supposed to save the world.
I’m a demon, I should be stronger than I am. But every night all I can do is cry. I want my Priest to hold me one more time, I want to not be so scared to tell him how I feel. But maybe the doctor is right, maybe the Priest and Kem aren’t who I’ve created them to be. Maybe I really am sick.
~*~
Day 56
A sher was staring at me again. I felt his look like a brand. I tried to pretend like I didn’t, like my body wasn’t flaring to life under his gaze. He was the enemy, the deceiver. The liar. And yet...
“Who are you, Pandora?”
I shook my head. “Evil.” The single word dropped from my tongue.
“Do you want to kill me?”
“Yes.” Maybe?
His eyes narrowed. I liked his eyes. I shouldn’t have liked his eyes. He was a villain. I was the savior. But I couldn’t seem to help myself. Last night I’d had a dream about him. A wicked dream.
He was touching me all over and I was holding him, kissing him, running my tongue along his spine, and I liked it. God, I loved it. I woke up panting, clenching at my heart as my thighs trembled with want and need.
He must have known, because he’d sat up on the cot and looked at me. Just looked at me with a raw, animal hunger burning in his eyes. I’d had to look away because I’d known if I continued looking he would have come in here with me and I would have hurt him. And for some reason, that idea bothered me.
He held up his hands, and in them was something I hadn’t noticed before. It was a baby doll. She was beautiful, with faint pink stains on her porcelain skin. Her eyes were a cerulean blue, and she was dressed in a white sleeping gown. A riotous mass of golden curls framed her face.
“What is this, Pandora?”
I cocked my head, confused by his question. “A doll.”
He shook his head. “It’s a child. Do you remember children?”
Of course I remembered children. But I didn’t say anything. The doll was small, and skinny. Skinny enough that when he turned it sideways, he could slip it through the bars.
It landed by my feet. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it. Its rosebud lips were opened on a silent coo.
“Pick it up,” he said, but I couldn’t.
I was scared.
My hands shook and my heart raced, and I scooted back on my butt, trying to kick it away from me. It was a doll, just a doll. It couldn’t hurt me.
“Pick it up, little demon. It just wants to be loved.”
“Love.” I whispered the word, and that was the impetus I needed to pick it up. At first I felt awkward, but as the minutes ticked by, I felt better, more comfortable holding it in my arms.
I heard him talking to me, whispering comforting words, but my attention was solely on the doll. It was like my body knew what my mind couldn’t remember. I started rocking the baby and crooning to it, touching its cheek.
Then a memory came, of a little girl dying of influenza. Of me rocking her under the stars and singing lullabies until she closed her eyes. My arms tightened. She’d been abandoned on the side of the road. My claws lengthened. Covered in sores, she’d barely been able to take decent breaths.
I snapped, and with a muffled cry squeezed the doll until the porcelain head popped off in my hand. I ground the face into dust and whirled on Asher, snarling as the demons took me.
His jaw clenched, and I knew he was unhappy. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the bars. “Kill you!” I screamed, and pounded futilely to get at him.
Asher’s look was haunted as he turned on his heel and walked away from me.
~*~
Day 61
I s what we call love simply little more than lust disguised? I’ve lived with lust my entire life. I know what it feels like to need someone to the point that you can’t breath for want of him. But that is not love. That is obsession masked as something noble. Love is the cruelest myth of all...
I remember writing those
I’m a demon, I should be stronger than I am. But every night all I can do is cry. I want my Priest to hold me one more time, I want to not be so scared to tell him how I feel. But maybe the doctor is right, maybe the Priest and Kem aren’t who I’ve created them to be. Maybe I really am sick.
~*~
Day 56
A sher was staring at me again. I felt his look like a brand. I tried to pretend like I didn’t, like my body wasn’t flaring to life under his gaze. He was the enemy, the deceiver. The liar. And yet...
“Who are you, Pandora?”
I shook my head. “Evil.” The single word dropped from my tongue.
“Do you want to kill me?”
“Yes.” Maybe?
His eyes narrowed. I liked his eyes. I shouldn’t have liked his eyes. He was a villain. I was the savior. But I couldn’t seem to help myself. Last night I’d had a dream about him. A wicked dream.
He was touching me all over and I was holding him, kissing him, running my tongue along his spine, and I liked it. God, I loved it. I woke up panting, clenching at my heart as my thighs trembled with want and need.
He must have known, because he’d sat up on the cot and looked at me. Just looked at me with a raw, animal hunger burning in his eyes. I’d had to look away because I’d known if I continued looking he would have come in here with me and I would have hurt him. And for some reason, that idea bothered me.
He held up his hands, and in them was something I hadn’t noticed before. It was a baby doll. She was beautiful, with faint pink stains on her porcelain skin. Her eyes were a cerulean blue, and she was dressed in a white sleeping gown. A riotous mass of golden curls framed her face.
“What is this, Pandora?”
I cocked my head, confused by his question. “A doll.”
He shook his head. “It’s a child. Do you remember children?”
Of course I remembered children. But I didn’t say anything. The doll was small, and skinny. Skinny enough that when he turned it sideways, he could slip it through the bars.
It landed by my feet. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it. Its rosebud lips were opened on a silent coo.
“Pick it up,” he said, but I couldn’t.
I was scared.
My hands shook and my heart raced, and I scooted back on my butt, trying to kick it away from me. It was a doll, just a doll. It couldn’t hurt me.
“Pick it up, little demon. It just wants to be loved.”
“Love.” I whispered the word, and that was the impetus I needed to pick it up. At first I felt awkward, but as the minutes ticked by, I felt better, more comfortable holding it in my arms.
I heard him talking to me, whispering comforting words, but my attention was solely on the doll. It was like my body knew what my mind couldn’t remember. I started rocking the baby and crooning to it, touching its cheek.
Then a memory came, of a little girl dying of influenza. Of me rocking her under the stars and singing lullabies until she closed her eyes. My arms tightened. She’d been abandoned on the side of the road. My claws lengthened. Covered in sores, she’d barely been able to take decent breaths.
I snapped, and with a muffled cry squeezed the doll until the porcelain head popped off in my hand. I ground the face into dust and whirled on Asher, snarling as the demons took me.
His jaw clenched, and I knew he was unhappy. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the bars. “Kill you!” I screamed, and pounded futilely to get at him.
Asher’s look was haunted as he turned on his heel and walked away from me.
~*~
Day 61
I s what we call love simply little more than lust disguised? I’ve lived with lust my entire life. I know what it feels like to need someone to the point that you can’t breath for want of him. But that is not love. That is obsession masked as something noble. Love is the cruelest myth of all...
I remember writing those
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