Letters

All she ever wanted stood before her. 

Reverence

To sink her teeth into a god’s flesh and feed on their sins.

I let out a weak laugh. “I murdered a village. Not my first one. Not my last one. I deserve to die.”

“He’s controlling you,” she repeated. “It’s not you.” Her hands cupped my face. “I know the real you. It hurts you, all these atrocities he’s forcing you to do. And that means you’re a good man.”

I leaned into her, resting my forehead against hers and we paused, the wind buffeting around us, reminding me of the harsh world that existed just outside the little bubble of peace we sank into for a simple moment. 

He yanked her to him, his eyes flashing with threats. “What? You’re not getting your way this time. And since when did you become such a spoiled princess?”

“Since I clawed for everything that is currently mine,” A spat out. 

“You have a skewed perception of what is yours,” B hissed, holding her hand up higher, tightening his hold. 

The dress was not meant to be tugged on that way and the fabric protested against her skin. A wondered if that incited the anger even further. “I know what is mine, don’t mistake that.”

He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it, clenching his jaw shut. She watched the gears spin in his head, warring between threatening her or dismissing her. There was a second, barely a glimpse of softening, before B groaned, using his hold on her wrist to shove her into him. 

“If you go anywhere near him, if I see you so much as look in his direction...”

She enjoyed the stillness before her. Better to be loved than feared? Only if you had never done it right the first time. 

I practically growled like a feral animal. “You fucking bastard.”

His eyes widened a degree. “Excuse me?” “Don’t play pretend,” I hissed with enough venom to paralyze any man. “You sold me out. I trusted you.”

“I see they didn’t cut out your tongue,” he said casually, still sitting at his desk as if we were discussing weather patterns. “Shame.”

“I was patient,” I said through clenched teeth. “Deals off. I won’t help you anymore.”

He rose, jaw clenched in response to my words. “You forget.”

“I forget what?” I shot back. “If you wanted me dead, then kill me.”

He smirked, sending fear signals down my back. “I control you.”

“I don’t understand,” I muttered. “Just kill me. Isn’t that why you kidnapped me?”

His smirk deepend. “Oh my dear, I didn’t go through all that trouble just to kill you. You are but a pawn in my game. Taking you will make him lose his throne.”

“Anubis?” I blurted out in shock. “You’re insane. How the hell is he losing his throne with me gone?”

Set took a step closer. “I took his favorite thing. His toy. His possession.”

I took a step forward despite the goosebumps rolling down my arms. “I’m not his toy.”

I’ve always been alone. 

So it was always the hardest thing to do, to find someone, to share something as intimate and precious as my time with a stranger. 

To do that would be to expose myself, my longings, my fears. And I’d rather die than do that. People in my life always said, wait, be patient, the right one will come along. 

At first, I was angry. I had done my waiting. 

Then I was understanding. These were the best years of my life! I was free to do what I pleased. 

Now, reaching an understanding with the universe, I wanted to bask in the comfort of being the only person in the cosmos who would know me, me entirely without reservations or secrets, and the fact made the emptiness seem worth it. 

It was unexpected when I met you. All I wanted was to intoxicate my body with enough alcohol so that I would sleep a dreamless night. I ignored the music, the pulsing lights, the sticky bartop; I ignored you. 

Staring at the array of mismatched empty bottles on the shelves, I tapped my foot on the lower rung of the bar in a thoughtless manner, aware that while I was ignoring everyone and staring at the rim of my glass, not everyone was ignoring me. 

Swathed in an open-back satin dress, I might have overdressed for the underground bar. Might. 

When you crashed into me, having stumbled on a puddle of spilled top shelf vodka, I glared at you for intruding on my personal space, for knocking my own drink right across the sticky bartop, and for ruining the concentrated effort of not looking at anyone. 

My eyes met yours. Your slack mouth, halfway through mumbling a half-assed apology, tightened and your eyes fastened themselves on mine. My own lips, curled in disgust and low burning rage, fell open. 

Soulmates don’t exist.