#literacae

THEY          ARE          GHOSTS                    .               the          both          of          them                    .               they          are          corpses          walking          around          half          rot                    .               rigor          mortis          setting          in          at          their          fingertips                    .               aelin          galathynius          remembers          the          cold          press          of          death          ,          the          slide          of          his          bony          arm          as          it          slipped          around          her          shoulders          to          pull          her          close                    .               the          feel          of          bleached          mandible          as          he          kissed          her          dear                    .               begged          her          to          become          his          lover          ,          the          reaper          did                    .               would          they          not          have          been          lovely          ,          together                    ?               DEATH          &&          THE          MAIDEN                    .               ❛                                   we've          something          in          common                    .               ❜               except          he          still          wears          his          scars          while          hers          were          erased          ,          her          body          made          new          after          onslaught                    .               after          session          after          session          of          torture                    .               ❛               WE          LIVED          ,          chaol                    .               despite          it          all                    .               ❜    

                   There were times in which the heart within Dorian’s chest, still so PRESENT despite it all, gave a hard and painful squeeze. Such occasions arose sometimes when he beheld Chaol’s face, withdrawn --- upset. He couldn’t blame him. If he’d spotted the love of his life in bed with another, he doubted he wouldn’t look exactly the same. It didn’t much help, however, that this other man Lithaen had frolicked with happened to be Dorian’s own cousin. Roland. He felt that there was nothing he could say to make it right, again. Even if it had been so long already.

                  It had become somewhat easier to bear the scars, both visible and not so much --- though the scar marring his neck, pale against sun-kissed, still managed to catch his eye and horror when noticed in mirrors. Which the king now tended to avoid.