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It had seemed to be everything you could ever wish for.
You were unsure, at first, though something about them had always stood out to you. A familiar sort of energy radiated from them, a quiet, intense loneliness that resonated so deeply with you, almost moved you to tears. But it wasn't until they had fixed you with that look, stood mere inches from you, their eyes obscured by a curtain of midnight blue hair, that you knew - from that moment on, you were theirs, unequivocally. There was no question, no gradual revelation. One moment your heart was bereft, the next, you had been seized totally by a fanatic, zealous love. You would have done anything for this person – there was no order you would not follow, no action you would not take, to satisfy them.
And the first time they took you into their arms, your frail little heart began to quake in your chest, the hairs on your body stood on end all at once, a powerful heat rose to your cheeks, and for that beautiful, frightful instant, you were complete.
The adventures came and went. Friends were made, foes were vanquished, questions went unanswered and the world became darker, yet darker. Yet through it all, you were sustained by their presence. Every fibre of your nebulous being thrilled with electricity whenever they looked at you, you would melt to hear your name on their lips. And every time you found yourself alone with them – which happened far more often than mere good fortune would suggest – you could not help but let your mind run riot as you followed behind them like a lost puppydog, gazing longingly at the back of their head, admiring the light and power their SOUL exudes.
You didn't know how it happened, really. Perhaps your kindness and patience wore them down. Perhaps they were coming around to their own feelings about the situation. Perhaps it was just destiny working its magic over the two of you. It was all a bit of a blur; you said something, and they said something in return, and then, without any warning, you fell into each other. The tenderness and passion of that first kiss lingered with you long after it had finished, tasting faintly of chocolate and cinnamon, the scent of apples washing over you as you succumbed to their spell. The movement of their hands across your fur became etched forevermore into your mind, the breathless gasps of surprise and pleasure as each of you laid claim to the other…
You did not want it to ever end.
And when you made your triumphant return to Castle Town, the prince and his knight-consort arm-in-arm, your subjects cheered and applauded, weeping joyous tears at the blessed union of lightner and darkner. You were so touched by the adulation that you nearly began to cry yourself, only managing to hold yourself together thanks to the rock-steady support of your dear companion, who smiled warmly at you as if to say, "Everything is alright. You deserve this."
It was like something out of a fairy tale, and you would have loved nothing more than to live happily ever after. But all such stories, no matter how sweet and light they might appear, are laced through with a core of bitter darkness. And sometimes, that darkness seeps to the surface, a gentle but constant reminder that nothing is perfect, and that at any time, some terrible secret might surface and upend everything you've worked so hard to cultivate…
You believed yourself safe from this, until the day the two of you took tea together for the first time.
You aren't used to being waited on like this.
Oh, several darkners were always willing to help you. A coven of swatchlings would sometimes make a fuss of you as you toured your kingdom, offering you snacks and sweeping the streets in front of your procession. And that was nice, but you knew that they were just doing it out of a sense of duty. Their ultimate loyalty was still to Queen – it just so happened that you were now on an equal footing with her.
You watch your beloved fuss around with several delicate implements, ornate tea strainers and exquisitely-decorated bone china cups, gazing bemusedly at several large tins filled with teas of all colours and flavours. They open each one in turn, giving each an experimental sniff, their expression shifting through curious appreciation to nose-wrinkling disgust. A melange of heady aromas meld together, filling the cosy private annex the two of you had sequestered yourselves away in.
It is nice, to see them go to these lengths for you, though it does make you wonder; which of you is servant and which of you is master? Perhaps it doesn't matter? Perhaps you can be both, and neither, all at once…? What a curiously delightful thought!
It becomes increasingly apparent that they don't have a clue what they're meant to be doing, and you fight down the impulse to go and help them – they had insisted quite strongly that they would serve you today, and you are determined to let them honour that promise. But still, you find yourself unable to suppress a rather impolite guffaw when you see them actually tasting the dried leaves, causing them to cough and splutter and scatter plumes of flavourful tea everywhere. Normally, such a commotion would have caused you a great deal of anxiety, but now you find it strangely endearing – just watching them, seeing how utterly bemused and lost they are in a non-adventure, non-conflict situation makes your heart swell to bursting, and you just want to run over and squeeze the life out of them. For such a stoic, dependable presence, they certainly could be quite cute sometimes.
But there would be time enough for that later. Neither of you are in any rush, after all. You have all the time in the world.
At last, they manage to brew some tea – with a little bit of unseen assistance, courtesy of your magic – and approach your table to serve it. They've dressed for the occasion, eschewing their usual battle attire for a crisp, well-fitting suit coloured midnight blue, a silken cravat tied around their neck, the colour of their SOUL. You find the ensemble very fetching… despite the light dusting of tea leaves all down their front.
'What flavour did you pick?' you inquire politely.
They give you a mysterious smile. 'It's a surprise.'
Reflexively, you clap your hands together in glee. You loved surprises.
They gesture to the pot in front of you, gently steaming from its spout. A lovely, nostalgic scent permeates the air around you.
'Would you do the honours?' they ask.
'Of course,' you giggle in response. Ever the gentleman, you daintily pour into the little cup, ensuring not a single drop is splashed or wasted. This was tea that they had brewed for you, after all, and proper consideration of that effort is only right and natural. The liquid has a very deep, rich colour, you note, and you look up at them with a questioning gaze.
'I put the usual amount in,' your companion says, a little guardedly, 'but it wasn't infusing very quickly. So I… put a bit more in.'
Your smile cracks a tad. 'Err… how much more…?'
'Just a little, okay? B-but it looks nice… right?'
Yes, it had turned the water a pretty colour, somewhere between sweet caramel and deep mocha. The light playing on its rippled surface shone with a golden lustre at times. You lift the cup to your lips, blowing wisps of curling steam from it, and gingerly take your first sip. Almost at once, your tongue is assaulted by shocks of fiery cinnamon, followed by a cloying tide of butterscotch, cut through by sharp apples and blueberries, and finished off with a rich, indulgent, but altogether too bitter hit of chocolate. Your tongue curls in your mouth, as if seeking escape from the sheer intensity of flavours.
'How is it…?' your partner asks.
You swallow, and cough as quietly and politely as you can. 'It's… it's lovely. A wonderful rhapsody of taste.'
'It's not too much, then?'
You cough again, this time with more force. 'Um… a little bit, yes. S-sorry.'
To your surprise and delight, they just laugh at this. 'You don't have to apologise! I was the one who overdid it.' Then their perfect face is marred with a frown. 'You made it look so easy… I guess I need more practice, huh?'
'It's okay,' you reply, rising to your feet and taking their hands in yours, gently butting your head against theirs, smiling your most charming, comforting smile. 'You did your best, and I appreciate the effort you put into it. Thank you.'
They smile back, sending your heart soaring. The two of you begin to sway in time with each other, caught up in a little dance of love and admiration. They lock eyes with you, and with a thrill you fall deeper and deeper into those hidden ruby pools, a beautiful sight reserved just for you. You step out elegantly, guided by an almost instinctual sense of internal rhythm, and they follow your lead, their steps tentative, their poise a little stiff, but determined to match you, to learn and adapt to you. It is heavenly.
'Maybe you can… show me how to do it properly, next time?' they say.
'Yes, that's a lovely idea,' you reply. 'I'd be happy to teach you, whenever you'd like. Just… say the word, and I'll—'
Their lips press against yours, suddenly, forcefully, almost stealing your breath away with their intensity. You sigh into the kiss, fighting for breath as you push back against them, determined to prove yourself a match for them, to please them as they have so effortlessly pleased you. And something inside you screams to forge onward, proceed, and take the two of you to new, hitherto unimaginable heights of bliss and fulfilment. All they had to do was say the word, lead you gently by the hand, and you would follow them, right to the edge of the world, heedless of the danger as the two of you would leap headlong into that unfathomable, carnal darkness and its promise of eternal unity and completeness…
But you resist. It is not yet time for that. There is no rush. Though there is nothing more you want, though it makes your body ache to think of it, and your mind swim and crack with longing, a small, nameless fear bids you pause and savour what you have now. For who knows what other secrets that enticing, uncharted territory holds, what new and terrible possibilities?
So you break away with some reluctance, gasping for breath, flushed with a heady cocktail of happiness and frustration. You take hold of their head, run your fingers through their silken hair, down their neck and shoulders, bringing them to rest upon their strong torso. You can feel the thumping of their heart through their ribs as their own hands caress your ears and cheeks, cool and soothing against your hot skin. You feel as if you are melting, like a wax candle beneath a bright, merciless flame.
'I love you,' you sigh.
The words had come to you without warning, and you are almost shocked at how casually you had uttered them. Yet there is no embarrassment, no shame, because you know with every fibre of your being that it is true. Indeed, how can this be anything other than love? What else could possess you so completely, bewitch you so utterly, that to be without them, even for an instant, is a torture you cannot begin to contemplate?
You do not expect an answer back now. You are just happy to let them know… but how pleased you are when you see their eyes widen and their jaw go slack, a rosy pink colouring their pallid blue face! Yes, part of you aches to hear those words repeated back to you, tenderly whispered with reverent breath, spoken from the very depths of their heart and soul… but you also know that part of the pleasure is in the anticipation, the bittersweet waiting and wondering, emotions teetering deliciously upon the gossamer knife-edge separating joy and misery.
You scan their face for something, anything, that might give you a clue as to their own feelings… and that's when you see it. It is a subtle change, little more than the slanting of an eyebrow, the downturn of the corners of their eyes, but like the introduction of a minor chord into a joyful melody, it changes the entire meaning behind their expression, a jarring dissonance in an otherwise flawless performance. And fear seizes your heart in a death grip, draining the blood from your face.
'I love you too,' they respond with a thin smile, voice so quiet it could be a monotone. But their eyes say something else, screaming at you as if in unbearable pain and anguish, so loud it's almost deafening.
I don't want this, those eyes cry out.
You blink, almost quivering with terror and bewilderment, and the expression is gone, and they are looking at you with such warmth and light and love, and with all the weight of a butterfly's wingbeat, they kiss you again. You return it, letting them wash over you, but there is a new part of your soul that wasn't there before, like a shard of ice, and it seems that no heat or love or tenderness can ever thaw it.
You help them to brew some more tea – ensuring the right quantities are used this time, despite your trembling hands – and the resulting drinks are perfect. Warming, relaxing, flavourful without being overpowering. Cinnamon, butterscotch, apples, blueberries and chocolate, married together in perfect harmony. It should have been perfect.
It would have been perfect, were it not for the acrid, metallic aftertaste that cut through everything like a bad dream.
You look up at them, hoping they don't see the desperation in your smile, looking for reassurance in their expression. Something that would bring the old certainty back, something that would let you love them freely again, with nothing held back.
But those eyes would not leave your thoughts, and a chill would run through your body whenever you caught their gaze from that moment on. Forever wondering if you imagined it, or if they were just as much a prisoner of your adoration as you were.
You should have known it was too good to be true.
You had always known there was another, lying just beyond the veil of this world, at times assuming control of their body, piloting it to what you hoped was a happy resolution for your realm. You had known, and you had tried to keep that fact in mind as they doted on you, lavished praise and hugs upon you. You went along with it, telling yourself that it was for the fate of the world, that to keep this entity happy was the best way to ensure salvation for everyone.
But somewhere along the line, you forgot. Or, to be more accurate, you let your selfish desires get the better of you, succumbed to their overwhelming love, and the beautiful, grotesque lie that accompanied it.
You thought you could have lived with that – after all, you're no stranger to being beholden to a higher calling. Until you saw those eyes, the eyes of the real them, so filled with fear and hurt. Now you can see them everywhere, admonishing you for your weakness, your vice. Even as they gaze longingly at you from across the room, or linger over you as you draw together, drinking you in and committing every last detail of you to memory, the ghost of that look haunts you still, never allowing you a moment's peace.
Can you live like this, knowing that your choices may well condemn an innocent soul to a union they have not consented to? Could you possibly bear to tear yourself from the sweetest bliss you have ever known? You must choose, and you cannot, and it is an exquisite agony.
You let the days slip into weeks, and the weeks into months, and each time you see them, you tell yourself that this time, you will be strong. And each time, without fail, you fall anew, letting them mould you to their whims, hating yourself for loving them so much.
It is no different on the day that everything changes. You greet your beloved with the same warm smile, the same tender kiss, the same delicious cake. And though they accept your gifts, it is with a slight reticence, their gaze turned to the floor, as though the sight of you pains them. They brush off your questions with a wan smile and a whisperlike touch, and you acquiesce to them, adding this new uncertainty to the ever-growing collection locked deep in your soul.
Hand-in-hand, you make your way to your special place, a room you set aside just for the two of you. The space is cosy – you might even call it intimate – and it is filled with memories of everything that led to that fateful first kiss. Pictures of the two of you together during your many adventures hang haphazardly upon the wall like a massive collage, and the little gifts and trinkets they had taken to bringing from the light world are arranged neatly in a large display cabinet, the glass doors polished to a mirrorlike sheen. Over in the far corner sits a two-person loveseat adorned with plush cushions and soft throws, ranging in colour from pastel pink to deep crimson. You have to tug at their arm ever so slightly to get them to come and sit upon it with you. You note the way their mouth hangs open slightly, lips chapped, as if they stand upon the precipice of some great revelation, and are waiting for the words to come. You give their hand a gentle squeeze, letting them know that you are here, and you will be patient, and listen to what they need to say. Their skin is cold, their grip weak.
'I… I don't know if we can keep doing this,' they say at last. The words are quiet, hoarse, but they slam into your brittle heart like a clenched fist, rupturing the calm, collected façade you had thus far managed to maintain in front of them.
'W-w-wh-what do you…?' you stutter, scrabbling to stop your world from collapsing around you. You splutter, your tongue growing heavy and bloated in your mouth, unable to form the words you want to say. Indeed, it seems like you may never be able to speak again.
They look at you, properly look at you for the first time that day, and you see those eyes stare back at you. The eyes of the one who did not ask for any of this. The look they give you is mournful, remorseful, pained. They do not want this, any more than you do.
'It isn't enough,' they say, shaking their head. 'Do you get that? How can this ever be…?'
They trail off. You manage to swallow down your shock, long enough to form a response.
'We… we don't have to… can't we just… be happy with what we have…?'
You meant for it to be comforting, but it almost sounds like an accusation. And the way they shift ever-so-slightly away from you almost makes you burst into tears, that infinitesimal iota threatening to grow into an unfathomable chasm between you.
'I… I thought I could… I was… for a short while.' They sigh, the sound hitching in their throat. 'Just… being near you, your kindness and your honesty, was enough. Then, we became friends, and that was wonderful… but even then, my feelings were… they were growing too fast, too much for me to control, and I… we…'
You swallow, forcing back your tears. Was this… did they… you had doubted everything, from the first meeting right up to your bittersweet confession. And when you had seen that look in their eyes, it was almost as if they were warning you. The power to stop this madness had been in your hands, this entire time. And through your inaction, you had cast aside your agency, and now the choice you were too afraid to make was being wrested from you.
You didn't know that anything could possibly hurt this much, and you want to reach out to them, to grasp hold of them and pretend it's all okay, but you're afraid your hand would just pass through them, like you weren't even there.
'I love you,' you croak, barely intelligible over the sobs now wracking your entire body. What an absurd situation! Do you even know who you're actually saying that to? Do you even care anymore? Or are you just saying whatever you can think of to make the pain stop…?
'And I you. But where does this end? You and I are of different worlds, different existences. We can't be together… not properly. And I can't live this shadow-life. It isn't enough. And it isn't fair on any of us.'
But you're right there, you want to scream at them. We're here, together! Why can't that be enough? Why can't we be happy with what we have?
You know why. You just don't want to admit it.
Now they are crying too as they stand, shaking you off, turning their back on you. Somehow, you know with every shred of your being that if they walk out of that door, you will never see them again. And that thought almost completely destroys you where you sit, and it takes everything you have not to howl and wail and rage against the mundane cruelty of it all.
'I'm sorry,' they say. 'It's just too painful. I cannot choose between you and the world. Good-bye.'
They take their first step out of your life, your world, and before you can properly comprehend what is happening, your body moves of its own accord, leaping upward and taking hold of their hand with a death grip. You have made your choice, you realise.
'Then don't choose,' you say.
They do not turn to you. But you can't let it just end like this. Not without trying one last time.
'I… I have no right to ask this of you,' you continue, daring to hope your words might be able to bend reality itself to your whim. 'You're right, it is too much. You have everything to live for out there, and all I can offer you is pleasant illusions, tricks of the dark. But I must… I need you to stay with me. And I will… I will be your everything. Your sun and your moon. Your friend and your lover. I will move the angel's heaven, defy the very roaring itself, to make this work for you… for us. Just… please. Say you'll stay with me, here in the dark. Even if it is a lie… let's… make it the most beautiful lie that was ever told.'
Your words echo and fade in the small room. And your beloved remains as still as a stone statue in the grim silence that follows. But you can say you tried, and wasn't that worth something, in the end…?
…no. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all was either lying, or deluded. To lose love is to lose the very reason to exist, and you cannot – you WILL NOT – abide it even for the smallest instant.
The silence stretches on for an eternity. And when they speak again, it is as if they are rousing from a pleasant dream.
'…you… realise what that would mean, don't you…?' they ask.
'I do,' you reply.
'And you know I would do it,' they continue. 'Give it all up, every last shred of my old life… for you. Don't you?'
Your heart catches in your throat, and your mouth breaks out into the stupidest, wonkiest smile it can manage, and now the tears are coming thick and fast and they won't stop, no matter how hard you try to stem their flow. You nod, unable to muster up anything more coherent than a loud sob.
Now they turn to look at you, lifting up your chin with one hand, transfixing you with their blood-red eyes. They too are almost completely overcome, yet still they hold themselves back from you. But there is no rush. You have all the time in the world now.
'Then I… I leave it in your hands,' they say. 'And whatever you decide… whatever happens… we'll work it out. O-okay?'
You nod again, swallow hard. Here it was, everything you always wanted within arm's reach, and all you had to do was say the word. Upon that single syllable hung the fate of everything – not just the two of you, you understood, but of every single person both of you knew and cherished. They would have no say, and arguably, this decision would impact them most.
Could they live with your choice, you wonder?
Could you…?
You recall those frightened eyes for the last time, making your peace with them. And with that, you lean in close, carrying your answer on the tip of your tongue and sealing it with a quiet, simple kiss. Nothing tastes so sweet, so bitter, as that kiss. Nothing ever will again.
And they smile at you, from the bottom of their soul, and just for that moment, everything is exactly as it should be.