Chapter Text
Much, much later, when she recalls these moments, she will gloss over them with sweeping language and abstraction. Just a vague, undescript line about the “love” between those under the Curse of Contradiction. No need for them to hear about any of the sordid, worthless details of her long and storied past.
When she speaks of these times to her precious children, so many of whom will ultimately bleed, and suffer, and lose those dear to them at his hands, she will speak of sin.
But when their lips meet for the first time, on that dead forest floor, the first thought that springs to her mind is that it feels like something straight out of one of her fairy tales; one of the beautiful, impossible stories she spent her entire childhood reading over and over again.
Her: the plucky fairy heroine. Him: her tall, dark, mysterious prince, a fearsome black knight galloping straight out of the legends. (It still doesn’t feel quite real to her, especially now, that this young, dark-haired boy with wistful eyes is Zeref—the Black Wizard Zeref. He’s so tender…)
And like any good story, the prince spirits away the princess from her old life, from everything she knows. He brings her into his realm.
And side by side, they embark on an eternal adventure.
Together.
As far as fairy tales go, well… it’s certainly quite twisted, at least compared to the ones she’s familiar with. Their kingdom is one of death. Their adventure is one of darkness, of eternal despair. Not to mention, the odds of either of them winding up with a happy ending are dismal at best…
But in this moment, she doesn’t care about any of that.
Because it’s their story.
—
There is one thing, though, she thinks to herself.
And it’s that this feels even better than how all her books described it. There’s some awkwardness at first—she just can’t seem to figure out where her hands are supposed to go—and some fumbling around, sure. (A tiny little part of her is quietly tickled by the realization that, at least in these matters, this boy is still very clearly just as inexperienced as her, even after centuries of life.)
But they’re both starting to settle in now, becoming more comfortable with the act and with each other, and as they do, a curious little flame begins to bloom in the pit of her stomach, lapping at her with flickering tongues of heat, growing bigger and bigger as the seconds pass. After so long spent drowning in the shadows, torn away from anything resembling warmth or light or love, his closeness sets both her body and mind afire like a spark to dry tinder.
She doesn’t want it to ever stop.
She can feel the firmer angles of his taller frame buried underneath his flowing robes, solid against her softer surfaces. Smell his subtle natural scent, mixing with her own and the assorted smells of the forest around them, as she breathes in deeply through her nose. Not just hear, but feel his heartbeat, thrumming along in time with her own. Everywhere, it’s just him, all him, all around her, filling up her mind, and as the gap between them shrinks to nothing, she thinks to herself that it barely feels like they’re two separate souls anymore, but rather one singular being. Perfectly melded, perfectly in tune.
No more sadness. No more loneliness. No more pain, at least for now.
It feels like flying.
—
She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, kneeling amidst the dead and decaying leaves. For the first time in her life, her mind’s gone completely blank. The slender hands cupping her face are gentle, and the chest she’s resting her balled-up fists against is steady, and the tears dripping onto her cheeks are hot, though they quickly cool in the crisp autumn air.
…Tears?
These ones aren’t hers.
Finally, finally, she pulls away. When she opens her eyes again, his are still pressed tightly shut, even as his sorrow squeezes out between them in fat, sparkling drops.
She’s close enough to count the tiny beads of moisture hanging off every single one of his eyelashes.
They’re quite long, and a pleasant shade of golden-brown in the dimming light of the slowly dipping sun. It’s mirrored in his mop of dark hair as well, a little here and there around the edges, only in the spots where it catches the sun’s rays.
So, my prince. Even your jet-black can have some warmth to it, huh?
The sight makes her smile.
But the boy in front of her isn’t smiling. In fact, he looks like he is in pain. His slender hands are beginning to tremble against her face, and his chest is starting to heave, and his mouth has spread into an awful grimace, and it’s all just too much and so she leans back in and presses her mouth against his again to make it go away, trying to force the suffering out of his body with her force of will. With a shudder, he stills beneath her, arms falling to his sides, and her heart begins to fill with anxiety as long, long seconds pass without a hint of a reaction.
Did—did I do something wrong? Did he not want me to do that? W-was this a mistake?
Oh, God, am I a bad kisser?!
But when he reaches up and pulls her even closer, kissing her back so fiercely she’s caught off balance, well…
Her heart positively sings with happiness, then.
(She’s new to all this, but she’d like to think she’s doing a good job.)
Their second kiss feels very different from their first one.
There’s a hand against the back of her head, anchoring itself firmly in her waves of platinum blonde hair. The other is wrapped around her waist, fingertips resting along the curve of her spine, clutching at her desperately. The hand in her hair jerks her head back ever so lightly, a subtle tug that brings her chin up and lets him loom over her to kiss her even deeper, and she sighs into his mouth, unbidden.
…Wow, he’s really going at it, huh?
Her prince is not particularly noble or chaste with his affections, she thinks. Not that she really minds. Indeed, the fire within her core only roars its approval louder, swelling to new heights; it feels like it might consume her completely, soon.
But it does feel somewhat like a departure from the reserved, gentle demeanor she’s come to expect from him. The fervently roving hands. The ravenous intensity of his kisses, frantic and possessive. The way he clings to her like she’s the only thing left in the world for him, drinking her in like a traveler dying of thirst…
Oh.
She thinks about her own desire, then.
About her skin, practically screaming at the touch of another living being after so long living in isolation. About the horrifying morning a few months ago when she realized she hadn’t spoken aloud in so long she was beginning to forget how. About the overwhelming, unending, soul-crushing loneliness that filled every single moment of her every waking hour, the loneliness she’d begun to barely even notice.
About the entirety of her miserable existence ever since Ankhseram brought his cold fury down upon her mortal flesh. The endless days spent fleeing into oblivion, choking on her own black despair.
…
The Curse of Contradiction. It truly lives up to its name. You must forego not only the company of other humans, but your very own humanity as well. Treasure someone, and they are taken from you.
You cannot be with the ones you care for. You cannot hold them in your arms. You cannot love them, even in the safety of your own mind.
What an evil, wicked thing.
She thinks of his tears.
How did you endure it, all these eons, by yourself? My poor, tormented prince… just how long have you been denied any semblance of love, even within your deepest, innermost thoughts?
Purely as an exercise, she tries to picture her own suffering in its totality, everything she’s gone through over the past year, and extend it beyond, to decades, centuries even—
Her extremely capable imagination utterly fails her, in this moment. Her mind almost buckles under the weight of the anguish.
She can’t.
She can’t even begin to imagine it.
(Her hands clench over the black fabric of his robes.)
But now here they are. He’s found her, and she’s found him. No one else. Only them.
The damned. The condemned. The inhabitants of the abyss, finding solace in the one place they still can—in each other. Where there was once nothing but coldness and emptiness, now there is warmth.
She reaches up to cup his face between her own tiny hands. His cheeks are damp again.
That’s okay, she thinks.
After all, she’s crying now, too.
She pulls back again, only for a moment, and rests her forehead against his. Whispers to him, so softly it’s almost imperceptible, but it doesn’t matter.
He’s close enough to hear her anyways.
“It’s alright. It’s alright now, okay? I’m—I’m here, with you. No matter what.”
She’s breathing in short, shallow inhales and her hands are shaking and the words are tumbling from her mouth as fast as they can possibly come to her but it’s still taking too long and she’s already leaning back in, impatiently; she can’t bear being apart from him for even a second longer herself.
She gets out one last thing, though, before their lips crash together again.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
They are kind words, meant to comfort. To reassure. To soothe a raw soul.
In a kinder world, they would’ve never been a lie.