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“O’ come henceforth, my dear, my loveliest of all things sacred in Aphrodite’s wing!” Helena shrieked, Demetruis’ arms wrapped around her tightly as the Cornish daisies swoon in their tight embrace. A magic flowing faster than a wind, faster than a single hop of a frog, the blooming pollen catching into their noses. Oh of how he is in bliss, oh of how he feels so entranced of such, oh of how nothing can go in his way.
“Hether I am, for who am I to not follow such fae?” Helena yelped at a sly kiss from her lover, oh of how this dream feels. A blue from above, it will never end, no matter how bad Demetruis wants it to. “Aye, nothing can separate the two blessed by the eyes of Cupid!”
Helena stutters in her steps, tumbling down the dull pink and black, a shock striking Demetruis. The way she screams, the winds pick up as she tumbles; Gods, what if she hits her sweet little head? He needs to find her, for he is nothing but a loose petal in a storm.
“Helena, oh by the Gods, oh my oh dear…must I?” He slides down the hill, a cornish daisy being caught in his eye, he swats the gnat away, knowing that nothing could ever be in his way. Why must things get in his way of his empty bliss, the drug he has to take care of for eternity? “Come over yonder, Dear Helena!” Yet, nothing sways him to her, oh the atrocity! He has done nothing, yet has been stricken through everything. If only such would go his way, and why must the clouds go a dull pinkish gray? Why must rain pelt him as Demetruis seeks for his lost…lost puppy.
“Gods…what am I even doing?” The winds bring more Cornish Daisies to his eyes, the dull pink and black being all he can see before he wretches his last meal. He believed it was a one and done with Helena, why oh WHY did he come forth to her once more? What is wrong with him? Is this why he has felt so empty for countless years, why the only form of entertainment was Bottom of asses? This is not fair, for whoever put him in such a woe will be exterminated, and dear Gods- what has come of Theseus too?
Another wretch overcomes him, is this his punishment for sleeping with a girl so incompetent? For willing to sleep with another until he knows for a fact that he does too love women like most men? Or is this something much cruel, a nightmare that will always scare him of trying countless times to create a Gods be damned parasite in that poor girl? A parasite that will look and often act like its parents?
A sob gouges through his throat, leaving whatever mess he has last eaten into a pool of tears and blood. What a pitiful creature Demetruis is, all he wanted was just enough power to get even a mere glimpse of dear Lysander. He could care less by a tenfold of the other poor girl, oh Helena, you must be dead now you sweet thing.
A thunder booms, muffling his screams, of course it was all a dream. Demetruis would still have to live life with a girl, yet it felt all too real. The sound of his voice, the fake mocking voice of Lysander beneath the brush, the fear of poor Helena when confronted with his rotted brain’s confusion, and poor Hermia being left in the dust. Now she is dead, perhaps poor Lysander has joined her like the pathetic lovers they are. He will never get such a sweet fate, oh no he never will.
“Gods have you downed by a mere dagger, Demetruis what is thy mishap?” The sick man turns to see Lysander, his long lashes, golden locks, and wealthy Athenian clothing makes his heart flutter once more. Oh how could he have forgotten such masculinity, such love? All for a girl he spent nights throwing up after spending far too long with, a night that will never leave him.
“O’ Lysander, dear Lysander! Please help me, for I have dreamt a terrible dream! One of where you and dear Hermia indeed marry! One of where I am cursed with the clutches of Helena! Gods, one of where I sleep with Helena more times than you ever could with your most beloved! A terrible dream where I feel empty each and every day, empty when Helena is not near, empty when you are with me, empty when the one I am meant to marry- dear Hermia, shares her sweet love stories with me! I am all but in a mess, dear Lysander help! Hath they killed our dear…our chance at survival? Or was it all real, dear Gods it felt too real!”
“Demetruis, oh you poor little soul, poor you!” Ah, the way the sun peeks out for Demetruis to see how golden he truly is, how sweet his round face looks, his circlet with a dangerously hot pink heart in the middle. The man surrounds himself in love and gold, of how Demetruis wishes to feel such with a woman of his own.
If he can even love a woman beneath the covers that is, the mere thought of just that…Demetruis holds back a wretch and sobs in Lysander’s proud arms. What happened to him? For why is a man so detached from the very thing he is meant to hold so dear? Yet the trees breeze petals of sakura, and Lysander again looks oh so very kind. Oh how can he not see his life with him forever, them both old with a kind son adopted from dark woods of the impoverished.
“My, my, for what hath made thee feel so frightened? The sun is out, my dear, and for that; thou should have the confidence of Athena by a tenfold! You speak of such nightmares, however they have not happened! Why, Hermia, my one and only, is alive and well! You with Helena for years to come, and empty you feel not! If I may, what is so wrong being even closer to the woman you once despised after such intimacy? Isn’t that what you want for her, your dear Helena?”
Demetrius turns his head, his soft, and fluffy brown hair covering a part of his face without consent. Yet, the sobs continue to overthrow his sense of self. Perhaps he should explain his circumstances with dear Lysander, that this nightmare is indeed not real. He does not, and never will love Helena.
“Lysander, my heart and soul does not- and never will- belong to poor Helena! Why, thinking about such cruelties makes me feel sick! How can thine feel so lonely and separated from something that was never real? Lysander, my dear, please help, for I cannot allow myself to believe that Hermia is alive…that this is all a part of a life that I never asked for! Do you understand, Lysander?”
The winds pick up as Lysander’s grip tightens around Demetrius’ waist, a quick reminder that he can take back what all was just said. Yet his mouth is shut, a shock shuddering from him as the other gets closer to him. His eyes open, open to reveal what is often never seen up close. For Lysander looks like a hydra, his many locks loose and wavy, his eyes narrow with a great pink lust, white slits that only resemble danger for his love.
Demetruis feels prideful, that only he can see such danger and extremity from this man. He cannot help but to melt deeper into Lysander’s touch, to wander off into the fantasies that were taken from him. Perhaps he will finally get what he wished for, a moment where he can get what he wants.
Yet the winds almost howl, more Cornish Daisies whipping past the two. Lysander pulling Demetruis up, yet they do not dance. Perhaps the spectacle is for later? His brows furrow, and Lysander cups Demetruis’ wet cheek. Demetruis never noticed how gentle Lysander was, how kind his touch is. Oh of how he can melt into a puddle before him at this very moment, yet a crack of thunder- loud and close- snaps Demetruis out of his trance.
“Demetruis, you sick thing, do you not understand what is at stake?” What happened to the poetry in his voice? Yet Demetruis doesn’t pull away, he gets closer instead.
“Perhaps…we can run heather to your aunt? Go across the seas? Fly away into the Amazons? There is nothing left in this sick world, dear Lysander, why should we be held back in this tight grasp of authority?”
The clamber of both thunder and a hand clashing against his own face was enough to make Demetruis scream, but of what he does not know. Lysander, now face shrouded by the darkness of the clouds above, glares with only pink. A pink that radiates far too much evil, an evil that is associated with those who are like Demetruis.
“Because authority will make those like you be in line, Theseus did not allow us to pass with our loved ones like this for no apparent reason! How dare you take my Hermia from me! Do you not see the winds, the rain, the thunder- all of which is caused by a disgusting fairy like you! You wish to go against all we have worked so hard to achieve, who do you think you are to cause such a tornado, who are you to dance with the fiends in the Underworld? Gods, is Hades with your hate as well? You reek, Demetrius!"
“A fairy, really? You accuse me of such a monstrosity when you have caused the very storm from my own love? How dare thee, for what are you really? A fae forgotten in the depths of Hell? Why create a storm when all you do is lie, lie to me, to your precious little Hermia, to everything that breathes? Are you going to kill me now, because I will never love something so gross in the inside and out? You are barbaric! A troll that will never see the light again from the way you have been raised, Helena and Hermia are long since dead! You being an immortal being of danger and magic is something to be ashamed of!”
A crack, right in the middle of them both, splits the earth into a ravine. A ravine full of emptiness and black, like the Cornish Daisies. Lysander screams, screams that he wishes that this cursed man wasn’t right. For his identity has been stripped from him far too many times to count, his gold and pink look dull now. Demetrius looked almost ethereal in the strike of pure white from the very sky, tornadoes swirling around in a waltz. A waltz that was never meant to happen, because magic is always wielded in the worst way possible.
“Hast thou forgotten thy name, or is the globe now broken because you are just an empty little child?” Demetrius glares at the fae from afar, nothing is new about Lysander. Yet, what even is real anymore? This dance, how long will they have to go? “You enrage me, but you’re an addiction that I cannot stop- lucky you are- but I will not allow you to be near things you call ‘dear’ when they are only victims. Take me afar, Lysander, yonder beyond the forests of bears and goblins, yonder beyond great Rome, yonder beyond the blessed, yonder beyond the cursed. For whether you like it or not, you are mine just as I am yours, and so let us be the cursed creatures we were always meant to be.”
The cold chuckles sound like a Hyena’s whine, powerful and broken. Lysander stands, his face nothing, tattered wings of a beetle protruding from his back, a hunch that looks almost sickly, bones being hugged by nothing but skin, and skin that is the same dull pink as a Cornish Daisy. What Lysander is will always be unknown, and Demetrius can’t help but to hold his hand to the malnourished monster.
“You speak of yourself in such a way…” Lysander’s nothing trails off, leaving the two dance away into the rain. It may not be woman and man, nor man and man for this matter, yet it is a dance that will begin a journey for the ages. For the very lives of both man and woman, Fae and Fiend, dragon and serpent. Yet, is all of this still in poor Demetruis’ head? Or is he free of the curse from what was spread on his very eyelids?