Inescapable 06

Time stretches out endless before me, my days having little to differentiate one from the next. I live, breathe, and exist solely for Lezard. Life has no other meaning for me now. Once my purpose had been to escape, to right the many wrongs he had committed. But my purpose has changed, distorted over the centuries spent with him. I went from wanting to kill Lezard to actually welcoming him eagerly into my bed.

Of course this change in me wasn’t instantaneous. Lezard had truly needed every minute of eternity to win me over so completely. I would continue to fight, against him, against what was happening for a millennia it seemed. But even as I fought, a tiredness was filling me. I was growing weary of the endless struggle, the fights for dominance between us. Fights I lost again and again, Lezard always, always overpowering me.

Was it the fact that I couldn’t win, that began my descent into a madness of my very own? I didn’t think myself so weak willed, but I cannot change the facts that ultimately I capitulated to Lezard’s demands. He already had my body, must my mind and heart follow? But even as I ask that, I know the answer. Lezard would never be satisfied with anything less than a complete devotion on my part to him.

I cannot say when I first began to weaken so completely. Was it the first time I let him bring me to his bed without a struggle on my part? Or was it the first time I moaned his name in the midst of a passionate moment? But I was tired, and my struggles availed me nothing. No matter how like a wild cat I acted, he would still have me. No matter how I tried to hold back my voice, to deny the arousal Lezard caused in me, the pleasured feelings still came.

My body was betraying me, finding pleasure in his attentions. Even as I hated myself, I could not deny that Lezard could bring me to climax in a way Lucian had never. Even as I rode the high of those climaxes, something in me wept. Sometimes I would tell myself my body was latching onto the only pleasure left to me. There was nothing else for me, trapped forever in that room.

I began to WANT the time spent with Lezard. I began to actively miss him when he left me alone. I’d find myself endlessly pacing the floor of the bedroom, eyes constantly seeking out the door in the hopes that Lezard would appear in it’s threshold. The first time I felt something like excited joy fill my heart when he finally appeared. it frightened me. I had been in the midst of rushing towards him, and when I had realized what I was doing, I froze on the spot.

I can remember how Lezard looked that day. The look of surprise that instantly changed to pleasure once he recovered from the shock of my approach. I am still grateful he had the sense not to tease me for what I had almost done. And all because it was mortifying enough to know he knew how close I was to submitting.

In direct contradiction to the urgings of my heart, I fought him that day. My struggles had renewed, but it wasn’t Lezard who was my true opponent. It was myself, my mind and heart at odds in regard to my feelings for Lezard. Did he know of my internal struggle? Maybe not at first. But it was difficult to hide it, when with one touch Lezard could make me melt so completely.

Even worse, I began to want to touch him. To want to learn the texture of his skin, to run fingers through his hair, and savor the taste of him. I’d resist those desires, denying myself those damning impulses. But sometimes my hands would linger when I attempted to push him away, stealing that desired touch in the only way I could.

I’d continue to hate him. And myself. And all because I knew something had changed within me. I saw it as a betrayal. Of myself, and of my people. How could I come to want the monster that had destroyed my world? And not only my world, but this new reality as well? And yet the heart wants what it wants, even if it inspires self hatred. And I did hate myself.

Yet as much as I hated, there was a part of me that was starting to revel in my time spent with Lezard. My heart was beginning to thrill every time he looked at me, anticipation filling me at his approach. I no longer so thoroughly dreaded his use of me, my soul hungering for the connection that came when we joined our bodies together. There was now solace in the act, a soothing balm that helped ease away my pain and loneliness. It mattered little that he was the cause of what troubled me, Lezard had become my cure.

It was easy to forget my hatred in those moments. When he kissed and touched me, his hands everywhere, urging me to give in. The surrender came easily then, but it was after, in the quiet moments when he slept that the loathing would return to me. It would creep into my consciousness, slow moving tendrils that sought a firm grip on my thoughts. I’d think terrible, accusing things as I gazed at him. I’d wonder how I could look so tenderly upon him, how I could linger my gaze upon his sleeping face and not be moved to murder him in his sleep. It mattered not that I would fail in the act. What mattered was that I had stopped making the attempt to harm him.

But I could no longer bring myself to actively hurt him. I had been conditioned too thoroughly into wanting him, wanting the pleasure he gave me. His was a drugging influence, a poison that had thoroughly infested my mind and heart. Often I was sick from wanting him, ready to despair at the way things had turned out. I was falling, my trip into madness a long, spiraling descent. What would happen to me when I hit rock bottom?

I feared the finding out. And yet I couldn’t stop the feelings that were becoming a part of my daily life. Elation, desire, hatred, worry. I ran the gamut from one side of the spectrum to the other, with Lezard stirring them all. My days went from the sadness of being apart from him, to the excitement of his arrival. Desire would win out over all other feelings, spiraling me higher and higher until my climaxes brought me crashing down into self hatred. I couldn’t stop wanting him, anymore than I could stop hating myself for the desire.

I had become so weak. I no longer pushed him away. Not with my hands, and not with my heart. No amount of pretending could hide what was happening, at least to me. I was starting to accept him, even if all I did was lie there and let him have his way. I couldn’t deny the feelings of my heart, the thoughts that went racing through my mind whenever Lezard looked at me, smiled at me, touched me.

The worst moments were perhaps the quiet time just after we had coupled together. Lezard would pull me close, not content to relinquish his hold of me even in sleep. Once I would have grumbled, would have felt and made known my displeasure. But now such an act only served to further endear him to me, my body soft and pliant against his as I rested against Lezard.

But there was no rest for my mind. I would lay there, my head on his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. My thoughts would turn furious, a voice hurling accusations and insults at me. I’d inwardly cringe, knowing each word as true even as I looked up at Lezard’s sleeping face. He always looked so trusting when asleep, a fact that had once infuriated me for it spoke volumes of how little he thought of my threat.

But now I couldn’t muster up the energy to act against him. I could no longer attempt to choke the life out of him, anymore than I could stand to break his fingers. Even as that voice hissed at me, calling me awful names, I could only admire him. I’d use those moments when he was asleep to look my fill of him, openly staring in a way I would never do when he was awake. And all because I couldn’t bear the smug triumph that would have filled Lezard in response to my intent study of him.

Sometimes I think I stared long enough to be able to count every individual strand of his hair. Longing would fill me, as I wondered how it would feel to touch those strands. To run my fingers through in a touch meant to please not harm him. It wasn’t just his hair I lingered on, I wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him back. To feel that sensual mouth of his soften and yield to my exploration.

Most of all I wanted to touch him in return. To caress my hands over every inch of Lezard. Sometimes that urge was strong enough to keep that angry inner voice of mine at bay. But more often than not, the soft, yearning impulses only brought it raging harder. It didn’t want me to feel anything for Lezard except hate and disgust. It didn’t want me to give him gentle touches, it wanted me to tear chunks out of his flesh. But I was long past the point of hurting him, of even making the attempts. At some point I had recognized the futility, knowing his pain would be a momentary thing at best.

Once I would have reveled in that pain, taking it as minor victory over Lezard. But those so called victories were hollow at best, and never kept him from me for long. Now I had come to the point I didn’t want to do anything that might turn him from me. I never feared his loss of interest, he was too taken with me for there to be a chance of Lezard ever leaving me. But I no longer wanted to delay the inevitable, the joining of our bodies, the intimacy we shared in between moments of sex.

I truly was becoming desperate for him. Not just for the pleasure of his body, but the communion we shared each time we talked. It no longer bothered me that he touched me constantly, regardless of whether we were about to make love or not. I needed his touch, was starved for even the simplest of things, like holding hands. I could no longer remember what it was like to be touched by anyone else, and I felt a lonely ache in me whenever his hands stopped touching me, even for a moment.

It was a constant barrage of feelings. Both good and bad. I was sick with need for Lezard, and warring with myself often. I began to think of myself as separate from the voice who snarled so angrily in my head. I began to think the voice was the only remnant that lingered of the previous Lenneth. And soon that voice would begin to speak less and less to me, as though it was losing it’s strength. Dying. I should have mourned losing that last part of me, but truthfully I was just glad for the reprieve from it’s insults.

With or without the voice, I would continue to exist in perpetual need, wanting to touch Lezard but not daring. It felt like something would truly be broken inside me if I gave in to that urge, as if the last of my restraints towards him was shattered. And yet the need to touch him was nearly violent in it’s intensity. I was staying up more and more, to just watch over him. Admiring him a way I could not when he was awake.

One day, I simply stopped resisting. It was only for a moment. His arms were around me, clutching me close against him as he slept. His hair was mussed, long bangs strewn haphazardly across his brow. With a tenderness that surprised me, I moved trembling fingers against those strands. It was the touch I had been longing for, and even as I reveled in it, it was poisoning me. He did not wake at my touch, or the gasp that followed. Not until I began struggling to get free of his arms. I wanted away from him. I wanted to sear my hand in fire’s flame, to burn away the memory of that stolen touch. I wanted to do more than just burn, I wanted to go wild, to destroy the prison that had made me so susceptible to desiring Lezard.

He was disoriented, not understanding the panic on my face. I’d find myself pressed into the bed, Lezard holding me down as he tried to figure out what had triggered my upset. I was both angry and despairing, and when he began speaking to me in soothing tones, I broke down completely. I began to openly sob, shuddering with the effort to breathe. In that moment I was inconsolable, shrieking when Lezard tried to kiss my tears away.

I had become someone unrecognizable. I was shattering, breaking apart until the only Lenneth left was the woman Lezard wanted me to be. I couldn’t stop the change, even my mind was softening towards him. I would find myself thinking about him at all times, whether he was with me or apart. This quiet introspection had me questioning my sanity. I was wondering just what was wrong with me.

I was alone when the answer hit me. Somehow, impossibly so, I had come to have feelings for Lezard. Feelings that went beyond hate and anger. I needed him, wanted him. I began to laugh, a great fit of hysterical giggles as I realized it was some form of sick dependency that had made me start to love him. With no one else to turn to, no other soul to speak to and take comfort from, Lezard had become my everything. Forget the sun and the moon, the turning of the world. Lezard was my reason for existing, the only thing left to me that could give me any measure of happiness.

Of course I never told him what I had come to realize. At least not with any spoken words. But sometimes, actions speak louder than the voice. I began to actively participate in our lovemaking, no longer needing to be held down and forced. That pleased Lezard immensely, his excitement rocketing up to new heights. If anything he craves me even more, as though this new willingness of mine fed his addiction for me.

We are both so dependent on each other, clinging, needful beings. Neither one of us wants to share the other with the world, and those that come to this temple are annoyances at best. They take him away from me. I hate them for every stolen moment, waiting impatiently for Lezard to finish with them so that he can return to my arms. A part of me recognizes that this is insane, but that voice is quickly dying. I don’t care if the world ends, if Yggsdrasil withers. Just never let me leave this room, leave him.

How long have I been with him now? I cannot say. I stopped counting the centuries years ago. But the people still come, often they are the only break in a routine that should be boring from it’s monotony. They come with their hopes and fears, weapons sharp for the killing they will not make. They truly believe if they try hard and often enough, that one of them will be successful. That they will end the reign of the God who so cruelly neglects their world. They have not yet accepted the truth, might never realize that nothing will change. Lezard will always be in charge, and no matter how hard they hope and dream, a miracle is not coming.

It is all right. There is still time. It is time that leads to submission, time that will force them to accept the reality of their situation. It is after all, that same time that made me accept mine. I no longer wonder what is outside my room, no longer yearn for the things I cannot have. Lezard is all I need, all I want. Even if I never tell him the words, his return to this room quickens my pulse with excitement.

Just as my face brightens now, the door creaking open slowly. I turn to face it, struggling to maintain composure of my face. As if that can somehow keep my expression from betraying just how happy I am to see him.

It is a shock when the men enter my room. Lezard is not among them. My eyes flit nervously from face to face, not understanding how they got so deep into the temple. Where is Lezard? Why has he not come to kill them? Why has he allowed them to get so close to me? I do not understand, and I am sure my confusion is showing.

It would be pointless to try and run. The chain tethers me to this room, and won’t extend past the door. So I hold myself still, hands fisting on my skirts as I watch the men approach and surround me. They carry weapons with them, and I wonder briefly if the metal has been enchanted to kill a God. Even if they have not, I would make poor sport, the chain suppressing me of all my powers.

But they have not come to kill me. I understand that in the instant the axe breaks apart my chain. And with that severing, power flows into me, staggering me. Someone puts out a hand to steady me. Another gasps, admonishing the first for his daring. They know better than to touch a deity uninvited, the men holding their weapons and watching as a glow fills me. The glow of power, warming me as I struggle to breathe from the force of it’s return.

Voices rise up in my head, millions of them. It is the voices of the realms, the prayers of the people. They are desperate for a miracle, hoping for change. A change Lezard won’t give them. A change only I can bring them. The world is truly falling apart from Lezard’s neglect, I should feel horrified by what I am discovering. But I don’t. I merely feel numb, as though this new wound can’t amount to the pain of past hurts.

My glow lessens, I’m gaining control over the power surging within me. I straighten and lock eyes with one of the warriors. It is his cue to drop to his knees. The other follow. They don’t dare look directly at me, knowing I could strike them down with just a thought. I’m still wondering where Lezard is, when one lifts up his sword to me, the flat of his blade resting on his hands.

I stare at the sword a moment before reaching for it. It is an ancient and weathered blade, inscripted with runes along it’s hilt. It is an alien weapon, but one that is not wholly unfamiliar to me. If I concentrate, all my past skill will return to me, allowing me to use it. My fingers tighten around it’s hilt, confidence blasting through me as the warriors murmur some kind of prayer.

I am no longer looking at anything but the sword, seeing myself reflected on it’s polished blade. I know what I must do, and it is not a pretty smile I wear. Inside me, the old Lenneth rears long enough to scream a protest. But I won’t heed her screams, she has no power over me any longer. My arm moves, I hear the sickening squelch of flesh being stabbed. An arc of blood sprays towards me, and then my vision goes red. The screams are a constant melody, but I don’t dance. I am efficient but not cruel, doing what must be needed. It is a love letter to him I carve out, each body bathing me with blood. I think a hysterical giggle might have escaped me, but I can’t stop. I won’t. And all because I can’t live without him.