The Story You Don't Know

"Will you stay tonight?" I asked, noticing he'd tucked me into bed without getting into bed himself.

"No, I'll put you to sleep." He sat at the edge of my bed, stroking my hair in a motion that both soothed me and made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"Alright." I tried to mask the disappintment in my voice. He seemed so busy recently. What was on his mind that he wouldn't tell me?

A thought surfaced in my mind as I watched his carefully composed face, and I decided to test out a theory I'd had recently. I shifted so my face was buried in my pillow.

Hey, Kalen. I thought as loud as I could in my head.

"Hmm?"

My head snapped up. "So you can hear my thoughts after all! Why did you have to hide that from me?"

He shrugged carelessly. "You never asked."

And I had nothing to say to that, so I shifted over to make space for him. "Can I have a cuddle?"

"I won't be able to stay for long," he said as he pulled me into his arms.

In the dark of the night, my whole world was just the two of us, limbs intertwined, warm bodies pressed up so close that it felt like we were one. The night was silent except for the rise and fall of his breath and the rhythmic drum of his heart, calling to mine through the layer of flesh, skin and fabric that separated us.

"Hey Kalen." My voice was barely a whisper, like the soft flutter of a flag in the wind. "Won't you stay a little longer?"

Let's stay like this forever. I want nothing less, nothing more.

I just want a little more of forever with you, a little more of forever to love you like I've loved no one else.

-

The blade pierced the tattoo of his child's face, went on right through to bleed the heart that beat for his lover, slicing the c.h.e.s.t that had witnessed a million kisses, as easily as a knife through butter.

And yet, his killer's eyes were carefully cold and expressionless. The victim's harrowing cries fell on deaf ears.

In the seconds before this, he'd seen through his prey - his power allowing him to easily know all of the man's memories, thoughts, feelings. His dreams, his fears, his ambitions, in that split second, he lived as his victim. And such was the weight of curse that the killer bore.

But after thousands of centuries, countless lives sown, none of that mattered to the ebony blade, or its wielder; the man's blood was as red as any other, its smell-

He cut off his train of thought as a name arose in his mind.

Avery.

He closed his eyes and tried to disconnect from that particular train of thought. However, another image surfaced in his mind.

A sea of bodies strewn around him, much like ghoulish mannequins, torn open and their insides spilling out in a tangled mess. As the corpses caught the rays of the rising sun, their waxy skin seemed to give off an unearthly gleam, thickening blood smeared almost like paint. It was artistic, almost, like a scenic capture of a battlefield post-fight in a war movie.

But the smell. It could only have come from recently slaughtered animals. Humans, elves, fae, avia, werewolves, animals - they were all the same to him, the god of darkness, death and the ruler of the shadow realm; they were all weak, powerless to him, crushed so easily.

Avery.

A growl escaped his slightly parted lips.

The way her eyes sparkled whenever she looked at him.

The tinkling of her laugh.

The way her fingers could carve out melodies that moved something deep within.

That smell of fresh blood on her.

Why?

Was she not happy?

What did he not do?

What wasn't enough?

Why could he not protect her from herself?

He came back to reality only to come eye to eye with the still wide eyes of his victim. And suddenly, it was her face he saw, contorted in fear and pain, her empty eyes staring blankly ahead, seeing him but not seeing, wearing that eerie unmoving mask everyone knew as death.

He took an unsteady step back. Blinked. Came back to his senses.

But his insides were unsettled still. He carefully removed his shadowblade from the body, wiped it clean on the rough fabric of the man's clothes until it was clean; so black that no light escaped it.

Being in such close proximity with the body, the smell hit his heightened senses again, hard. For the first time in thousands of years, the Keeper found himself taking huge strides, trying to escape the murder scene.

And for the first time in ages, he found himself retching up a stream of vomit in a ditch as the smell of death and dead face of the first girl he loved burned itself into the back of his mind.