Hearts slaved to minds of darkness

9. Alliances and enemies

Slakra's darkness always attempted to spread its invasive tentacles into the minds that held onto it with thought, leaving behind a memory of an empty void.

But I'd never have glimpsed of the beauty in the darkness, because here one would never be given the chance to realise that the night is over, and dreams wouldn't be left behind to rot in the daylight.

They've left me locked here for hours, or days, I couldn't audit time's passing because the sun would never rise above my roofless room. The walls were stained with decaying paintings left by someone locked in here before me, its beauty glowed brighter as it depicted Slakra's history. This was someone who died a martyr, I'm sure of it. It means that the darkness will not kill me, it has already made that mistake with someone else before. However beautiful, the room was a prison in disguise.

My white dress was still tainted with my blood, with no wound to justify it. All I could promise now was that a lot more of it would be drenched in red, and I wish I pitied the soldiers that were going to suffer for my freedom. Mine, and Giovanni's. But I needed to stop the war. I needed to protect my cities at whatever price.

I ran my fingers along the faded shades of colour, I was locked in a room with walls that portrayed slaughter. Innocents, children, men with power were all treated equally guilty through the eyes of the artist, the stories of history.

I am the igniting touch that will convert the darkness of their starry sky into a seraphic sanctum, instead of letting its unsacred and infernal forces dominate the world. It will soon be my world, all mine. This painting, meant nothing to me. Not anymore, because I've sworn to protect people who deserve my protecting.

My illuminating thoughts slowly dissipated as my senses began being deceived by an intoxicating scent of wildflowers. At first, I thought it was my power gradually killing me in order to satisfy some kind of escape. But I was not alone anymore.

"Do I make you nervous, Ares?" My eyes were still fixated onto the strokes of the violence on my wall. I didn't care to look at him while I spoke, he hadn't earned my gleaming attention yet. My curiosity only hoped that he would in the near future.

"You're an artist, then. These paintings usually kill their audiences before I have a chance to do it myself. I hope that won't be our case, Emerald." He paid no heed to my question but was sure to leave his tone perpetually ravenous.

I refused to turn to him, and I could feel his annoyance radiating off of his cold-blooded skin. But he seemed to have enough of it, he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Look at me." He urged, his voice gentle and coarse.

"I'm not an audience, I'm a Monarch. I am better than you." I assured him with my eyes gradually turning to his.

"Better, how?" He pursued with his eyes casted darker than the hazel I had remembered. I took longer than I anticipated to grasp the image of his deep raven hair fallen over his eyes, while the rest was neatly tucked behind. He was elegantly wild and encapsulated by some different kind of darkness belonging only to himself.

"I will win, while your efforts will be in vain darling." I spawned back enveloping his nonchalance with a severe awareness, something that could have been easily mistaken for fear. But I knew better than to expect him to know what that felt like.

He pulled himself off from the wall while retrieving his fingers from playing over the texture of the paint, and invaded my air as he forced me to give into the protection of the table behind me.

He placed his palm over my mouth, signalling me that I was in an unfamiliar land. The rules here were different from my rules. I had said something that made him crumble in ignorance.