DEMENTED | Romance | Fantasy | Slight Thriller

Chapter Twenty-Three: Impossible

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Throughout the days and nights after her conversation with her estranged sister, Ebony tried and failed multiple times to get back in contact with Crimson. But the first attempt was the night after.

She'd been up all day before then, at first because of anger. She couldn't fathom where the sister she'd once loved so dearly had gone! It was impossible for all her love and wonderful personality to have changed so drastically with her head injury. She had once been so sween, so kind, so caring! But now all she had was carelessness.

This feeling soon drifted into sadness. They used to be so close–when they were little their mother had joked that they were each other's other half–they were never apart and together were twice as charming. Crimson's games had once been ones they both enjoyed. Only never were they cruel.

And when the sun finally did submerge beneath Absinthe's black sanded slopes, Ebony went to see her sister again. She still could not look at the paint that stained the walls, but with each step she took, her pace became a little more brisk and hurried. Black sand riddled the cracks between each stone in the floor, always there–whether you wanted it to be or not.

Eventually, the stone would form an intricate mosaic of the GOddess, but that would be seen when you entered the Main Hall. But it was a beautiful mosaic, one Ebony as a child had once revered with awe and respect. Oh, how things had changed. Any religious love she had felt for Her had been replaced with two emotions: fear and loathing. She liked feeling neither of these.

After nearing a familiar corner and into the left wing, she came upon Crimson's chambers again... only to have a guard barring their entrance this time.

He was huge–almost as tall as the Prince, with long black hair braided down his back–as most Absinthian Imperial Guards wore theirs. His skin was a shade of dark gray–darker than most Absinthians, by no doubt due to the many nights and days he'd spent training for this position. He caught her staring, but said nothing about it, although a look of distaste was now written across his face. "Her Majesty bids that no one enter her private chambers, even, and especially–"he looked down his nose at her, "her sister."

Ebony cursed in her head, but spread a confused smile on her face. "Whatever would you mean? She's been expecting me tonight, you know. You wouldn't want to make Her Majesty angry, would you?"

"That is correct, she has been expecting you," he agreed curtly. "That is why she had me stationed here. To prevent you from entering." He looked down at her again, smug–by no doubt because he was talking down to his superior. "You wouldn't want to make Her Majesty angry, would you?"

Ebony was shocked at the boldness of his behavior. Under her parents' rule, guards had always been obedient, pleasant, and never dared to talk back to a courtier. Although she was glad they felt they had more of a voice and confidence, she had never been treated so rudely by a person of lower standing. Still recovering from the harsh treatment, she turned away and left. "I will be coming again tomorrow."

And this she did. But each time she came back she was denied access. It made her angry, but she wasn't surprised. The volume of how much things had changed–Crimson's personality and Absinthe as a whole–was astronomical. Quite remarkable, actually, she thought, but she would never admit that to her already vain sister–if she ever had an opportunity to talk to her.

Eventually, she stopped, and focused her mind on different matters. She looked at the tapestry she'd woven now several days past, the word "death" resounding within her mind. She assumed it was in reference to the Prince, as he had made his way into her future in the past several months.

The Prince. She'd forgotten he was still in Janaria, with the very same Goddess that had sent her back here. If the horrid waves of memory were what the Goddess had given her, she hoped she hadn't given him worse. Hers were painful enough. But the memories of an immortal Prince–she desperately hoped he was alright.

She pictured him, his impossibly beautiful face contorted in agony, white hair even more unkempt than it usually was, perfect white teeth gritted together in impeccable harmony–

Wait. Why was she envisioning all this? A hot blush bloomed on her cheeks–she felt it first, and then whirled to her mirror. It confirmed it–her face was flushed. No. Did she–like him?

She tried to frantically come up with an explanation. It was most likely an attraction–he was indeed beautiful, with a smile just like the Goddess's in cunning, a sharp jawline that framed his features, hair as luxurious and soft as silk, and eyes that made your skin hot just by looking at the darkness of them. She sighed–yes, beautiful indeed. All the stars in the sky could not compare to his beauty.

But–but there was something more. It was the way he spoke to her, low and smooth–no! She–she simply liked the way his voice sounded, that was all. And how he'd truly apologized after their fight. And how he cared for her–genuinely seemed to care for her–especially when she lost control of herself and how he held her then–a scene flashed back, his toned abdomen and gorgeous porcelain skin sending a rush of butterflies in her stomach–no. No. No. No. She didn't like him. Couldn't.

It was impossible, anyway. He was nearly a God and she a mortal. Her lifespan in comparison to his would only be a few seconds. He would live, or, exist, on and on forever, and she would be gone before he knew it. And she didn't know if he felt the same way–if the Prince of Death ever truly felt anything at all.

But then a spark of hope fluttered in her chest. He did feel. She remembered when the Prince had briefly reminisced in one of their carriage rides, talking with an expression that made him look–almost–wistful. He did know how to feel. Only little did she know that like the Goddess, whatever he felt was thirteen times that of any mortal's.

But for him to like her? That would be going against his prior actions when they first met at the cathedral in Auria. He hated mortals. He simply barely tolerated Ebony, only because the Goddess wanted him to.

And yet he hated the Goddess, more so than Ebony. Could he–be doing this so she didn't die?

Ebony didn't know for sure. These new feelings made her feel uneasy, vulnerable. Caring about anyone in the past had never done her any favors.

So why would she care about one now?

She wasn't sure she could still truly care for another. You see, whenever she had cared about anyone, they turned mad or died, or both. And yet the Prince was already cruel, and could not die. But still. How could she care for him when she didn't even know his name?

It was impossible.

...or was it?

Word Count: 1179 words

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So today I woke up at 6 as a poor attempt to start getting myself to have a better lifestyle and stop procrastinating. I can feel the sleep on me and man do I wish I just slept in 😭😭

How early do you usually wake up?

As always, thank you so much for supporting Demented! Your votes, comments, and just overall support really motivate me to keep writing and I love to hear your inputs!