DEMENTED | Romance | Fantasy | Slight Thriller

Chapter Twenty-Four: To Feel

Cold.

A stinging pain pulsed through his body as he slowly sat up, groggy from his intense memories. Or dreams. He set a hand on the ground to steady himself, but it bit at him and he yanked his hand away. That was when he realized that it was not stone he lay upon–it was ice. The ice was so cold it was a sort of blue. Remembering the ice housed spirits, he wondered how horrid this one must've been to be so cold. But it was no matter. In life they had a chance to reform themselves. In death they did not.

And this was why the Prince had an advantage to this system. Horrid as he could be, he would never die. Not until another God or Goddess surpassed Her, the Goddess and all her beings were immortal.

And much as he wanted to, he was too weak to overthrow her. He had only a fraction of her power, power he'd only received from The Separation. Power he still knew little of other than its limits.

"----!" The Goddess's lovely voice floated through the air, calling his name. "Come here. I need to speak with you."

The Prince had nothing to do other than oblige. He climbed the many steps back up into the Janarian Palace, following her haunted tunes into her Hall. As soon as he entered, she looked up from her throne at least a hundred meters away and then appeared right in front of him. He jumped back, startled, and she grinned with delight. "My dearest eye," she addressed him with a mocking term of endearment. "I trust you slept well?" She laughed, quick and daunting.

"As sound as a corpse," she exclaimed. "But you know, I was only trying to help you. Pain helps you grow. It reminds us to feel."

"It does not help you feel," the Prince replied, "when all you wish to do is forget."

"Forgetting doesn't change the past, dear. It only makes our present a little sweeter. Besides, do you truly think you could forget? We are Gods, you and I. We cannot forget, else we would be mortal. I suppose in that sense we do not truly feel, either. That is the only slight difference between us. I desperately try to feel. But look where that has brought me!? She gestured around her. "But you, I know you feel a little. Pain, huh? Interesting."

"It is a feeling I would rather not relive," the Prince growled. Warning.

She ignored him. "Have I yet told you the tale of the Mad Princess? It is rather new, I'm afraid."

"No," he replied angrily. "But now is not the time for stories–"

"Once upon a time–" the world around them shattered into black and he knew nothing more.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who, in comparison to that of her companions, was, a little–strange, we'll say. She did not laugh at the right things. Cry at the right things. She was... wrong.

She–she had something in her. For she wasn't quite mortal, but not quite immortal either. She was in-between, and since her soul couldn't pick a side, it was corrupted. Unbalanced. She would often regret–she was filled with it, as the unbalance in her system slowly brought her to commit dark deeds.

They were small, at first. A white lie. A slight remark. But then they grew worse–memories turned into accusations, lies turned into schemes–she was cunning. Too cunning. Too overwhelming. Too–smart.

So I placed a little spell on her–you know, to prevent her from worse schemes. To cloud her mind, just a little–you see, she had been plotting to rise against me. Not that she would succeed, of course. No one has. But to prevent her from attacking me, I attacked her mind.

She is still herself, now. She still laughs at the wrong things and cries at the wrong things. But no longer is she cunning.

The Goddess's voice, once rich with magic and smooth like honey as she told her story, had returned to its normal unmagicked state. His eyes had been glazed over in the trance, but cleared and his thoughts were his again. But anyways, I am telling you this because she is your betrothed."

The Prince was incredulous. "What?"

"Yes! She is waiting for you, you know. I've been speaking to her–she knows you will come. She is not the Princess yet, after all. She is simply–mad."

"No. I have been serving you for hundreds of years now–I have done everything you've asked of me, no matter how dark and how little I have wanted to do so. You cannot do this to me now." He wondered what Ebony would think if she knew–if she knew he was to wed another. Then he came to his senses and was bewildered for a moment–why think of Ebony now of all times? He pushed the confusion out of his mind.

"I believe it would be good for you and us both! We need a third in the palace–two can be so boring. Her insanity would brighten up the place and make mine look good in comparison!" She noticed the Prince's shocked expression and laughed. "Yes, of course I know. Ruling over worlds can do that to any mind, mortal or immortal. Even I cannot be spared."

"Please." He gritted his teeth and knelt to the floor. "I do not wish this–this maniac you describe as a wife. I will do anything–anything you ask of me. But please do not pain me more."

She smiled wider. "Anything?"

"Anything."

"Then find me my heart. We will discuss this then." She turned and walked away, sauntering back to her throne. It wasn't quite the situation he was hoping. But it was a chance.

"You may go." She waved her hand from the throne, dismissing him as if she had no more use for him. "Leave for Absinthe. Ebony will be there. Find the heart, and you both get what you want." But something was off. There was no curse, no parting "gift." It was unnatural. She faded away and her physical form was no more–but a sort of emotion remained. Sadness, and a touch of guilt. Did–did the Goddess regret?

No. Gods do not regret. But the emotion–he could've sworn it was hers.

As the Prince walked back down the frozen steps, he remembered the time he had once looked up to her–not only with respect, but as a mother. Or whatever she was to him. Until she wasn't.

Yet he still felt something–only his admiration had been replaced with pity. She could never be happy, never like anything, never truly feel. That was something he could–which she hadn't fully understood. And although feeling came with pain, it also came with joy, bliss, being content. When She killed her predecessors, she would never be able to feel again.

Word Count: 1123 words

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