Ángel Oscuro's Redemption

Her

Arriving back home, I sought refuge in the cold austerity of the bathroom. The lingering stench of blood clung on my hands, bearing witness to the atrocities committed in the name of dominance and power. Gazing upon my reflection in the mirror, I caught sight of my face, marred by the horrors of my deeds. The blood-soaked visage staring back at me bore the weight of countless lives demolished by my conquests. But as the water cascaded over my hands, cleansing them of the damning evidence, a peculiar dizziness seized me. It was in that moment, that a voice tiptoed into my consciousness. The voice that whispered from the depths of my haunting dream, where the face of a woman, obscured by the veil of forgotten memories, captivated my essence. "Ey yabanci," the voice beckoned, transfixing my attention. Startled, I turned, half expecting to find the one of this utterance standing in my presence.

Yet, there she was not, her presence confined to the realm of my inescapable thoughts. The beguiling allure of her words ignited an inferno within, a firestorm of unbidden yearning and doubt.
Shirtless, yet adorned in my lethal charisma, I sauntered into the heart of my house - the kitchen. A glass, brimming with the amber elixir of elegant whiskey, awaited my grasp. As I poured the golden liquid, the tinkling melody of its descent played a backing track to the silent symphony of my thoughts. In the shadows of the moonlight, an unexpected sound pierced the air, etching its ominous resonance into my memory. A shard, a fragment of broken glass,  pierced the tender flesh of my feet, staining my path with blood. Yet, it was not the searing pain that captured my attention, it was her voice.

This woman, she was not just a fleeting object of desire; she was the very embodiment of the enigmatic figments that taunted my dreams. From slumber's clutches, her voice beckoned my restless soul, her image hazy but evocative, a puzzle piece waiting to be discovered. She sat before me, a prisoner of both circumstances and fate, her eyes a mirror of reflecting a truth I couldn't deny. She seemed like the only woman to breach the impenetrable walls guarding my heart, infiltrating my dreams with her ethereal essence. And inferno of conflicting emotions engulfed me as I untied her from the chair, setting her free from her physical restraints. A slap from her delicate hand resonated with frustration and unrequited longing that coursed through my veins, suppressing an irritated bite. With a final glance, I left her locked within the bedroom, her cries served as a mournful crescendo to my tempestuous symphony.

With a heart as cold as the icy winter winds, and a mind so sharp that even the kings bowed before me, I manipulated countless of souls with ease, reducing them into mere pawns in my wicked game. Until I met her, the woman named Dilara Cosima, who defied every expectation I held, unraveled the very core of my being. At this point, in my twisted schemes for power and dominance, I kidnapped her from the world, thinking to intimidate and break her spirit. Yet, with each passing moment spent in her presence, it became evident that she was no ordinary damsel to be suppressed.

She had an indomitable strength, a sharp mind that refused to be chained by fear, and a voice that resonated with unwavering logic. She stood tall in the face of my wealth and looks, unswayed by the allure of power that I possessed. How magnificent she was! A flame, untamed and fiercely beautiful, dancing in the shadows that haunted my soul. Her resilience mocked my every attempt at manipulation, her steadfast indifference driving me to find solace in the role of a foolish simp. I, who was accustomed to bending others to my will without so much as battling and eyelash? Yes, I found myself in awe of her defiance, her refusal to he entangled in the web I effortlessly spun around others.