"why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf,
and from the lion runs the timid faun,
and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,
all hasten from their natural enemy
but I alone pursue for my dear love."
- P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses
...
They look at you.
All of them.
Gazes pitying, suspicious, disgusted...
They know. They see you walking, turn around and stretch their necks to get a better view as you clutch your stomach in a desperate attempt to keep the insides from spilling down your feet. Your lower body and legs are dripping with blood, and your steps splashing. Your medallion sways on your chest, as if measuring the time. Through their curious yet disgusted looks you struggle to move one foot before another, forward pressing stubbornly, with eyes stuck to the ground.
But you cannot escape the first finger that points at your hands. And you know they all notice at the same time, how your nailless fingers curl around your liver.
How ugly.
Then another joins, laughs filling the air as they point out your dishevelled hair, torn dress, empty basket, and burned shoes.
It becomes a game of sorts. Whoever finds more of your cracks, wins.
Just like back then—
They watched you like hawkes whenever you visited the village; as if wanting affirmations that you are indeed broken, alone, lonely, torn open.
And just like before, the moment you see the wooden doors of your cottage, you sprint to them and close the doors harshly.
You slip down the door and weep into your knees, the dream holding echoes of memories you lost — memories you destroyed. It was easier to forget, to not know. This ignorance, this fantasy was all but bliss. Something sacred even.
You wish you could be blind forever.
/
A low hush awoke you from the deep slumber, your muscles tensing as if you broke the surface of the deepest sea of your mind. You gasped and swallowed through dryness in your throat as your husband's hands slid through your hair in calming, heavy strokes. The sensation made your dream fly away as if it were but a leaf stolen from a grand tree.
You felt hot, beneath the blankets and in his arms, it was as if you lay on the sands of Dorne.
Soft lips pressed into your eyelids as you groaned through the mists of sleep that clung to you. His breath was hot over your cheeks and nose as he laid kisses and nips against your face. Shivers ran down your spine as his fingers left your hair to follow the real of your spine softly before resting on your hips in a possessive grasp.
Finally, you willed your eyes to open and through the darkness of your bedroom, you saw him before you, wrapped tightly around you. Seeing you awake, he chuckled lowly and the sound bounced around your head pleasantly, your muscles relaxing.
Your breath left you in a rush as he kissed you, lips encompassing yours as if to swallow you whole. As his tongue brushed against yours your fingers curled against his chest. You could feel his smirk as you moaned when his hands caressed your back, slipping underneath the nightgown.
YOU ARE READING
evil eye | Aemond Targaryen
Fanfiction"There's nothing wrong with your husband." / Since the storm that shook your world, your husband seems different.
