Ink on Ivory

Day 7 Alt: the Mayor's Daughter

I'd been watching him since the day he arrived, though I told myself I wasn't interested. The town's whispers, the secret glances of the other women—none of it seemed to faze him, and that only made him more alluring. And as the days passed, a quiet need grew in me, a pull I couldn't ignore, until finally, tonight, I found myself outside his door, unable to resist any longer.

I knocked, feeling my heart pound against my ribs, my breath catching as the door opened. There he stood, his dark eyes calm, his presence steady, filling the doorway like he'd been expecting me.

"You've waited long enough," he said, his voice low, a hint of a smile in his gaze.

I didn't need to be coaxed. I stepped inside, my pulse racing, and as he closed the door behind us, I felt a thrill rush through me, a quiet determination settling over me. I'd come here for a purpose, and I wasn't leaving until it was fulfilled.

"I want you to breed me," I said, my voice steady, my gaze meeting his with a resolve that surprised even me. "Three times. I want to carry your child."

He didn't hesitate. He moved closer, his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me against him, and I felt myself melt into his warmth, the strength of him grounding me, filling me with a heat I hadn't known I'd been longing for. His touch was firm, deliberate, as he guided me back to the bed, his gaze never leaving mine.

Our first time was slow, a steady rhythm that unraveled me, each movement deliberate, each touch anchoring me, grounding me in the purpose I'd set for myself. I felt the tension build, felt myself come undone beneath him, and as he reached his peak, I felt him shudder, his release filling me, planting a seed that I knew would take root.

We rested only a short while before I urged him again, my hands pulling him close, my body aching with a need that went beyond reason. This time, his movements were faster, more intense, each thrust filling me with a heat that left me breathless, each wave of pleasure building, cresting, until I felt the world fade away, leaving only the two of us in this shared purpose. His release was powerful, a surge that filled me, marking me with a promise that went beyond flesh.

Finally, as dawn began to break, we met a third time, this time slower, a quiet culmination of the night's purpose. His hands were steady, his gaze warm as he moved over me, filling me, anchoring me in a way that felt final, complete. And as he reached his peak, a soft shudder ran through him, and I knew that this was the one, that I was carrying his child, that his legacy would take root within me.

Afterward, he held me close, his warmth settling over me, and I felt a strange contentment, a quiet satisfaction that left me at peace. When I finally rose, he gave me a knowing look, his gaze lingering as I dressed, a silent understanding passing between us.

"This is goodbye, isn't it?" I asked, my voice soft, a faint ache blooming in my chest.

He nodded, his gaze steady. "My time here is over. But you'll carry a part of me, always."

I felt a strange sense of pride as I left his room, the morning light casting a soft glow over the town as I walked back home, a quiet thrill settling within me. I knew what I'd done, knew the mark I'd carry, and I didn't feel the slightest hint of regret.

Months passed, and I felt the quiet changes in my body, a growth that I knew would only confirm what I'd long suspected. I told no one of his name, no one of the father's identity, and when my family questioned, I held my ground, insisting that I would not take their advice to end the pregnancy.

When my son was born, there was no hiding the truth. His skin held the same rich tone, his features unmistakable, a mirror of the man who had changed me, who had changed this town. I named him quietly, giving him a legacy that no one would know but me, a legacy he would carry in silence.

As he grew, I watched him, saw the quiet, steady confidence that reminded me so much of Malakai. And as he came of age, I saw the women of the town look at him the way I had once looked at his father. They were drawn to him, their curiosity piqued, and it wasn't long before he began to follow in his father's footsteps, leaving his own mark on this town.

One by one, the town began to change, its generations blending, a slow, inevitable shift that couldn't be ignored. And as I watched my son, a quiet pride bloomed within me, a knowing that his legacy, Malakai's legacy, would live on.