Darling in the Dark: A Melizabeth Fanfiction

Chapter 6: I Hate Myself.....

Edit A/N: Let's goooooo!

A/N: Pls loop video. It's a good song with 0 cuss words, and NF is a great rapper, the only one I listen to. Song courtesy to my older brother for showing it to me. Enjoy the Chappie!

Meliodas' P.O.V.

I'm running in the ice forest around my palace, the falling white snow fluttering and whirled in my wake. A chill has permeated my body—though no external forces was the cause of the hollowness that has manifested within.

 My breath came out as white mist from my mouth, and I was finding it hard to breath through the memory, raw and aching, pounding within my mind ceaselessly. My mind is unraveling again; it always seems to when Elizabeth is concerned.

Through branches of snow covered trees scratching me, snow freezing me, and my tears distorting my surroundings, everything, I kept on running like coward I was, a sense of terror within me that I have never experienced; shouldn't experience.

Terror, fear, anxiety—none of these have been permitted to me, and as such I should not feel them, experience them, be controlled by them, influenced. And yet... exceptions. So many exceptions.

Because I am scared; I shouldn't be scared.

Because I am weak; I shouldn't be weak, fragile.

I feel; I should not feel.

And yet, here I am, running from the reality that chased me, screeching and roaring for compensation for breaking the rules and for daring to live properly.

Here I am, running, from what I did, the blood flecking my cheek and sliding down my stained hands gently, a dappled path of crimson, petal-like blood left in my wake.

Elizabeth's P.O.V.

I laid against a wall of the castle, in the place where it had all started, shaking from what had just happened, my pulse racing and my breaths soft, but quick. Scared. I am scared—but I am also sad, so, so sad.

The knife Meliodas had tried to cut me with hung over my head, its hilt deep into the cold stone wall, fractures spreading out from its blade, blooming and scarred. I suppose it was similar to his eyes; fractured, scarred, hurt, but emotions, feelings were blooming within them, filling up the emptiness I had seen in them.

And he... he hated it.

I touched the small cut he had made on my face; it was surprisingly shallow, already healing itself readily. A few minutes more, and it would be like it never happened, the intrusion disappeared. 

No scar; no trace.

Perhaps it could be forgotten, a winter's wretched whimsy.

But I could never forget the expression Meliodas had on his face when he pushed the knife into the wall. 

He had had darned a look of desperate hunger, a person starved, a dying man. He must've been suffering, the hunger ripping him apart from the inside out. I had read once, when I had finished all my chores and Mother was gone, that a vampire's thirst is worse than death itself.

Perhaps, as a hybrid, he suffered a similar, maybe even more, intense thirst?

Assuming that, I wouldn't have minded if he had bit me; if it helped him, I would've happily given my blood to alleviate his pain. He had freed me from my mother, and I had dared to bother him—I, who have given nothing to him, should've given him his privacy, but I was too selfish, foolish, simple.