Gods and Demons. Paradise and Hell. War and Love. Betrayal and forgiveness. The line between life and death is thin; perhaps, so is the line that lives between the light and the dark. Will the line between the Underworld, Mesoxynth, and Paradise als...
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*🎵*
He didn't want to kill him...
Coranther woke dazed to the morning rays shining on his face, the familiar tingling of Marx leaving his fingertips with each breath. The dark fog that clouded his mind slowly cleared until he could finally stand; but the room still felt like it was spinning, the floor feeling as if it were shifting beneath him. Bits and pieces of last night started to flicker through his mind as his thoughts racked as to why he woke slumped in the corner of his shoe room. Confused, he scanned the area for any sign of her, but there was none. With no memory or sign of his wife and the terrible headache that was setting in he couldn't believe he had gotten drunk and let her spend what was supposed to be their night, alone. But he wouldn't be so reckless. The alcohol was flowing like a fountain but he made sure to keep his drinking at a minimum; denying himself the pleasure of tasting many selections from the stock he had been aging for decades. He cursed himself in his thoughts trudging into the empty hallway wondering what on earth he drank.
The light shined brazenly through the tall windows as the sun rose over the Eastern Sea, nearly blinding him as it filled his palace with what should have been the happiness of this summer's morning. He pressed his hand against the cool marble walls to keep himself upright as he stumbled down the hall, the numbness in his legs being all too peculiar as he tried to recount and recall what and how much he drank. But as he walked down the hallway with the light rays creeping behind him, he stopped in his tracks. As the light caught up to him, so did his memory. He finally remembered his strange encounter with Xorix. Remembering the behavior he thought to be so odd, Xorix's inappropriate question, and the smell of alcohol that followed him. As he thought about it, he realized Xorix was the last thing he could remember about that night.
As he reached the tall, reddish brown, double doors, he could never have imagined that anything nefarious had been done. He didn't give his thoughts any space to speculate, he was focused on the wife that was hopefully waiting for him on the other side of the doors. He exhaled, readying his apologies as he raised his knuckles to knock on the door. But when he pressed his hand to the fine mahogany it opened to expose clothes strewn on the floor like a walkway of expensive tastes leading right to the bed where the two of them slept soundly, Analilith and Xorix, tangled in satin sheets.
He couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. But a cool breeze entered the room from the open balcony and touched the warmth of his skin to remind him he was awake. Analilith slightly rustled in Xorix's arms and he brought her in closer to his chest. All color drained from Coranther's face as blood flooded his heart as if his body was preparing it to survive injury. But the only thing to harm him was the beloved who laid in the arms of someone else. The one who he had freely given his heart to and was watching as she idly held the weakly pulsating organ in one hand with a dagger closely posed in the other. He shoved the door wide open and it slammed on the antique side table holding a tall glass vase of summer blossoms. It fell, shattering loudly into a thousand pieces as it hit the marble floor, startling the two of them awake.
