Doctrine of Scars

Charming. Flirtatious. Every inch the gentleman.
That was the man the world applauded.
Possessive. Ruthless. A beautifully dressed catastrophe.
That was the man hidden beneath.
I wanted a love that would feel like dawn upon winter skin,gentle enough to make me forget the existence of darkness.
And I wanted an obsession fierce enough to wage wars for me,to choose me over kingdoms, over crowns, over reason itself.
A contradiction.
A prayer no sane soul should ever whisper.

Until heaven, amused by irony, answered.

Rudra Jodhveer Katoch.

The heir to a nation balanced on the edge of political collapse.The man newspapers called a statesman, generals called a weapon, and history would one day call either its saviour... or its tyrant.
A wolf clothed not in sheep's wool,
but in silk stitched by angels.

Because who decided the Devil should be grotesque?

No.

The Devil has always understood that beauty is the oldest form of persuasion.
He wears the face of salvation.
He smiles like mercy.
He speaks like poetry.
And by the time you notice the blood on his hands,
you've already mistaken it for devotion.
I walked into hell with my own smile,
mistaking its gates for a palace.

Now the kingdom has closed its doors behind me.
He won't let me leave.
The frightening part is not that I cannot escape.
It's that somewhere between the throne and the fire,
between his tenderness and his tyranny,
I stopped being certain I wanted to.