Surviving the Palace (Completed/Unedited)

Surviving the Palace (Completed/Unedited)

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Control. It's kind of important. Especially if your cursed with the powers to make anyone do anything you want whenever you want and they'll do it with a great big grin and ask if they did it to your liking. Even if that something is killing their own brother or mother or son or even slitting their own throat. They will do it and they will say they did it because they love and worship you. That is a very messed up but very valid reason why it's important to have control. Not over others. But over yourself. Or more to the point. Myself. I have to be in complete control at all times. Over myself. Why? Because I'm a monster. Or more to the point I have the potential to be a monster. A monster that would be worshipped like a God and would know true and absolute power. You know that human saying. Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Well from what I know it's true. My father learned it the hard way. He was a prince that had the same cursed powers. That's where I got my own nifty curse. Passed down to me from my father. I think I would have liked a pony better. But you scream you cry you suck it up and you deal. There is no moving on from having this curse. This power within you that once you start using it it will devour you mind and soul and turn you into some kind of blood thirsty wanna be God. When you are born with the power of this kind... well... you learn the importance of control. Don't slip. Never slip up. Because the first time you do. It could be the time you fall into that endless bottomless crazy pit of bloodthirsty loony toon land. Then not just you but the whole damn world could be, and most likely will, be truely fucked. So lesson 1... Always stay in control.
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Her father thought he could cheat me. Borrow what wasn't his, disappear, and leave nothing but a trail of debt in his wake. Men like him never learn-there's always a cost, always someone left to bleed for their mistakes. He thought it would be him. Instead, it's her. His daughter. At first, she was nothing but a message. A way to make him suffer, even if he never came back to see it. I broke her down the way I break everything-piece by piece, scream by scream. I wanted her fear, her pain, the ruin in her eyes every time I came close. She hated me, and I fed on it. That's all I believed in: control, power, the reminder that I own what others abandon. But somewhere between her sobs and her defiance, she changed the rules. She fought me, and I should have killed her for it. Instead, I wanted more. She cried, and instead of silencing her, I listened. She looked at me, even in terror, and for the first time in my life I couldn't look away. I don't believe in love. I never have. Love is weakness, a lie people tell themselves before the knife comes out. But she... she's different. She's sharp where she should be soft. Brave when she should be broken. She makes me hunger in ways that no amount of blood or vengeance ever could. I meant to ruin her. To make her pay for the sins of her father. Now I want to claim her as mine. Not because of love-no, I don't use that word. I don't trust it. But because she drags something out of me I thought was dead. Something dangerous. She wasn't supposed to matter. But she does. And if I have to chain her, break her, and rebuild her until she finally sees me the way I see her, then so be it. She'll be my wife. My possession. My salvation. Even if I have to destroy her first.

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