ہم کہ دشتِ جہاں کو آباد کیئے بیٹھے ہیں
and there's no remedy for memory
Oh, Alizeh was tired.
Tired of feeling she had no control over her life, tired of being manipulated by the devil, tired of living in fear, tired of fear itself. The dark truth she seldom revealed even to herself was that sometimes she wanted nothing more than to break, to be weak, to tear off her armor and give in.
How long would she be forced to fight for her life? More importantly, Was her life really worth so much effort?
It troubled her that she had no answer.
He hated the way his body reacted to the mere mention of her; to the sound of her name, spoken aloud.
Alizeh still had this hold over him, and he couldn't fathom why. He'd known the girl but a matter of days-and then she'd proven herself to be the worst kind of monster. Why, then, did some pathetic part of him protest the assassination of her character? Why did he feel as if he were missing something-lacking some essential piece of information?
Without a doubt she'd bewitched him.
Why else would his heart beat this hard at the prospect of discussing her? Why else did he feel a strange flutter in his chest, a terrible joy at the thought of looking through her things?
She stood on tiptoe, asking with her body that he come closer-which he did, drawing toward her then without seeming to realize what he'd done, not until she nearly grazed the shell of his ear with her lips, when she whispered, for all the world as if they were playful lovers. "Choose your weapon, sire."
Cyrus drew back so suddenly he nearly stumbled, newborn anger flaring to life between them. His chest heaving, his jaw clenched, he looked as if he might implode with fury.
"This is terribly inconvenient for me," she said, drawing her shoulder back, planting her feet firmly beneath her. "But I'll have to kill you now," Alizeh heard Sarra laugh.
Steeling herself, she said softly: "Very well."
Cyrus's gaze sharpened at that, his eyes betraying a flicker of surprise.
Alizeh drew back at once.
The southern king followed, stepping cautiously toward her, watching Alizeh with the wariness of a hunter approaching a rabid wolf.
"You will come willingly?" he asked. "You will marry me without protest?"
They were close enough then that Alizeh could touch him had she wanted to. She could lift a finger to the silky copper lock curling across his forehead, his golden skin gleaming in the reflected light. His blue eyes were luminescent and somehow frigid, and for the briefest moment Alizeh thought she sensed in him what she still carried within herself-
A vast, bottomless grief.
Grief, exhaustion, betrayal- he couldn't decide which was the worst aggressor.
Oh, she had never feared death. No, it was life that scared her, life that scarred her. It was the slow torture of consciousness that had done its utmost to crush her.
maybe it's Bpd
how can you lose something you never allowed to happen?
"You look so fresh and happy today."
yes, I'm avoiding processing my emotions
I DON'T UNDERSTAND people
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