https://ngl.link/scorpiongrass
mereko nahi karna kaam
When you're being loved, but for your flowers. Not for roots
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
"It was only the gesture of a gentlman". She felt a spark of heat near her sternum just as surprise widened her eyes.
"A gentleman? Do you often confuse yourself for such a man?"
"With what ease you insult me," he said, his eyes mocking. "Were you anyone else, I'd have you executed."
"Goodness, more poetry. Are these tender declarations meant to endear you to me?"
He fought a smile at that, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at the stars. "Tell me is it too much to hope for our future that you will not make it a habit of slapping me in the face?"
"Yes."
"I see. Then married life will be exactly as I imagined."
"Tell me," he said viciously. "Is it terribly thrilling to imagine yourself the sole object of my thoughts and desires? Do you purposely deny me ownership of basic dignities, excluding from your memories the essential fact that I was forced into this situation just as you were all in the pursuit of feeling sorry for yourself?" He shook his head. "My, but it must be exhausting to be a narcissist."
"I thought she broke through the fire to punish me," Cyrus was saying. "I see only now that she did so to protect you."
There was a flicker in those blue irises, and for a second Cyrus betrayed himself. Beneath his placid surface was something desperate and unrestrained, if not broken. Kamran cataloged the moment as a kind of mercy, for he realized then that the young man was a king weaker than he appeared.
"You know her name," Cyrus said.
Kamran felt a pulse of trepidation.
"How," Cyrus demanded, "did you come to know her name?"
When Kamran finally spoke, his voice was cold. "I might ask you the same question."
"Indeed you might," said Cyrus, "But then, it's my prerogative to know the name of my bride."
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