Alistair jerks awake. Another dream, another nightmare. The Archdemon’s voice clearer if less intelligible with every passing night.
The winds are howling outside and raindrops are crashing in the mud around his tent. No sleep for the righteous tonight.
He creeps out of his tent and finds himself staring at the silhouette sitting by the dying fire. She looks sickeningly pale in the moonlight. Not a hint of the fearsome powers she wields on the battlefield.
He slowly makes his way to the fire pit, will tonight be the night he’ll find the courage to tell her? He thinks of the rose he had picked up for her and left in the tent. Too late to turn back, she has seen him. He gives her his usual goofy smile. “Can’t sleep either?”
She shakes her head and tucks a lock of hair behind her pointy ear, water dripping from the bangs that always get in her eyes. He worries. “How long have you been out there in the rain?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t mind it. I like it, being outside.”
He tentatively raises a hand to brush away the water bathing her cheeks. The fire licking the wood in the pit makes it creak plaintively. She catches his movement and a light starts burning in her eyes, a hunger that doesn’t quite fit in there. He hesitates.
“What’s the matter? Getting the cold feet?” There’s a bite in her voice that he has never heard, never suspected. But the little pride he has feels hurt and makes him bold. His fingers brush her face. Clumsily, tenderly.
A smile appears on her face and he starts answering it but a flicker of light reveals it for what it is. A smirk. A cruel, disdainful smirk. He stops. Her lips curl up into a cruel grimace. “Is that all you got?” Her hands clasps on his as her other hand grabs his wrist. This is not the kind, brave woman he has fallen for.
The hungry light in her eyes is burning with more intensity; her whole body is vibrating with an energy that makes the hairs on his arms stand. She reaches closer as if to kiss him. Every instinct he has screams danger. A sense of foreboding tightens his throat as her lips brush his. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and now that he is living it, it feels so very wrong. But he can’t move, he is enthralled, prisoner of her will. He calls upon his resolve and manages to break the spell long enough to shake his head.
She stares at him. Anger disputing hunger in her eyes. She is changing, swelling. Monstrously. Her beautiful face twisted with hatred. A deformed hand clutches his throat to kill the scream ready to escape it. A voice that isn’t hers anymore rasps in his ear. “You are MINE now!”
Alistair jerks awake. Another dream, another nightmare…
[Written in 2014]