ONE

In your dreams as you continue to sleep,
I want you to wait for me in a black dress.

His desperation for her was comparative to a starved man that had spent weeks on end in the cruel desert with no food or water; he not only wanted to devour her, but he also wanted to drown in her. It had been precisely that hunger, that undeniable need in the middle of his soul— a gaping hole that threatened to take his sanity— which had caused him to abandon the warmth of his bed. He went in pursuit of the only object that would allow him a little taste, a tease, like an appetizer before the main course; the crystal orb. Even before taking the instrument in his hands, he readied his mind for the exercise of meddling into her life. Clearing his senses from all other stray thoughts, he simply focused on her.

Oh, his precious Lotus flower, she was so delicate and fragile floating over the ocean of his emotions. The darkness and unknown beneath the water— his desires— craved to shoot its tentacles up to snarl her into his control. He ached so badly that the pressure was as intense as the very bottom of the sea. He was alike a mythical creature, waiting to emerge and sink the unsuspecting ship above.

Licking his dry lips, he moaned so softly that he wondered if he had lost his voice. Had he been screaming during the dreamless sleep? Had he desired to hold her in his subconscious fantasies? He could feel the lingering ache of longing spreading through his veins like acid; his emotions were too close to the surface.

Chaotic, livid, and confusing feelings wanted to burst out of the bubble of patience.

Calm. Breathe. Hunt her.

Outside— beyond the dark curtains of his sanctuary— snow fell whimsically, probably even stretching to cover her city, which resembled a gray scaled photo this time of year. Christmas was fast approaching. It was her favorite holiday, he knew, but sadly he’d have to cover her joy with a mantle of sorrow. He did not like to have to do any evil deeds so close to such a merry time of year.

For her sake, he would wait. He did not observe the holiday, but his precious did.

You have waited so long; a few days will not hurt.

Oh, it would hurt. It would hurt immensely to watch her engage in sickeningly sweet little episodes of romance with the man she had chosen to live with; that insolent slave.

As almost all other humans, the couple would get caught up in the giddy atmosphere of Christmas— kissing, embracing, and making love more ludicrously simply because they had overflowing emotions due to the festivities and its meaning.

His woman was a relatively good soul; an exquisite apple that was appetizing but no less immune to rotting than any other. Every soul was fallen and capable of innumerable atrocities. It was just a matter of cultivation, of preservation and most importantly, manipulation.

Their fate had been written in those unreachable diamonds hanging in the sky; they were destined for each other. Since before the time in which Earth was but a fetus in the womb of the universe, two opposing forces had sought supremacy; good versus evil. It was easier to tarnish white cloth than to whiten dark fabric.

He closed his eyes.

For her he would do many things. If only she would love him—want him at the very least—then he would be compelled into those mundane festivities. He would purchase the tallest tree and have a banquet to celebrate all which he was thankful for. He could have someone to decorate with, sometime to sit at his right hand… someone to open presents with.

I am alone.

As it was, he lived in a wondrous house with the company of a talented seer; another slave. Countless rooms of masterful sizes and luxurious furnishings were empty of inhabitants. The grand ball room held no purpose when his tragically instrumental melodies flooded the vast space of nothingness; no woman to waltz with, no guests to share his fortune with, no reason for celebrations.

What good was his name, his money, his power if he had no one to share it with?

Cold, cursed night; he had not felt so lonely in such a long time. He felt the same burning gap in his existence as though she— Nefertiry— had yet to be born into the world. Yet she was alive; she was breathing and living just miles away. Even if he had yet to grab onto the crystal orb, he could sense her happiness.

It was Thanksgiving. Families were gathered to be thankful for their blessings— it was the day appointed to do so.

Hypocrites.

Tomorrow every single one would forget such blessings and return to their state of dissatisfaction. The hunger would return— the meaning of the holiday digested, out of their systems— and once again they would crave for more and more.

Mortals were never satisfied, not that he could precisely blame them, for he too was never satisfied either. Yet, his was a different matter; he had never been blessed with anything.

He had good looks, intelligence, and power— lots of power— but all those things were simply tools; he needed them to accomplish his true desire: to have his Lotus. A soldier was never sent into war without the arsenal of weapons and appropriate shields. He wasn’t defenseless in this battle; those skills were his weapons, and his timeless wisdom his protection— all for her.

Her… always her.

He could hardly contain the groan of anticipation that bulged in his throat. In truth, he had not looked at her in two days and it was gnawing torture. Forty-eight hours without seeing her beautiful face, or feeling her silky, long, dark hair; his fingertips tingled with want. Yet, it was her lips— full, warm, moist— which drove him past oblivion. He wanted to impale her with his tongue, his long and elegant fingers— he wanted to...

Own.

His flowing and soft black mane fell forward, covering one side of his face. He'd grown his hair past his slender waist, needing to imagine it was her hair wrapping around him. He needed to look like he had all those lifetimes ago— because he had to make her remember. He had to finish what he started, and make her fall in love with him; for she had almost succumbed into his web of passion, thousands of years in the past.

The hot breath that poured from his lips blew into his long tresses, fluttering the straight strands away from his face.

Feet bare, he did not miss a single step as he skidded across the cold, marble floor. It was utterly dark but he needed no light. Light was appealing in dim glow or in the case of his Lotus, as necessary for life as the sun.

“Can you hear me?”

Silence.

The biggest of all anguish lied within his ageless heart; a heart she had stabbed with her hatred, with her words and her choices so many lifetimes ago. She had preferred death than the future he had offered her.

If only she could have seen the grand finale he would have made for her, then perhaps she would have stayed by his side to fulfill her destiny. They could have lasted until the very universe killed its creation.

For countless, miserable centuries he had watched, followed, and reminded her of their undeniable link. And as always she ran from him, eluded him, and ultimately murdered him. While she chose the escape of death, he remained behind. He had to endure the cruel hands of the clock, waiting until she was once more brought into the world of the living.

He had waited fifty years— sometimes two-hundred, and even one thousand— for her to be born again. He bled every passing day for her, and death never came to offer him closure— no— he had to live and sustain the agony of her betrayal. He was not allowed a peaceful sleep like her; not then, not now, not ever.

The curse upon him was cruel, but never as painful as was her indifference. He— who would give her anything— had offered her to rule, to command, to make the world their foot stool— but she had chosen everything but his offer. It was an offer he could have given to anyone, too. It would have been easy to have taken her, to have stolen her seed— and to later have killed her— taking her gift and offering it to another.

She had been very ungrateful.

Nefertiry— his Lotus— had chosen damnation. She had chosen a sacrificing herself to keep her heart from the darkness she claimed he possessed. She was so afraid of their chemistry that she had fled into the hands of death in order to escape him; for only dead would he be unable to follow.

He could not perish.

And she rested in the cosmos from his charms until she was reborn again.

She had not fled once or twice; she had died so many times defying the inevitable—he had lost count.

Even through the thousands of years, through the countless signs of destiny, through the efforts of his crusades for her— she continued to challenge him, to defy him. Her resistance was admirable but his resolve was stronger.

So stubborn, my love.

Ah, but such fierceness of heart and of will was precisely what made him want her so badly, so… sickly. He was dying to tame her, to dominate her into submissiveness.

It was a strange form of love, he knew, but no one had ever written a definition of love— no one had ever made an official example to follow. As far as he knew, his love was far more pure than those who claimed theirs was selfless, only to fall in love with another with the passage of time.

He had not.

He had never stopped loving her, and wanting her, much less with the passage of bitter time. He desired her to a point that he would surrender all of his power if she would genuinely love him— if she would truly vow her life to his. All he wanted was her affection, her body, her promise of eternity— all he wanted was her soul.

Was it too much of him to ask?

And her flower...

At the end of his walk— across his bedroom— his hand enclosed over the crystal ball. He needed no light to locate it, because it called to his hand like an attracting magnet. The orb of fine crystalline elements was as much a part of him as was his eyes. Now, in the darkness of night, it was mute.

Even resting in his potent grasp it was just a piece of glass— an ornament in a collection of bizarre tools— the tools he had mastered through the centuries. It was him who ignited its life and vibrancy—he was the one with the power, like an electrical outlet.

Long, slender— yet strong— fingers curled over its circular form, endless in his palm. His dark, penetrating eyes shut behind pale eyelids, and his lips parted into an airy, "Oh."

And it lit.

It began glowing lavender and slowly swirled into a metallic blue that finally culminated in a foggy magenta. The orb in his hand was the only light in his world.

The brilliance reflected against his face, to illuminate full lips that were dry with want. His long, wet tongue ran the shape of those sensuous lips, first on the upper and then snaking to the lower. He could feel her presence now, and even the faint scent of her unmistakable perfume; Masquerade.

He shivered in want.

His beloved— his one true desire, the light in his dark and cold world—was in the arms of another.

Fog began to dissipate from the vision, and the image was painfully clear; her body, so creamy and perfect undulated to the rhythm of her damned lover.

Her sweat was consequence of his ministrations, and the melodic sounds emerging from deep within her throat were cause of pleasure— given by him.

It was almost over, he could feel it. The man was inside her body, quenching her hunger, and possessing her thoughts. A wretched slave— a mere fool, a mortal bastard— was consuming the woman that was destined to be his.

Again he was born to meddle, but this time he had set his eyes too high.

As it would have been the first time...

As it was.

He had been born with many names, but he recognized him as Theseus. His role in their lives varied greatly, from slave, to counselor, to friend. This lifetime he wanted the woman— and claimed to love her with more than just the feelings of a loyal servant.

Love.

Did Theseus believe he knew love? Was love going to shield Nefertiry enough to make her immune to what she longed for deep within her heart? If their alleged pure love was really the antidote to the poison of his vengeance then why was he still breathing in anticipation of its demise?

Weak love—a sentiment no greater than his.

Love could be tarnished, it could die in his hands; love would not save her.

She lowered her body onto the man-boy, kissed his check, ran her tongue along his earlobe and faintly sighed an “I love you.”

A mocking chuckle rumbled from his chest.

An empty promise.

Theseus lifted his hand to her face and mumbled a distinct confession.

The grip on the orb tightened, abusing the instrument and suffocating the vision. He cried out like an injured animal— a pup kicked by a cruel and heartless child— and he hated feeling inferior. He hated the damned slave as much as he hated her indifference. His features twisted into a mask of misery, his long, silky black hair falling onto his face— concealing his anguish.

In his eternal dark night, he wept; for her, for them, for the hands of time. He wept for the futility of his sadness. He wept for having to do it all over again.

In time, it would not be this painful; it would not be this tragic— no. Because the time of the slave was running thin, for he would die again— by his hands. He would pluck those blue eyes from its sockets and crush them in his palm.

Oh, he would pay for looking at her, for even daring to aspire to her; he would pay dearly.

His hand tingled and he opened his eyes once more.

She was falling— tired, pleased, fulfilled. Her slippery body curved against Theseus, a soft sigh of contentment escaping her.

She was… happy.

He felt chilled, hopeless – lost. She was supposed to mold to hisbody! The anger was volcanic, erupting from within him in maddening waves of turmoil, pouring out of his very heart; he wished they would die.

No.

He would not allow his temperature to rise for the cause of such an insignificant mortal as was the little boy. After all, he was but a kitten compared to him— to his power, and experience. With one of his pinky fingers he could crush the fool if he so desired, but that would not be as fun as watching him die a slow death.

Oh, yes, he would ensure that the slave boy understood his place before sending him straight to hell. Very soon—very soon the man would sink and burn in the pit.

His lips curled into a side smirk, before exposing a mouthful of perfectly aligned teeth.

He was a mature cat— full of wisdom and skill— even as a lover. And he could have his woman whenever he pleased, where the weak little kitten could not even hope to enter...

"Close your eyes now, darling,” he whispered in his infinitely deep and hypnotic voice.

The petulant slave could have her in the day— for now— and even in the early hours of the night; he could have her body, and taste her oasis. Yet, when her eyes closed and she surrendered to the world of the unconscious, he would have her. He only needed to wait but a few more minutes.

"I seep into you, like poison..." His smile narrowed a little, “A poison you cannot get enough of.”

The orb started feeling colder, as she was falling deeper into the pit of his darkness, entering the world where his rules were the law. In all actuality, there— in that darkness— she was also a kitten, powerless to stop the rapture.

She felt him.

Her face demonstrated a mixture of resistance and submission. Ah, a contradicting combination.

Why?

He chuckled out loud.

"Come now, my love," he purred, wrapping his existence around her like a cobra serpent. "Put on that black dress..."

Oh how he loved her in that little dress which she could not get out of unless he stripped her naked. It looked fantastic against her flesh, and reflected the darkness he knew she had hidden inside.

She struggled against his embrace, but it was too late. He mused at her useless attempt to escape.

His arms were wrapping around her unconscious form, holding her in a perpetual lust-filled lock. His presence became solid in her dreams, his lips coming into contact with her neck, trailing up her earlobe. Beneath his palm her heart pounded. He felt her shiver, out of fear but also excitement. He knew that though she hated him, a part of her was powerless— because that part of her wanted him as much as he did her. Because their affair was long ordained and due— she just had to admit it.

"I want you to wait for me," he licked her earlobe. "Wait for me in your darkness."

He turned her to face him, still embracing her— touching her— molesting her resistance. His hungry lips toyed with her reluctant ones. She bit him out of spite and he gladly lapped at his own blood. The flavor was masterful and it made him lust after her blood as well.

His hands trailed up her arms, reaching the strap of the dress. With a playful maneuver he slid it off of her right shoulder. He dipped his neck placing a hot, open mouthed kiss at her pulse point.

She pulled him back by his hair, staring up at him with defiance.

“I am growing so impatient,” he growled.

“Then leave me alone.”

He smiled, “Do you really mean it?”

Nefertiry nodded.

He exhaled by her ear, “Tell me to stop then.”

She pulled his hair harder. “Let me go!”

One of his hands slid up her thigh, scorching her skin. He licked the inner fold of her parted lips. “When you try to fight me by struggling, you only deepen the desire rooted within your heart; you know you want this. Your mind screams for me, I can hear it.” He inhaled the scent of her hair, “Why do you insist on resisting me?”

She glared at him. “You’re a monster.”

“A monster you are dying to have devour you,” he chuckled.

Her mouth opened with a rebuttal but he silenced her with a kiss. “Do not anger me, love.”

“I will never leave him.”

“I am giving you a chance to spare his life.” He shook his head, “If you do not send him away, I will cause his early departure from this world, my dear.”

Boldly, he dipped his middle finger into her mouth. He could feel her wet tongue and the heated moisture maddened him. Her large brown eyes stared into his charcoal ones with so much anger and contempt.

“Leave him out of this.”

Feeling her lips move against his finger, his hands grabbed the base of her neck and pulled her into his in a searing kiss. His hand slipped the other strap of her dress off of her left shoulder— leaving her vulnerable and exposed; the black dress was no more, as was her resistance.

He moaned, "You cannot escape me."

With her hands against his chest, she whimpered, “Don’t—“

He drowned her pleas with his mouth.

With a firm grip at her waist, he backed her up, until she fell in a pool of black silk. One by one, worn and waxy candles lighted above them. The candles hovered over them, suspended in air by the ignition of his magic, as if held by an invisible chandelier.

Beneath him, in her eyes, he saw the reflection of their illumination— and she looked splendid under their shine.

He watched her hungrily, eyes groping every corner of her nudity, as she shivered. His hands which had been still, turned into sinful snakes all over her— and she closed her eyes against his assault.

"My beautiful Lotus," he bit her tongue. "When will you be mine?"

Draft: 11.20.2008

Songs used for this story are by the band Buck-Tick. Translations are courtesy of ‘not greatest site’

“Romance”
Buck-Tick