Nights wasted, words unanswered and left to rot between the ash he tasted on his tongue. Hours spent kneeling on the hard, marbled floor till his bones ached and muscles screamed from the pain of being immobile for so long. And for what? For emotions to run rampant in his mind still? For devilish thoughts to take hold of his heart and squeeze the faith out of him bit by bit?

His fingers dug into the palms of his hands, nails threatening to break through the skin as his thunderous steps hit against the crowded street, shouldering through the passing people to get to the one place he was always drawn to no matter how many times he prayed for freedom. Useless figures within a crowd surrounding the true star of the show, he couldn’t help but scoff beneath his breath as he slithered his way through to stand at the forefront of the performance.

There you were. The nightmare to his dreams, the ghost that clung to his robes every time he stepped foot into the holy house, the very flame that constantly threatened to consume him, your smoke tearing the air from his lungs, leaving nothing but an all-consuming desire to burn along with you or extinguish your fire. His eyes watched as you danced along to the music that the players played, watched your clothes and ribbons danced along with you, the air carrying you along in a way that almost made you look like an angel.

He knew that you were no angel. No angel would tempt him so dangerously nor evoke such horrid emotions to bubble within his chest, just belief the surface. You had to be born from the devil himself, a dangerous beauty like no other he had ever seen. One of you will die, or you both will.

But it will be by his hand either way.