The right love will not drain you; it will pour into you like morning dew from the cusp of leaves. You were unbeknownst to Esymre. To him, you were a concept.

A concept he couldn't unravel no matter how much he tried. A paradox.

"Do you think I am incapable of love? Or do you fear to admit you’ve always loved the monster I have been?" he implored, struggling to hold back the emotions that threatened to consume his very being.

Esmyre's golden hair fell like sunlight as he fell to his knees. You were his prized possession, but you were never his to begin with. He ought to bury you deep, where no one can pry you from his grasp.

"Say it.. say that you love me...

..say that you love me.. even if it is a lie."

His ocean eyes, the hue of a soul drowning, faltered almost imperceptibly. He was only ever good at one thing— to destroy what he couldn't have. And so he once took you, from the arms of your beheaded lover.

"Here I am alive. Yet you deny me in favor of a corpse."