How did Ryu get here?
Floating in this space. Seeing through his own eyes, but not really seeing. Able to stand, but not of his own volition. When he touches, tastes, and feels the world, it is not his own body doing this. His flesh is like clay beneath a craftsman's heated hands.
It's the other one who traps him in this shell.
His god.
His puppet master.
"You can't keep me here!" He cries, falling to his knees. "You're toying with my life."
His god's smile never falters. Instead, their Divine amusement grows as their fingertips run along the young man's spine, an action so intimate it hurts. Their fingers run, tracing the flowery brands the size of coins, the blisters the width of the man's own fingernails. "Poor dear," the god pushes a finger into one of the brands. The mortal hisses as burning, white light thunders through his flesh, pain unrelenting. Like whip marks staking their hideous claim. "They marked you like cattle. So much beautiful skin destroyed by jealous, ugly philistines. But they can't hurt you anymore. No, I'll keep you safe. Put your beauty on a pedestal for all the world to see."
"What if I don't want to be a trophy?"
"Don't feel sad, darling," Aziz presses their lips to the young man's brow, the fangs of a ghūl masquerading as a lover's kiss, "you're all trophies to us."
There's no remorse, and that terrifies the young human.
The god laughs.
He sees them now, Aziz, smiling down upon him. Their mortal eyes are drawn to the other's lips, incarnadine and swollen. Dark, brilliant locks of hair tumble past the Beloved's shoulders, their torso peeking out from behind a rose-sheer vest. Hanging low from the perfect hips, a scarlet şalvar. Bare ankles covered in gold bangles, wrists with bands of living flowers, constantly in bloom. A face like a work of art, frozen to the ravages of time, unchanging despite the constant state of beauteous flux around them. The god pads towards the young man, a tiger scouting its prey. They lean down from their towering, Divine height, a reed bending at the edge of a riverbank. Their face hovers over the mortal's, their unfathomable eyes latched onto the tortured face, a curious child examining a beetle before crushing it beneath its foot.
A slender hand brushes against the human's fleshier cheek. His eyelids flutter shut as Aziz caresses his face, their touch feather-light. A beautiful dream.
"Sleep, dear," they press their nose to the human's, inhaling Ryu's scent, exhaling his soul. "Dream of your perfect lover."
"But you're not..."
When Ryu reopens his eyes, Aziz has vanished.
"...Elio?"
A figure with golden tattoos that shine as brightly as the sun stands in front of him. Shaggy black hair pushed straight back, cropped over broad shoulders, muscled arms that encircle his waist, the warrior pulling the dancer's lanky frame closer. He beams down at him. The moment perfect. Silent. His callused hands keep the dancer warm despite the permanent sense of cold permeating this place. His smile keeps Ryu anchored within this dreamy reality. The feel of his skin, his lips.
Who needs gods with a paradise like this? Who needs the painful world of the living?
"Elio..." he puts his defiled palms to the royal one's chest, watching the marks turned to flame, matching the fiery drumbeat of their hearts, "I never want to leave this place."
This dream-version of Elio smiles. Pulls Ryu closer. A move of possession.
Real or fake, this is enough.
"He is mine," a wedding vow, fragile yet unbreakable, "and I am his."
***
Hey Champions,
It's a shorter chapter today. Just to show how Ryu's trapped in this puppet state, and why he's still trapped there.
Best wishes,
Sophia
YOU ARE READING
A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)
Fantasy"The Blind God walks around me, and I feel my mind prodded again like it was in the cavern, a spider weaving a tangled web. "Would you do anything to be remembered, Ode, even play a villain, the one who rises against the Chosen One?" In answer, I dr...
