Dark Queen: The Cybelline Prophecies

Chapter 83

She stood, her back towards him, her shadow inked in his heart. He put up his hands and covered his eyes from the sunlight. A light wind blew her hair and dress in the direction towards the great plains. The scent of summer danced between them as he took another step towards the girl on the golden hill.

"Cybelline...my Cybelline." He said with a foolish grin, his heart, which had been unsettled for days fell back into his chest.

She turned around, her red hair shown in the morning light. He could not see her face, the light was too strong.

He stepped closer, longing to see her face.  And when he did, he froze, afraid to move forward.

He had seen the terror in her eyes. That terror he remembered so well. That terror and hatred that he had met for the first few years of his life. He was an abomination, a beast, something disgusting that should have died in the womb. How dare he think he was worthy of love?

Cybelline took another step away from him, her face pale, the bloom of her lips  "Monster."

She stepped forward, in her hand was a long, golden sword. Killian looked down and saw that his arms had become blacked, distorted claws. Grotesque things that smelled of death and decay.

She moved, faster than the wind. The golden sword plunged into his chest, blood seeped out as he fell to his knees.

She turned around, another man at her side, holding her hand. The man's fae wings blocked her from his sight. Killian looked into their fading backs, the pain in his heart intensifying.

The cold general, the god of war who had lost more blood than tears in his life, felt the sting at the corners of his eyes. The man who welcomed death on the battlefield, who would rather die than beg, now now ran after the tiny figure like a lost child, fear gripping his heart. She would leave him, the one lived in his heart.

She was gone, like falling snow that melted on the earth. Now only darkness remained.

Anyone but her he could endure. The world could hate him, but if she did, what was the point of living?  Faster and fast the blood seeped put of hole in his chest.

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Killian sat up in his room, gasping for air. Cold sweat dotted his forehead and soaked his shirt. He looked down at the wound, it had healed after the last two weeks, so why did it ache?

"What's this, child?" A lyrical voice ask. A white hand came into his view with a cup of tea, "Killian, you're shaking."

Killian shook his head, "Thank you, aunt. I'm fine." He

The Lady of Light sighed, "When you were a child you used to say that to me as well. No matter how hurt you were, you would always tell me that you were fine. But I know better."

Killian looked out bleakly at the window, his blood red eyes glimmering back at him in the candle-light, "There is a girl, she is..." he smiled in the memory, "She is like no one you've ever met, aunt. And when we were little, she was like a small ember that had forced itself into my colorless life. She had taken all the ugliness and burned it away. But She had never seen the ugliest, most repulsive part of me." Killian gestured to his eyes, "I am afraid that if I stood in front of her the way I am now...she would hate me."

"She sounds most amusing." Kyria said with a smile, "Tell me, how did you meet her?"

Killian closed his eyes, "She...she came to me the night my mother died. She wanted to make me feel better and kissed my eyes." He remembered the children that they were, her laughter and her joy.