moonless-and-caged

[moonless-and-caged]

You remember it clearly. The agonized gasping, men being ripped to shreds whilst being desperate to defend the Chosen One, and you knelt beside your master with muddied knees and bloodied hands. From the day he first drew breath, you - barely old enough to read - were there by his side and destined to be his servant till he drew his last breath.

As a majin, you were destined to outlive the blessed boy. The mana flowing through your veins promised longevity, even when you wished it did not. A fatal wound mended itself on you, but remained on him. How cruel it was to let the tears cascade because your trembling hands told you that you didn't have the strength to save your life's purpose. You had promised to care for his children and the kingdom he would inherit after the Demon King's defeat.

Yet he perished so young. Gasping and pleading for you, the one he considered a big brother, to give him mercy. Tears poured from his shining eyes once filled with gold, and had warped into grayed shells. His last order was for you to hug him... and claim his soul before the gods could recognize what had occurred.

So you did, and you became the Chosen One. You knew his mannerisms, even before you wore his skin. You donned his armor, burned his body, and claimed that you had died. A demon managed through the defensive line, and the valet nobly threw himself in front of a fireball. Due to using up all of his magic to heal him, he perished.

No one but the Gods questioned your act. Yet they had no choice, because you had the coveted soul of the Chosen One within you. Until you relinquished his soul and it could be reborn anew, they were stuck with a majin and his vendetta.

You were careful. The holy skills granted to the Chosen One obviously were unable to be wielded by you. But the Gods too use magic. For the unknowing, the grand displays of spellcasting masquerading as holiness were believed. Even the Demon King, witnessing his troops fall, could believe it.

The disguise you carefully maintained melts away, revealing a form that hasn't stood in the light for four excruciating years. Your tongue runs across jagged fangs, amusement blistering your veins. They say a majin's appearance is affected by their personality, and oh how the years have changed the pretty little you.

"Impossible," the Demon King finally mutters.

"I was a good hero while it lasted, huh?" you muse. A sickeningly wide smile stretches across your face as you hold up the sword the Chosen One should have wielded. Tutting, you toss it aside, and stare at the silent king. Laughter flowing from your lips, you sneer, "Silence isn't befitting of you."

A blast of magic - a compound mess, unable to decipher what it is, and left to clash with itself to the point of explosion - barrels at you. Yet it hits your barrier without allowing for a scratch on you. The ground is obliterated, but your person is left untarnished.

Morbidly round eyes stare back at you, his pupils vanishing within his shrinking gaze. His mouth opens again and again, magic hounding your barrier, but it fizzles out. When the mighty king stands breathless, you allow the barrier to fall with a quiet laugh.

"They say that demons cannot die to mortal magic," you hum. Striding towards him, you breathe out mana. It cloaks you in its heavy embrace, not allowing a single attack to mar you. "Turns out all it was is that no mortal had enough magic yet."

Death was not what terrified the King of Demons. He stared into its eyes many times. But never had he stared into a twisting abyss painted with cruel smiles and jittering laughter. Unending and macabre, its thousands of eyes stared back at him. Disgustingly akin to comrades, his beasts, and, beneath it all, the hollow eyes of the Chosen One.

"What even are you...?"

The majin's lips stretch farther than a face should allow. Every step comes with a thud and a new hole. His heart writhes in his chest, begging him to flee, but his legs froze. The majin paused, staring dead into his eyes. No color can be discerned within the vortex of mana. Too many eyes stare back.

Slowly, the majin's head tilts to the side. "Hm," he hums thoughtfully. A wide smile perks up as he replies, "The new you?"

The villain laughs. “The Chosen One cannot spill blood on holy ground. I have won!” You draw your blade. “The Chosen One died the first day of our journey,” you say. “A Valet may spill blood where he pleases.”

[moonless-and-caged]

I need more characters who fuck themselves over. Come here you boyfailure, fail some more so I can witness you having the damning realization that you did this to yourself and that complaining about everyone else is pointless. You made your own image. You made them tense and glare at you. You are why the guy you're after keeps questioning if he can love you because you're a tweaking red flag.

[moonless-and-caged]

Imagine being in love, but you are one of their many games.

There are so many words for you. Pet. Wallet. Game. Toy. Experience.

But you will never be what you crave: lover.

They have changed you irreversibly. Oh, you are so different from when you first met them. Color flooded into your eyes whenever their world merged with yours. But you're another conquest.

They are a player. You've watched them break people, steal lovers, and fuck around. You've hated their frivolous nature. Why did they have to fool around with you? Why did they need you as their latest tool in the shed? And why - just why? - did they have to smile?

With their lips stretched wide, eyes crinkling, and laughter flowing from their lips, why did they have to smile so innocently?

Oh, this poor songbird flew into a den thinking a lamb stood in the place of a lion.

Their finger brushes against your bare skin, sweet nothings falling from their plush lips, unaware of your sickening desire to ensure their mouth will never coo for another.

Their eyes bat at you, the innuendoes dancing between you both, unaware of how you wish to break their mind so they could only converse with you.

Their charm reels in another, enjoying as you boil in jealousy, unaware of how your instinct is to force them in a cage of your design.

You wouldn't let your beautiful songbird recall what it is missing. The iron bars would warp into lush trees, abuzz with life. The metal flooring would become as soft as summer grass, warm and comforting only for them. The domed roof would melt into a beautiful blue sky, dappled in clouds so fluffy they wonder if they are pillows. Their gnarled wings will become beautiful accessories, impractical, but they flaunt it for your eyes alone.

Their mind won't need to think about what is beyond your meadowy cage. Their voice croons at a glimpse of you, because they need you. Your smiles are their pleasure. They need you for every desire. Your warm hands will part their lips to pour water into the helpless mouth. Your sweet self will cut up their food and hold it out to them on a fork.

Your body will move in unison with theirs, flooding it with pleasure that makes their toes curl, body spasm, and screams echo. So helplessly, they will pant and whimper.

Calling your name.

Begging for you.

Becoming yours.

But they will never be yours, as they believe you to be theirs. A trophy they won. A guardian they acquired. A toy they use.

And you need to remember your place as a lamb. Your fangs aren't meant to dig into their skin. Playing their cute little game of pretend is how you keep their dazzling self dancing before your eyes.

But...

But what if you don't?

A songbird shouldn't have come into the lion's den.

You can curse yourself, but that changes nothing. The thought of fixing yourself isn't on your mind, because you can't anymore. They drag you further and further into the obsession, so unaware but so desperate to claim your thoughts. You can't fix this madness.

All you can do is break the songbird's wings, and reveal there was never a piece of prey lurking in your den of horrors.