We looked at each other, both of our bodies leaving no gaps. I could hear his heartbeat just go faster. My hands started to sweat, and I said, "Just let me go already." I could feel my cheeks just flushing. He looked at me smiling, like enjoying his new entertainment: "I like it this way; you just told me I could hug whenever I wanted to." His dark eyes glistened, glazed by the moon's light, the night sky, and the noise of the creatures around us. It calms me down. I hugged him, accepting his response, then asked him the question, "Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked at me, then said with his playful but dangerous voice, "The Church is keeping an eye on me." He looked at me, and then I realized, It's me. They wanted me. 'How did they know I was resurrected?' "They don't know you're alive... yet," he said, and I shuddered. He looked down and thought, 'Being a demon king, can I have telepathy?' "No, I don't." He then placed one of his hands below my chin, forcing my head to look up at him. I looked at him, and then he said, "You are just easy to read." I widen my eyes.
'Such a brat!' I never knew this man could be so cheeky. I took his hand off my chin, gripped it tight, and impatiently asked, "What is your question?" He didn't flinch when his hand was squeezed; he just smiled brightly. His appearance left me in a daze; his brown hair and black eyes went well together. He looks so dangerously charming; before, he looked like a knight who would vanquish evil. Now, he looked like he could create a Mafia with a single word.
I could feel his grip on my waist relax. I can finally breathe. I couldn't properly breathe before, but my lungs could finally bathe in oxygen. Then instantly, my stomach grumbled again: 'I want to hide underneath a rock.' My face flushed with redness, and I could hear a deep chuckle on top of my head. "It's still night; we could eat outside the manor." I panicked; he can't go out with an unstable aura. "Wait, stay still." I hugged him tightly, then surged my holy power into his dark aura. He grunted. I also felt a headache coursing through my body. I held my breath, and then I felt something was not right with him. Then it occurred to me: 'his holy power'.
A holy power can be acquired by being born and receiving constant blessings from the Church. Being a hero means the house of God favors a being from the land, but favor from a saint is a different story. I heard him groan more as I pushed my purification toward him. I could feel the presence of his holy power. As I was about to reach them, I felt a huge impact that pushed me back. I smashed my back into a tree. I fell to the ground. I screamed in pain. My head felt like it would break. That hurts. It feels like I was flung from a slingshot. Ouch. I placed my hands on the ground, trying to stand up. I'm getting delirious because I'm not eating enough. I thought, 'Why do I have to eat food if I'm made from a tree?' I don't want to question what the magical world of this place is.
I woke up from my daze, my throat ache; it felt like I swallowed sandpaper. I coughed hard to get rid of it, trying to breathe evenly. I tried to stand up using a tree for support, and then I heard footsteps on the ground and the rustling sound of dried leaves and branches. I flinched from the noise. 'Being flung away did give me quite a scare.' I'm not surprised I've gotten restless. He stopped walking towards me and asked, "Are you hurt?"
His voice is full of indulgence, not like the cold, deep playfulness of before. He is finally awake. I stood up straight and walked towards him, trying to hide the fact that I was limping. My arms are smashed on the ground; it's hard to move them. I winced internally. Being made from a holy tree has its own downside, too. 'I could feel the impact of the dark aura'. That's a bummer. Plants and living things do wilt in the surrounding area because of their dark properties.
I reached for him and leaned my head on his chest. He held both of my shoulders and asked, "Are you in pain anywhere?" I looked at him blankly and thought, 'Why does he have to hold in the painful area?' I gulped to help me not scream in agony. I looked up to him and weakly said, "I'm hungry". I looked up and saw gray and blue eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at me and then said, "Put both your arms up." I looked at him and thought he probably wanted to carry me, so I did what he told me. One of my arms was hurting, so I endured as i lifting them.
a moment of silence, and then internally screaming, 'It hurts so bad'. He looked at me, and I looked at him with a smile, seemingly waiting for what he was going to do. He sneered, "You are still bad at pretending." He pointed to my injured arm. "This one is in pain, right?" I looked at him, not knowing what he was talking about. "Stop pretending," he tried to hold them, which I dodged, then confessed, "okay, it hurts, but it's not a problem; I can tolerate them."
He looked at me, then opened his arms, then carried me, my arms automatically secured around his neck. Whoa, I didn't know my reflex would adapt so fast'. I suppressed the sound of my groan. I heard him say, "If you're in pain, just say it; don't handle everything on your own." He spoke warmly, and I hummed in reply. He walked back. The night is quiet. Maybe I can say the truth now. I need to ask him first, "Christian." He hummed like he would always respond every time I mentioned his name. Then it dawned on me. I remembered our 21 lives. He never once turned down my call, be it on the phone, by letter, or by carrier pigeon, even if he was in a tight situation like a war. He would always be ready to answer my calls. I felt something stirring inside my heart: 'I don't deserve this'.
I called out Christian," and he hummed, then said, "What is it?" I replied, "I just want to call your name." He then smiled and said, "Sure." Then he spoke again. "Genevieve" caught me off guard, but I didn't hate hearing it. We spoke back and forth, calling out our names, while walking back to the manor, leaving the forest, and then I changed them to "Chris." He was startled, and I enjoyed his cute, startled response. He then spoke, "Gen." I blinked in stunned silence, and he turned to laugh at me. His face with a smile merged with all 21 lives we had. I asked him, "Chris, when facing the demon lord, why did you say I am your everything?" My heart beating like drums, I hurriedly hugged him by the neck. I didn't want to see his face, and I also didn't want him to see my face'.
"You know what my feelings are for you," I heard him say, and I angrily screamed, "what!? What do you mean I know what you feel?" He retorted, "You still can't tell; I sacrificed my title as a hero for you and bled until I'm nearing my death right next to a demon that was once an enemy; I killed my enemies to reach a peaceful era to make us live in peace, and you still couldn't tell!?" I was speechless, then I gripped his hair from the back and yanked it downward. I learned it's less painful this way. "Don't shout at me, I can see what you did; they crossed my mind, but you have always been ambitious; I never knew you all did that for me, and I don't have telepathy; I can't read minds; I just want to ask you."
I paused to let go of his face, then I straightened my back. He wobbled, then made sure I was comfortable, raised my hand, held his face, and declared, "Are you, Christian Louise Reinhart, Fond of me, Genevieve Vanessa Luciel romantically?" I look straight into his eyes. His eyes pooled with tears at my question. I can see his eyes full of emotion; the trust, affection, and resolve that many ladies craved he never once showed to the world—only me.
"Yes, I am fond of you."
"I love you."