Anathema's Veil
written by axisixas
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Chapter 3: Hauntingly Dashing
The heavy rhythm of each drop of water made Manon's hand callous and cold. The sound of heavy rain hitting the roof down to the ground was like needles hitting her skin.
An overwhelming sense of cold and dread envelops her body as the drop of water increases in speed.
She hated the rain. The sound of rain. And the aftermath of it. Manon grew up in a place where rain causes flood, where the rain comes in small droplets but causes huge damages anyway.
But what she hated the most was the rain in Feyren comes in with hard and heavy drops. One that doesn't seem to end. Storm with thunder and lighting and wind crashing through the earth.
She wished she was deaf. At that moment she only didn't want to chopped off her ears, she wanted to damage it even.
So looking into the deep dark eyes of a boy, an heir to a God-forbidden manor, she felt lost for a second until the sound of thunderstorm crashes into the ground, hard and heavy, never-ending.
"How lovely, I knew humans are fearful beings. Strangely, seeing this emotion on you tugs something in my heart."
Manon became cautious about everything. But she stood her ground and tried her best to maintain a cold hard demeanor. She didn't want this crazed boy to see herself trembling in uncertainties, fear of the unknown. For once, she wanted to be brave.
"What are you scared of?" he then asked. A hint of begging could be heard in his tone. Something that Made Manon's brow dip in confusion.
Manon flinched when he attempted to reach out to carress her cheek. The corner of his lips twisted when he pulled his hand back from the rejection. He was hurt and displeased. His fingers curled tightly and he hid it away like a child rejected to play.
Manon stared unblinkingly into his incomparable beauty and noticed how darkness fills the entirety of this man's being. He was the true form of a shadow if it had a physical form. And she was not blind by that fact that a shadow can be as beautiful as a well-forged sword crafted carefully by a skilled swordsman, someone that was made with intention, love and, deep admiration for art.
Or was it because everyone in Feyren was incredibly beautiful as she heard in the cells? She wasn't sure, she hadn't seen much of the Fae.
A shiver crawled up her skin remembering her days being manacled and bruised, awaiting for her death inside the cold dungeons she was put in.
"Tell me what makes you anxious?" he demanded this time.
She didn't want to talk. Let alone be with him right now. But his presence makes her forget the storm. His question didn't even help. Manon dreads the idea of never going back to her family, she fears she would die here alone and forgotten, like everyone else enchanted out of their wits. She hated being sold to this higher beings to play a game. She hated the thought of not knowing what awaits her fate.
Maden waited, patiently.
Staring. His eyes never left her.
He was present. He was here. Listening, waiting.
His body in decent proximity but his stare wreaking through the gaps of her vulnerabilty. Inching as closer as he could get. Trying to force a way in between the walls she was trying to build.
Would you even consider something could be evil when an enchanting beauty hides in this hauntingly dashing man?
Or was it the magic of Feyren that makes everything spellbindingly wicked?
Annoyed at the consistency of his stare, she spoke. An honesty she didn't know she trusts him enough to say it outloud.
"The storm. I despise the sound of it. Please, make it stop."
The last was not meant for him. But to the anxiety crippling her entirety.
"Will that make you happy?"
Manon looked up to see him already looking.
It will not make me happy but it will make me feel a little better.
She didn't want to say it aloud. So she just said,
"Yes."
And then she saw it.
How darkness loomed and engulped every traces of light inside the room.
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