The memory of her skin will haunt me forever, I already know it. The salty yet sweet taste of it, its luster in the candlelight. The delicate scent of it, imprinted inside my nostrils.

And the way it felt as it rubbed up on me, sending shivers to tingle all my extremities.

Dru was a catch, a delicious one, and I had to let her go.

I'll never forget her, much as it terrifies me. The beauty of her as she slept, safe and sound, a gentle sunlight streaming in to bask her in a heavenly glow. Not that I know what heavenly looks like, but I can only assume it's...her. She's heavenly.

And the sound of her moans as I pleasured her; the vibrations of her voice remain stuck in my brain the farther I am from her.

It eats me alive to leave her like that—again—but it's part of the process. It's the way I'm supposed to do this, do my job. Enjoy her, then toss her out and watch her break down.

Sure, some would argue that if she woke in bed beside me, it might further her affection for me. If I let her grow more used to me, then rip us to shreds, it'd wound her more. Affect her more.

They're probably right, but I have my methods, my rules.

And anyway, doesn't absence make the heart grow fonder? That expression has swum in my mind since the moment I woke up in Bazroth's throne-room, what feels like forever ago.

But I've only been alive for a few weeks.

So I hope my absence is what will make Dru care for me, yearn for me more. That's the point, isn't it? To make her so desperate, to want me so badly that it breaks her on the inside? To make her crave me so much she'll cry, lament to all who listen, and infect them with her suffering?

Yes, it's my role to ruin her...but I still don't know if I like it. If I can digest it, allow myself to come to terms with it. If it's fair for me to take advantage of her this way.

I feel disgusting, most days; but today, after taking off, I feel worse.

She was so exquisite. Everything about her was a marvel to behold. Unreal. It's so evident she's not human, and while that should scare me, it only drew me in more every time I bumped into her.

Now...all I have are my recollections to keep me company. I won't bump into her again.

I wander the northern streets of Hazelvale—as far as possible from her southern tavern—and wait for my effect to take its hold. She'll wake soon, realize that I'm gone, and her emotions will brew up inside.

I imagine she'll be pissed, then sad, then lonely. I imagine she'll scream, cry, stomp around, maybe break a few things.

And then her heart will break when she understands...I'm not coming back.

When I was at the threshold of her room, whispering goodbye to her as she slept, it took all my might not to hurry back to her. Not to take her in my arms and squeeze her, remember every inch of her. Not to wake her with my tongue between her lower lips, taking in her early morning deliciousness.

I felt so dirty, taking my pleasure from her then disappearing.

But I had to. Have to. It's my mission, and I must complete it. I'd rather not die without giving my master what he's wanted for eons.

I snag a pastry from one of the bakeries, but it's not nearly as decadent as the ones I've eaten from places farther south. This thing—a tiny tart of some sort—is dry, a little too flaky, pasty in places. The fruit filling is too gelatinous, the flavor overwhelmingly sweet.

It only reminds me of how I feel—a flaming fraud who uses his appearance to woo poor damsels to their demise.

I toss the pastry and hunt down a place to wash away the taste with a mug of frothy ale.

I'm soon settled in a small inn near the northern gates. It's shabbier and more decrepit than Dru's tavern, but it'll do while I wait. Better yet, it's mostly empty, so I'm unbothered as I weigh in on my emotions.

As I accomplish my goal.

Wait.

Another part of the process is letting Dru's feelings stew a little. They need boil up into something so strong I'll sense them from across town.

And when she thinks she might pull through, that she might find a way to move on...I'll get to use all my special powers.

Powers I didn't know I had until recently. But they've been stirring around inside me, eager to be unleashed.

Invasion. Temptation. Sneaking into minds and warping them to my will.

Such a demonic power. Such a demonic style.

I'm a demon.

I'll haunt her; literally. Tease her by getting into her head and convincing her she can't live without me.

I sigh into my drink, remembering the energy shift inside me, the flashes of what I'd have to do next. Upon setting a target on Dru's back, these new powers unlocked in me.

Bazroth's voice swept into my mind; whether it was a whisper from times before I woke, or if he knew how to speak to me beyond hell's barrier, I wasn't sure. But mere minutes after leaving Dru, I heard him:

"This is what you were created for, Azath. This moment, right here: the infiltration of the mind, the messed-up thoughts you'll implant. You've sensed these abilities for a while, unsure how they work. Well, you're about to find out."

I remember feeling so confused by the voice and how it took root in my brain, as if belonging there.

"A heart is easy to wound, but harder to break. You must be unforgettable. You must be a ghost on your target's shoulder, at all times. Drive them insane with lust and love, make them miss you more than they've ever missed anyone before. And don't, do not, give in to their cravings. Leave them to wallow. Leave them to shatter."

I'm still shaken up by the event. A voice popping into my consciousness? I thought I was supposed to be wielding such abilities.

I recall how it pierced through me. So intensely that I still feel it echoing, numbing my ears, trifling with my hearing.

The barkeep looks at me as if I'm crazy, and I can't even deny it.

Perhaps I am crazy; crazy for thinking I could enter such a tryst with such a gorgeous woman and not get myself hurt in the process.

Is it Dru's heart Bazroth wants broken? Or mine?

I'm in pain, too. Having to take off on her like that...it agitated things in me I didn't know existed. It made me brew up in anger, made my stomach plummet to the ground. I've been on edge since I exited that tavern, unable to shake her from my thoughts.

I refrain from slamming my fist on the counter, lest I further frighten the barkeep.

But I'm peeved. I'm expected to keep my composure, but I'm a mess on the inside.

I'm supposed to invade her thoughts, not let her take control of mine!

Yet here I am, drowning in beer, ignoring the world around me as I wait for the signal. It'll be loud, I can already tell. Dru's sorrow will stab me hard in the gut, and that's how I'll know it's time to take the next step.

And my agony will grow the longer I have to torment her.

Planting ideas. Manipulating her mind into needing me so desperately, she'll be on the verge of harming herself.

I loathe the notion of messing with her this way. I'd rather get my hands all over her, touch her until she can't stand it anymore. But this? This kind of invasion of privacy is beyond anything I ever expected to do.

I have no choice but to do it. I must obey my king, or...

Well, I actually don't know what he'll do to me if I don't obey. Kill me? Likely. Lock me up? Possibly. Banish me?

I shudder at that thought. I wouldn't survive long as a demon outside of my realm. Already during this visit I've sensed my insides withering, unaccustomed to this bright, beautiful place. This atmosphere is inhospitable for me; the goddesses have made it so.

Exivaria isn't meant for demons to co-exist with its inhabitants.

If I were to be confined to Hazelvale, I'd be discovered quickly enough. Caught, locked up, tortured, and killed. And then my bones returned to my king, who'd fry them up and blow my ashes out of his palace.

I'd be dust littering the earthy, rocky outdoors of Hell.

It's so disturbing to think of that I order another beverage and languish over how difficult this task will be.

Sure, I was bred for it. I'm not supposed to know anything other than suffering and destruction. I'm a demon of heartbreak; something that doesn't exist in this world, because the goddesses forbade it. A walking contradiction: if anyone found me out, I'd be cut down.

The mere word heartbreak is forbidden. And my king wants me to bring it here, to spread it, and to somehow stay alive in the process?

"Or," I say to myself, sitting up straight. "He doesn't expect me to survive."

It's possible my king is using me as a decoy. I'm the one who'll start the revolution, but I won't finish it. I'll enable him and my brothers to escape hell, but I won't get a chance to live in our reformed world.

I'm their martyr?

If I sneak downstairs now and interrupt Bazroth by asking such questions, I'm risking my life even more. He wants me up here, waiting for the moment Dru will collapse. Waiting for Dru's heart to turn so dark there's no way it can revive.

It's my destiny: to bring about the thing the goddesses have fought the hardest to keep a secret.

The beer's bubbles are getting to my head, and I'm not thinking clearly.

Bazroth would strangle me for this, I know, but I can't help it. I don't want to feel anything. No guilt at hurting Dru. No remorse at ruining everything this world is about. And not a care whatsoever for my role in the upcoming wars.

Bazroth versus the goddesses.

Will I be alive to witness the event? And do I really want to be?

No, because I only want Dru. And I can't have her.

Wordcount: 1,735
TOTAL: 23,203