For what is love, if but conditional? Can it still be called love if someone says "I love you if. . . ." Is it still love?
But I am most certain that I would still love you. Even if you shatter me once again, a thousand more times. I do believe I would still love you, even if love meant pain, even if love meant separation. I do believe I would love you even if love meant death. In fact, especially if it meant death. Is not love, but the dying of two hearts, which resurrect themselves into one?
Is not love me turning to you, and proclaiming: "I might be broken, but so are you. And in our brokenness, we come together, and we are whole"? Is it
"You know, Little Wizard," Tarael began to speak once more, having sat us both down on the sofa. It was strange, he guided my motions as if I were on puppet strings, but somehow, I did not believe he was controlling me. No. I wanted to go where he lead me, but was that out of fear, or out of genuine desire? Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing, nor did I necessarily want to. "You've done a wretched thing to me, do you know this? You've stirred up the old feelings I used to have as a living man. The warmth in the heart that one has when they see something beautiful, the tenderness that fills the eyes. Of course, I have neither a heart, nor w
Dance of Death (Pt. III) by HarraArial, literature
Literature
Dance of Death (Pt. III)
Well, my skill in analysis wasn't without fail, at least. I now knew what Tarael was, which would make it easier to understand what he wanted. Liches sought power, and control, and it was no secret that they often wanted to use the control on everything around him. Part of me wondered if he had control over the inhabitants of the graveyard. He didn't strike me as a necromancer, but I couldn't take chances.
"You are very bright, little Wizard. Not many would have guessed to ask for my phylactery, let alone know what one is." He ended his words with a slight drop in pitch, clearly... angry about that little fact. "I am indeed a Lich, and judgi
Please don't scream, what a simple request, and yet how hard I had to fight to heed it. My very bones shook with the need to scream, to let out my startle, my fear, my anguish. I didn't even know what stood behind me, but I knew that he was sentient, and aware of himself. After all, he knew how to speak, and knew enough that I would be scared. Don't scream. But what about the please? Did that make him a civilized man?
"D-Drychteri?" I finally spluttered, eyes horrifically wide, entire body shaking. His hand did not move, and he himself was painfully still. How was he able to do that? To stay so still in such cold conditions? Then I realized
Darkness surrounded me, and the cold air ripped through my robes. Even squinting, I could not see further than a few feet away from where I stood. This sort of night was the worst, when the moon would not even light the way, and the stars themselves seemed adamant to not shine their beautiful, twinkling lights. It was at this time that the gruff voice of Brunius, one of my traveling companions, echoed in my head. "I dun' like it when yer goin' out on yer own, 'Arra. It's dangerous ah nigh', an' even worse in those graves! What if ya run into a ghast or somethin'?"
"So be it then, Herr Brunius. I know how to deal with ghasts. Besides, I know