♱ •⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅• ♱ There was much to be said regarding history, but nothing left me as astounded as that. The firm, warm arms of the man I had always dreamed of were around me, and he looked at me with a smile in his violet eyes that I admired so much. He seemed real. "What's the matter?" he asked me with a hoarse and gentle voice. "Ahm... nothing," I replied, questioning whether all of this was a dream or not. But he was still there, and his eyes closed as he embraced me. Indeed, this was one of the best dreams I had ever had. "Sir," a male voice called out to him, and I saw Calisto raise his face with displeasure. "What the hell do you want?" he grumbled. "We heard something that might interest you, sir," the man said, and a shiver ran down my spine. "I'm busy," he said, burying his face in my back. I could feel his breath on my bare skin, warming my face. "Sir," the man insisted, and by now, I knew what would happen. I had read and reread that scene thousands of times, so
♱ •⋅ 1750 A.C. ⋅• ♱ I needed time, and I needed to be sure. Even though it was a vivid dream, I needed to be sure that I wouldn't alter things too much; otherwise, everything would spiral out of control. I blinked a few times in front of the mirror. It was still surprising how attractive Asra was. I had envied her when I first read the book, but now, seeing her delicate face, her naturally rosy lips, and how she seemed meticulously designed, it only increased my envy. Asra could have had any man, demon, or angel; she just needed to want it, but she chose death over losing something she never had: Calisto's love. I sighed, and the maids hurried into the room and dressed me without delay. It was apparent they were scared. After all, Asra was never known for her kindness, charity, patience, or gentleness. "S-sorry, milady," one of them stuttered as she tried to fix the hem of my dress after accidentally stepping on it without my notice. I sighed again. "Don't worry," I simply said.
♱ •⋅ 1750 A..C. ⋅• ♱ She floated above the cathedral, her golden eyes shining, her body completely covered by a white cloak. It was as if I was seeing Mary herself—the chosen virgin by the heavens to bear the life of the one who would save all humanity. Elaine was equivalent to Mary, but her beauty was undoubtedly superior. I wasn't surprised that Calisto had fallen in love with her or accepted death for loving that woman. Elaine was like a deity in a fragile, delicate, and mortal body; she was a strong and determined heroine who was willing to do anything to fulfill what her God had commanded. I couldn't deny that I admired Elaine. Not only for winning over Calisto—my great literary crush—but also for dedicating herself to a cause as she did (even though secretly I considered it foolish when the reason was something like religion and ancient, archaic beliefs like hers). "By the nine hells," Calisto grumbled, and I could see his pink eyes burning with anger. He hated situations whe
♱ •⋅ 1750 B. C. ⋅• ♱ She was too strong, and I could feel my breath getting heavier as she lunged at me again. I knew there would be an opening; Elaine always left a gap when she assumed an offensive stance. That was the point Calisto used several times to bring her down to the ground, giving readers some sighs when they almost kissed. I would use that opening. Was Calisto watching? Was he still paying attention to me? I admit my thoughts were foolish, but I can't say I'm ashamed because even if it were a dream, it would be nice to be the sole source of his interest. The only one he would look at, even if only during a fight. Even if out of self-interest. But if that's what I wanted, I couldn't give up. I couldn't fall and couldn't let Elaine knock me down or land a hit. "Come at me," I murmured almost inaudibly, and I could feel my body grow heavy and my skin burn as magical runes appeared, cutting into my flesh. It was the mark of Asra's family, but this dream was becoming too
♱ ⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅ ♱ "You... were you worried?" I couldn't help asking, and Callisto looked at me as if that was the stupidest thing Asra had ever asked him in his entire life. Of course, I should know. Callisto couldn't care less about his concubine, but then... what the hell did it all mean? "You..." he paused, his lips ajar. I smiled. "I'm sorry, darling," I said, sitting down on the bed. I should leave. "What exactly are you apologizing for?" Her voice was serious again. I didn't know how to answer, this was certainly one of the few answers I didn't have to give him, so I looked to the window for anything I could use. He snorted. "Are you apologizing for almost killing yourself? For being impulsive? For..." he stopped and even without looking I could hear his footsteps approaching the bed, "what the hell do you have on your head?" "Brain matter and horns" I replied with a smile, turning my face to look at him, but Callisto didn't smile back. "I could..." he stopped again.
♱ ⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅ ♱ He was still there when I woke up, and he was still there the next night and the next. He was always there when my eyes opened, his fingers touching my skin with an almost theatrical care. It was different from history, it was almost the complete opposite, and I could remember Asra's words perfectly. He did not come to see me that night, and the next night he did not come either. After Azrael came to my room and took Callisto with him, I did not see the king for many, many days. At least until I walked through the garden and came across him and a beautiful girl one night with a crimson moon, talking in front of the blood fountain. He was smiling. That was the moment Asra knew that she had lost Callisto. That nothing could bring him back into her arms, because Elaine could give him something she could not: a love beyond physical touch. A love like that of his first wife. Pure, friendly, and that pushed him to be someone better. But Asra could never achieve somet
♱ ⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅ ♱ Callisto's arms wrapped around my hips. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked me, and in his eyes there seemed to be a mixture of doubt and fear. It was obvious why. Asra was trouble, but, besides, I had hurt myself the last time I tried to help. He must have thought that there was nothing I could do without nearly screwing everything up along the way. I sank my face into his chest. I wouldn't give up. "Yes, that way you can work, and you won't have to endure Azrael on your foot... and..." I smiled, kissing his chin gently, "you can stay by my side too." He squeezed me tighter in his arms and I knew he was thinking, was really considering, but if I let him leave without giving me an answer, he would ask Azrael and that damned angel would go out of his way to make sure I didn't get involved in anything he considered "serious," like, for example: anything involving Elaine. "Please" I spoke getting on tiptoe and sealing the king's lips, "I promise... I won't cau
♱ ⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅ ♱ There were many stories within the world of the novel that I read. Among the various stories, there was one that told about the first love of the demon king. The king of all monsters and the one who brought about the destruction of peace and balance. The one who caused the chaos. Particularly, this was always my favorite story. The one that told in the sweetest way how Callisto - the king of the entire underworld and lower plane - fell madly in love with the purest being ever created. The story said many things about that love, but among them was a truth that would probably never be accepted by the faithful few left in the place where the mortal world had once been: it was not the Black King's fault that everything happened. It was God's. "Ma'am?" The maid called me again, and I forced myself to smile. "Just prepare it the way you think best, I trust your taste" I spoke finally, trying to get rid of all that and especially something as tedious as caring about th