Shadows Bound Ch 4
Communitcation
Nero
She spoke to me. She spoke TO me. She spoke to ME. If I could breathe, I would be panting. Watching her wrap her delicious body in silk had me banging my fists against the shadows, demanding they let me out. This is Hell.
Humans think Hell is a place, a realm they get sent to if they’re bad. Ha! Hell is the torture they inflict upon themselves. I suppose that means I put myself in this position by trying to be something I’m not. A demon that offers help. The complete antithesis of what a demon is supposed to be, according to my family anyway.
Demons are carnal beings. Designed to chase their pleasure, whatever it is that inspires it. For most of my family, their inspiration for passion is chaos. They revel in creating it and feast on their art. My brother and I were born different. I’ve asked my parents more than once if they were sure we came from them. My father called me ungrateful and beat me daily for three months. He also chained my brother to the wall in the cell next to me, forcing him to watch. I begged for him to stop, once. I promised to do whatever he asked if the pain could just stop. He threatened to take it out on Nox instead and I couldn’t let that happen. If father viewed me as weak and broken because of my compassion, he viewed Nox as expendable because of my love for him. My softness brought me physical pain and gave him the burden of watching it and believing that it was his fault. I hurt us both. And now, more than my freedom, I just want to know that he’s safe. If I was being honest with myself, I would accept that he’s most likely dead…
The sound of heels clicking on hardwood, pulls me out of my painful thoughts and I look up to find a goddess walking towards me.
She. Is. Perfect.
A fact she doesn’t seem to realize. She spent two hours trying on dresses and a couple of pant suits that made my dick weep. Curves that don’t end, in all of the right places. Natural breasts that I know would just melt in my hands. The onyx floor length dress she decided to go with for the evening brings out the green in her hazel eyes, while the deep brown curls on her head bring out the blue in them. Her skin is a soft warm tone that sings a song of summer, and she has tiger stripes on all of her pillowy bits. At least the bits I’ve had the privilege of seeing. I just want to eat her until she loses consciousness, then wake her up and do it again.
She looks absolutely stunning, and it’s not for me.
That sparked irrational rage in me, and my shadows reacted by knocking a book off of her coffee table. To which she replied, “Alright, what is it? You’ve been a quiet ghost for some time, and now you want attention? I have someplace to be, so unless you plan on coming with me or doing more than throwing things on the floor…”
I was so stunned by her acknowledgement of me, that I froze completely as she walked out the door. She talked to me. No one talks to me, unless it is to scream in fear and rage to “Get Out!” before they scamper out the door themselves. She spoke to me as if I were just another person. Can she see me? Does she know what I am? No, she can’t know, she called me a ghost. But if she can see ghosts… maybe she’s a witch. If she’s a witch, maybe she can release me from this curse.
Am I pacing? I think I’m pacing. This changes things completely. If I can figure out a way to communicate with her…
A sensation reminiscent of warmth fills my being and the faint thump of a heartbeat fills my ears. Hope… I think I’m feeling hope.
I don’t know how much time has passed when the doorknob rattles and she walks through the door. She mumbles something about not wanting to socialize again for a while and then stares right in my direction as she asks, “Are you in a better mood? Or should I expect my things to begin being tossed about?”
I once again find myself frozen before her. What do I do?! I guess the smartest thing to do would be to see if she can in fact hear me. “Are you a witch?” I ask. She says nothing, just continues to stare in my direction.
That will be a no on the hearing me. Great.
She sighs deeply as she leans down to remove the impressive heels from her delicate feet. “Okay, we have to find a way to communicate, because I’ve had enough of the throwing of my things.”
To show her I am in agreement, I use the shadows to knock a trinket off of the mantle beside me. She stands there, shoes in hand, and zero amusement on her face. I can’t help the smile that creeps across mine.
Her feet softly carry her to her bedroom, where I am assuming she is removing her fancy clothes in exchange for fuzzy ones. She really likes fuzzy things. That could be fun… Stop that!
Once she is wrapped in warmth and fluffy socks, she emerges with two stones in her hands. “Here” she says, setting them on the coffee table in front of her as she sits on the couch. “Amathyst for yes, that’s the purple one, and Obsidian for no. Do you understand?”
Excitement zips through me, and I quickly shift towards the table. I gently wrap a shadow around the purple stone and slowly slide it back and forth.
A soft light enters her eyes, like a muted joy she doesn’t want to claim. “Good. Good. We can work with this. Alright… have you been here a long time?”
I shift the Amathyst again.
“Okay” She chews on her bottom lip trying to decide what to ask next. Sitting up straight and squaring her shoulders, it feels like she looks directly into my soul, “I am not leaving. If we need to set some ground rules for us to live together, I can get on board with that. But this is my home, and I will not leave because you want to spend your eternity alone. You can cross over for all I care.” Another deep breath fills her lungs and slowly escapes through her plump lips. “I guess that wasn’t a question you can answer with a couple crystals… Can you accept me as your roommate for the foreseeable future?”
I don’t respond right away, I just watch her attempt to hide her nerves. The closer I look, I can see that it’s not so much nerves as it is exhaustion. Her eyes are tired in a way that screams for peace, not rest.
I want to pick up the black stone. Having her here is dangerous for my sanity, but she’s also the closest thing to hope I have experienced in over one hundred years. If she can help me, maybe I can return the favor and help her find her peace. Well, a moment (or two) of bliss at the very least.
With conviction that doesn’t quite solidify, I pick up the purple stone and hold it in front of her face in offering. Her body relaxes with a soft whisper of, “Thank you.”
Writing this is so fun. I find myself chuckling as my fingers walk across the keyboard. If I ever decide to do anything with this series, it will definitely need multiple edits lol, but there is something magical about just writing. No end goal in mind, no big vison for a plot; just sitting down and writing out the movie that plays in my mind. Maybe that’s how all writing is supposed to feel. Perhaps that is why Thistle & Honey is getting dusty on a shelf. Regardless, I’m having fun with this, and I hope you are too.
~Bea
leaving this as my bookmark to remind me to start at the beginning bc i snuck and read a few paragraphs and now i have to 😅 its so good already
Lines of communication are open! This is exciting! I love that the ghost is the awkward one in the relationship. It’s such a change from the hopeless woman and all knowing fantasy creature romance we normally get..