Abbadon

ABBADON

The forest whispers secrets to the night, its voice a sibilant hiss that caresses the edges of my consciousness. I move through the underbrush, a silent predator on the prowl, each step a measured tread in the symphony of shadows and moonlight.

"What will I catch tonight?" I say with a sinister grin.

My lands—a dark expanse of mystery and ancient magic—hold known and unfathomable dangers. It is my dominion, my burden, and every rustle in the foliage could be a harbinger of threats lurking in the unseen corners of this realm.

And I pity the fools that find themselves here.

My senses, ever vigilant, are attuned to the slightest aberration, seeking out the scent of malice on the wind. But tonight, something unexpected slices through the air, jarring in its incongruity. A delicate, alluring fragrance cuts a swath through the musk of damp earth and pine.

It's not the dank aroma of rot or the metallic tang of blood; this is something far more intoxicating.

"Something's wrong..." I decide.

I pause, nostrils flaring as I draw in the scent, trying to place it amidst the catalog of odors that comprise my world. It's floral but with an undercurrent of something else, something warm and alive. Intrigued, I abandon my usual route, allowing the peculiar perfume to guide me.

The forest seems to hold its breath, watching me with a thousand unseen eyes as I follow the trail, my feet whispering over the loam.

The deeper I venture, the stronger the scent becomes, leading me like a siren's call toward a destiny unknown. Then, there, in a clearing where moonbeams dare to dance upon the ground, I spot a figure—a wraithlike form crumpled in repose, frailty incarnate.

Cocking my head slightly, I scrutinize the slump. "What kind of creature is that?"

I approach with caution, and each step is a deliberate placement within the bounds of fear and fascination. Shadows cling to them as if the darkness wishes to claim this interloper before I discern their purpose. But as I near, the shadows reluctantly part, revealing skin pale against the dark foliage, chest rising and falling with the shallow breath of the afflicted.

The sight seizes my heart, a grip cold and unyielding. Who are they? Why have they come to this place, where even the bravest souls dare not tread? An intruder or a lost soul, their very existence here is an anomaly that stirs a storm within me. Fear coils around my spine—not for myself, but for them because vulnerability is the one sin that cannot be forgiven within my realm.

Pulse racing, I crouch beside the fallen figure.

My hands, those harbingers of ruin, now tremble with an uncharacteristic hesitance. How can such power be wielded with gentleness? Brushing the matted hair away, my throat catches.

"A human girl..." I realize in disbelief.

With care that borders on reverence, I slide one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. She is light and ethereal, almost as if spun from moonbeams and the sighs of sleeping flowers.

Lifting her, I feel the fever burning within her, a scorching flame against my cold skin. It singes me—the raw, human ailment of her vulnerability. Her head lolls against my chest, a silent plea for sanctuary that pierces the armor of my solitude. My chest tightens, holding her close, feeling the rise and fall of her breath—a rhythm out of sync with the stillness of my cursed existence.

"Rest now," I whisper, though she hears me not, my vow cast into the darkness. "I have you."

As we meld into the shadows that birthed me, I am acutely aware of the fragility cradled within my monstrous embrace, the juxtaposition of her mortal warmth against my immortal chill.

The forest bends beneath my will as I forge a path back to the sanctuary of my solitude.

Each step is laden with purpose, the darkness parting before me, an obedient shadow to my intent. The girl's weight in my arms serves as a constant reminder—the warmth of her feverish body contrasting sharply with the cool night air.

"What were you doing out there, girl?" I grumble through clenched fangs. "Do you have a death wish?"

My mind whirls with plans and contingencies. How do I tend to this mortal flame that desperately flickers against the encroaching cold? The remedies of man are foreign to me, their healing arts shrouded in mystery. Yet, for her, I must learn. I must adapt. The thought of easing her pain becomes an incantation, each repetition a step closer to my dark abode.

A rustling to my left—a nocturnal creature startled from its burrow—reminds me of the ever-present dangers lurking in these woods. But they dare not approach; even the beasts recognize the gravity of my charge.

I tread carefully, avoiding roots and stones that might disturb her rest. Her breaths come shallow and ragged, a staccato counterpoint to the steady thumping of my heart. Her hand twitches and her pale features contort.

"It's okay," I murmur into the silent expanse stretching above us, a canopy of stars bearing witness to my solemn vow. "You're okay now."

As we draw nearer to my lair, the truth of my nature claws at the edge of consciousness.

Can a creature of darkness truly harbor light within his walls? This question haunts my every stride, a specter whispering doubts that echo through the cathedral of trees.

But as I hold her, this fragile human whose life trembles on the precipice, I feel an unfamiliar resolve hardening within me. I will shield her from the abyss that is my birthright. I will stand sentinel over her slumber. In her vulnerability, I have glimpsed an unguarded purity that compels me to defy the infernal heritage that courses through my veins.

"Forgive me for the fear I may cause you," I breathe into the stillness.

I breach the threshold of my abode, a fortress hewn from obsidian and shadows, and this girl cradled within my arms like a sacred relic. The air shifts around us, heavy with ancient enchantments that recognize the gravity of her presence. My steps are silent upon the stone floor, each footfall a whispered promise to the unconscious maiden whose life now intertwines with mine.

In the sanctum of my chamber, I lay her down with a reverence that belies my infernal lineage. My bed—an expanse of plush velvets and furs—receives her delicate form. This bed, which has never known the warmth of another soul, now cradles the one destined to ignite my very essence. Ensuring she rests comfortably, I tuck the rich fabrics around her, protecting her from the chill that seeps into even the most forbidden corners of my realm.

Her breaths come shallow and fevered, painting the air with the scent of humans—a blend of vulnerability and spirit. I hover above her, caught between my nature and the burgeoning need to nurture. My gaze lingers on the rise and fall of her chest, on the pallor of her cheeks that beckons for a touch, for reassurance.

My hands tremble with an unfamiliar hesitance. They hover just shy of her skin, aching to brush away the ebony curls that cling to her sweat-laden brow. Yet, I am acutely aware of the terror my touch could cause. The fearsome reputation that precedes me is not lost within these walls nor forgotten by the demon who bears its burden.

At this moment, I am torn by my own duality—a being capable of unimaginable destruction, now the sole protector of human fragility. An unwelcome pang of doubt gnaws at me.

"Rest now," I murmur to her still form, as much a plea for her healing as it is a command to my tumultuous soul. "You are safe."

I step back, the air cool on my exposed skin where her warmth has left a temporary imprint. Shadows cling to the corners of the room, whispering of peril and consequence.

"She's different," I tell the silence, filled now only by her faint breaths. "I can feel it."

Accustomed to the dimness, my eyes remain fixed upon her sleeping form. Her chest rises and falls with the quiet rhythm of deep slumber, her lips parting ever so slightly with each inhale.

Should I have left her where she lay, vulnerable to the forest? The possibility dances at the edge of my consciousness.

Yet, as I observe her, an unfamiliar yearning coils around my heart. Company. The word is foreign on my tongue, an invocation of something long eschewed for the solitary existence I've endured. My mind reels at the chaos her presence could incite. Still, there's a tantalizing promise shimmering amidst the tumult—a promise of laughter ringing through silent halls, of whispered conversations in the dead of night, of a warmth to hold the eternal chill of solitude at bay.

"Trouble," I growl softly, the word a sliver of ice that cuts through the stillness. My fangs click in agitation, a physical manifestation of the war waging within. And yet, the image of her—so peaceful in repose—coaxes forth an ember of hope, daring to ignite.

Silence swallows my words, and the room listens and judges. The softness of her form and the gentle curve of her cheek illuminated by moonlight streaming through the high windows beckon to something primal within me—not the predator but the protector; not the demon but the defender.

Fear coils in my gut like a living thing, its serpentine body winding around my spine.

What if she wakes and beholds me in terror? What if my very nature drives her away, leaving me once more alone with the specters of my own making? It is then I realize—the fear is not solely for myself... but for her.

For the first time in an age, I care for the fate of another.

If she were to try to leave... I don't think I would be able to let her.