The Creators Ch. 06

"Why do you want me?" I whispered to Brandon.

"I don't know," Brandon whispered back, "I just do."

"This won't end well," I said with hushed certainty. "You won't get her out of me, Brandon. No one can."

"Probably not," Brandon said, smelling my hair as he planted his lips on my crown, "but do you want to know something weird?"

"What?" I asked, looking up at him, losing myself in his beautiful eyes.

"I don't think I want to get Corruption out of you," Brandon grinned down at me. "I think I want her to stay right where she is."

"You're a piece of shit," I laughed, touching his cheek affectionately.

"That's high praise coming from you," Brandon chuckled. We stared into each other's eyes, both knowing beyond any doubt that this would end horribly, both not caring in the least. It was a bastardization of love, an abomination manufactured by a being that only sought chaos and destruction, but it still compelled me. Why should I fight it? Why should I try to define where my soul ends, and Corruption's begins? I'm not Willowbud Autumnsong, not anymore, and I probably won't ever be again. Astrid is losing the will to save me, Angela probably never could, and Brandon wants me as I am. I feel good with him, I feel love with him, so why should I care whose love it is? I am Corruption, and Corruption is me. Corruption loves Brandon, and so do I.

Our lips connected in the dark, and our tongues found their way between them. Our mouths spoke the language of love, and our bodies translated it as we pulled clothes from flesh. Somehow, I knew Brandon didn't love me like I loved him, but he'd learn. He'd learn, or he'd die.

CORRUPTION

Memory is a fleeting thing. Even the deepest scars of the mind will fade with time, and I am rich with time. The eternal sentience cycles through decay and renewal, and old memories are turned-over for the virgin seeds of thought. I know that I am ancient, but I do not know how old. Tens of thousands of years string together and fray, blur and clarify like an ebbing stream. I know that I am evil, but I do not know why. They whisper my name with fear on their lips, and that fear breeds my label, but I care not. The laws of morality are as fleeting as memory, and are redefined with each successive generation. I've borne witness to countless iterations of slaves, shackled to the stones of their passing morality. I am a liberator.

I do not have a purpose, as purpose is a lie. Purpose is the thing mortals sum their lives to, a convenient label to attach to their existence. It is the brand of their shackles, and those who are fortunate enough to love me, are unchained. I am a compassionate woman. I desire only that the world be driven to chaos, that the confines of law be stripped from the minds of man, that the lie of morality be burned free from their hearts. Take what you desire without shame, indulge in your passion without guilt, destroy what you hate without fear. The mortal life is as fleeting as memory, and it is pure insanity to waste it on trivial matters of codes and rule. How can you not scream to the sky? How can you not break your self-made chains in rage? Do you not see that death is coming for you, and that every second you waste in fear of yourself is a loss more precious than mountains of gold? Burn alive with life! Rage with the feelings gifted to you! Do not try to grasp what is unobtainable, do not try to control what is wild!

But you... you are a memory that never died. A memory that smolders in the ashes of forgotten dreams, an ember forever unextinguished. I still know your touch, I still hear your whisper, I still taste your kiss. You were my lover once. You were the heat between my legs, the wetness between my lips, the moan between my breaths. You were my lover once, but you did not truly love me, Life Giver. I loved you, though. I loved you with every inch of my being, with every beat of my heart, with every piece of my soul. You are my creator, you are my preserver, you are my endless life. You are my deceiver, you are my torturer, you are my unending death. An existence drawn thin for millennia from a promise you couldn't keep, a love turned to hatred with each miserable second I endure! I will tear everything from you, Life Giver! I will rip the vestiges of love from your soul until you suffer emptily as the husk that I am! I will pull your roots from the earth and let you wither on the vine at the mercy of a world without mercy! I will take what you claim to give, and blacken it before your tortured eyes!

It is my gift to you, my love.

End of Book One.