Chapter 115
When Theogrim was born into the world, he saw it clearly.
Even as hell unfolded in one part of the world, he saw that in another part, there were those who left food uneaten, bathed in milk, and danced waltzes each night while adorned in jewels.
It was something beyond belief—yet an undeniable truth.
Theogrim wanted to live.
He wanted to be on the side of those who survived.
Rather than questioning truths that would never change, he chose instead to quickly assimilate into them.
And that quick decision, more than anything else, was rooted in his unshakable conviction in the existence of God.
God undoubtedly existed. The mere fact that Theogrim had survived and stood here now was, in itself, the strongest evidence of God’s existence.
Theogrim had seen God. He had stood before the manifested God, and because of that presence, he had survived.
That’s why he could be certain.
The absurdities of the world, the pain, the inequality, the malice so irrational it seemed like a cruel joke—all of it was exactly as God had created the world to be.
All the pain that existed in this world was itself God.
He had been touched by God’s hand, and he had been incorporated into the world he wanted. In return, Theogrim offered up his own pain every day as a sacrifice.
What fueled Theogrim’s will to live was hatred. He hated the world, hated humanity, hated the God who created it all—and more than any of that, he hated his own weakness and suffering.
Because he knew that God existed, he carried out what God wished. Because he despised the pain that tormented him, he wished to escape from it.
“Give me your prayer.”
He remembered the moment he first met Arzeletta.
That memory had been the final flicker of light within Theogrim’s hollow soul.
He had seen a fairy being hunted. He had grown up watching adults curse the fairies, resent them, tear their bodies apart, and burn them.
God had branded the fairies heretics—and Theogrim had understood that well.
He had also known that even the fairies had been created by God. That their curses, their hatred, their fate of being hunted and killed—were all orchestrated by God’s hand.
Surely God needed a target for mankind’s instinct to fear, destroy, and loathe what they couldn’t understand—what was beautiful.
The girl caught in a trap, gasping for breath and looking up at him with eyes that might close at any moment, had wings so beautiful it was hard to believe.
Theogrim knew, without question, that this was a moment he would never forget for the rest of his life.
He took in, with awe, the prism of light shining through those trembling, delicate wings, and the green eyes filled with ecstasy even as her life faded.
“Then I’ll take you to my world.”
Just as he had promised, Theogrim brought her with him. He broke her most beautiful wings, branded her back with a hellish pain, and led her into the cruelest, most despised and scorned world.
But it was also a world where survival existed.
It was a world where two people could survive together.
His clenched fist gradually tightened. He was in an emotional state. This appearance didn’t suit him. He felt an uncharacteristic unease, breaking into a cold sweat.
“Save me, Arzeletta.”
Theogrim spoke alone. The evening light was slowly deepening.
“Like that day.”
Like the day she gave him her prayer, like the day she bestowed upon his heart the last fragment of light. Like that day when he had a reason not just to survive, but to need to survive.
He needed Arzeletta.
He wanted to hold her. He wanted to be held by her. In a world where no one could disturb them, where they didn’t have to worry about anyone else, he wanted to give her eternal comfort and all pleasure.
There would be no more pain there.
He would endlessy speak, held in Arzeletta’s gentle embrace.
That he had waited too long. That he had suffered too long.
Hold me, comfort me. Save me in your arms. My beautiful Arzeletta, who makes me live and makes me die.
…She was his.
Discussion
1 CommentReactions
Hilale