Hey, here's the next prompt in the 100 story/pic challenge I took up. This one is prompt 45, Illusion. It's the same character as the previous one, set during the period when he turned traitor and joined the enemy. Enjoy. And if you read it, PLEASE leave me a comment at the end telling me what you think! Lol, I'm a sucker for feedback. Prompt 26: Tears is coming soon. Again, Enjoy!

--

45 - Illusion

He liked to pretend that it was love, this thing between them. Liked to pretend that it was something more than a thin lifeline, a thread held fast with the desperation of a drowning man.
Sometimes he could fool himself for a little while, could believe that this was real, that he was happy, that he loved this White Queen and the she loved him. Some small, quiet part of him always knew, though: this wasn’t love.
Love was patient.
Love was gentle.
Love was selfless.
This thing between them was none of those things. There was nothing patient about it. The both wanted what they took from each other with fervor close to obsession; a desire that demanded instant gratification, and would not be denied.
They were gentle, at times. When he ran his fingertips through the silky shadow of her raven hair, when she brushed her fingertips across his shoulders and traced the outlines of his biceps and pectorals.
Most of the time though, they were wild, and angry, and harsh. The bruises of his kisses marred her otherwise flawless shoulders, and the half-healed furrows on his back gave testament to the sharpness of her nails and the strength of her fingers, and each consummation of their union brought other, similar markings and scars.
This thing between them, whatever it was, was as much pain as it was joy, as much cruelty as it was lust.
All of that could still be love, though. After all, love wasn’t perfect.
Love was patient, but it could be demanding.
Love was gentle, but it could also flow with passion and strength.
The one thing that love was not, absolutely could not be, though, was selfish.
And this thing between them, this thing he refused to name for what it was, was nothing but selfish.
He did not love her, not truly. He went through the motions; he forced himself to feel shallow approximations of the emotions that comprised love because he wanted so badly what she offered him, refused to give it up. His desperate, near-obsessive need for someone, ANYONE to care about him, not his power, not what he could do for the world, but for HIM, was as unstoppable and all-encompassing as the storms he commanded. She was his lifeline, his link to what he wanted most in the entire world, and so he used her, refusing to allow himself to feel guilty.
Because she was using him, too. He knew that.
He didn’t pretend to understand her reasons. If HIS reasons were as primal and unstoppable as the gathering storm, then hers were as deep and unfathomable as the oceans she ruled over. Her heart as unreadable as the ice from which she took her title, this Lady of the Frozen Tides.
He suspected, though.
There were times he heard her whisper something as they kissed and succumbed to their passion, which if he strained his ears had the semblance of a name; a name that was not his.
“Dra’Khal”
And he had seen, in his one glance into her chambers, a large stain-glass panel, in the center of which stood a figure, clad in a hooded tunic and loose white pants, all shades of white, holding a silver flute to his lips.
The figure bore a remarkable semblance to him.
If SHE was HIS lifeline, then HE was HER stand-in. Whoever Dra’Khal was, he suspected he was being used as a poor copy, the closest thing to the original she could get.
He didn’t mind.
This thing between them, it wasn’t love. It didn’t matter if her heart lay elsewhere, if his affections were feigned. They didn’t belong together, held no claim on each other but their own selfishness. Each of them had snatched onto a will-o-the-wisp, a phantasm, a twisted reflection of what it was they truly wanted.
He knew what it was, this thing between them; even if he would only admit it when not pretending.
It was illusion, nothing more. Not love, not selflessness, not real.
It was only an illusion…
But it would have to do….

--

Well, what did you think? Drop me a comment and let me know!
P.S: Lol, Debbie is funny. "Donnie, this is no time for the wedgie dance!"