#screw hualian the REAL ONES know that Nereida and Ruin invented love/j

[anxiousmalktea]

The Priestess and Her Knight

TW; This story covers some VERY unhealthy relationship dynamics. Some other things in this story include; murder, implied abuse, implied self harm, gore, sexual themes, unhealthy coping, unhealthy mindsets If you are not in the headspace for ANY of those tags, regardless of how light they may be, then please do not read!

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“I will walk through anything to be with you.” That insane High Priestess had uttered such words while her hands were redded with blood undone from countless innocents. While she sewed his wounds shut with a sharp thread of metal. With cheeks flushed from joy at the sight of the Knight, of his successful return from a brutal battle. 

Ruin doubted such a thing, walking through ‘anything’ to be with him? Foolish. Inane to such a degree that it could draw a bark of laughter from deep within him. As if he would listen to the mutterings of someone so clearly deluded with his image of beauty to see him as he was; A monster. A beast, a mere liquid shadow wrapped in flesh and bound with butcher's twine. 

But that was not the case- no, it was far from it. That deranged woman- man? It was hard to tell sometimes- begged him to stay laden in blood while she healed his wounds with prayers of healing. Pleaded with him to keep his blade unclean so she could see the scarlet dry in layers like some kind of twisted watercolor painting. Agreeing with his scathing words towards others in sincerity, adding some of her own colorful compliments in turn. 

The cherry that had topped this sundae of devotion was when Ruin had decided to face the God of War. Had piled corpses high enough to reach the heavens and challenge the God with cries of battle. And had subsequently been beaten to the bottom of the gorey mountain by the hands of said God. Yet even still the Priestess had clawed her way through it all, staining her pure opalescent holy robes a rubine red in her effort to reach him. And she had cared for him, cradled his form with a touch so feather-light it was as if he were sand. Spoke words of encouragement to him as the dry taste of defeat settled on his tongue. 

She was a wellspring of adoration- borderline mindless in her obsession for him. Surely she would shy away from him when he was drenched in flecks and globs of viscera and flesh? No woman could ever withstand the sight of a man- no matter how handsome- with his face contorted in a snarl and teeth bared like a dog at his enemies, right? This nymphomaniac who speaks of her ardent enamoration of him would shout insults at him if he killed her guards, slaughtered her aids, and threatened the residents of her church, wouldnt she? She… she would… right? But such a time never came to pass, no; when he came to her soaked in blood and decorated with boons of battle, she had graced him with a smile. One he had found himself feeling for once not agitated to see. Again when he had shown upon the steps of the holy land and defiled it with his words of pure rage she had not demeaned him, had not even flinched at his gravel tone; instead she had squealed with delight, and beckoned him to repeat his words, his tone, his anger at her once more. And looking on it in hindsight, the guards he had killed, they had all been the ones who so shamelessly flirted with her before. The aides he had torn asunder, had painted the halls leading to her chambers with, they had soiled her clothes by washing them wrong and left her unable to fend the cold properly. And the church goers- well they had always hated them both, hadnt they? Two twisted souls, both described as inhuman and insane, did the people not mock them as a perfect pair? With her battered in crimson and scratched raw along her knees and fingertips, Ruin had never once given much thought to such callous statements. For who could ever love a thing like him? Yet this Priestess, she had a knack for collecting things didnt she? She had not found him, no, he had found her. In this pile of those who do not matter, of unnamed corpses that will rot forever for making him harken this blooming sensation. He had found her, yes, for he had always loved red, loved roses, loved florals; and in this moment there was no greater blossom than her, the one cradling his bruised visage like an unruly kitten. Gracing him with a grin that makes his dead heart churn and make him sick beyond measure. 

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I wrote this OVER A YEAR AGO and it STILL hits hard as fuck. Genuinely, I will post more of my writing if anybody who reads this wants to continue reading more of my work. Leave a like, reblog, whatever to show me your interest. There is a second part to this story that is a What-If scenario of if Nereida were to die in Ruins arms. And not to toot my own horn but I think its very... heart wrenching. Very sad, obviously, but also Ruin going schizo mode for having the one good thing taken from him is... erhm *debbie ryan hair tuck* pretty sexy if you ask me.