The day he found me, was the day he met his match.

I am strong. I have always been strong. Be it a blessing or a curse too you, but to me it is merely my reality. The years that have passed since our first encounter at the exam are all blurred now and should you ask, I would not be able to tell you their number. I lost track of how many times we've fought each other a very long time ago. However what I can say, is that he has yet to land a single critical hit, yet to strike a finishing blow. I've won every insignificant battle, every meaningless fight but somehow it seems I've lost the war. I managed to lose my carefully guarded heart, to a man who knows only destruction.

I remember the day so vividly, when he casually asked if I had ever considered becoming Mrs Morow. I can still recall staring at him in absolute shock, my mind staggering to a halt. He never did seem to understand why that question was so bizarre. Especially coming from a man like him. Though I suppose if you pause and look at it from his perspective, it's really not all that odd. 'I'm strong, he's strong, together we'd be super strong.' A simple explanation for a simple man. To this day I still don't know what drove me to say yes to such a proposal, but I did.

Dressed in pure white silk I walked down an aisle boarded in the colour of blood. Red, the shade of violence and so fittingly his colour. It still brings a smile to my face when in mind's eye I see him in a black suit, hair down and fresh faced. Now I have two rings on my fourth finger and the permanent image of their shocked faces seared into my mind. When they finally realized this wasn't some elaborate hoax but a very sincere reality. Only Gon appeared to be genuinely happy for me, although that being said, the whole situation of Hisoka getting married seemed to go over his sweet little head.

Hisoka is mine, I can say that without any doubt. I belong to him just as much as he belongs to me. Once, long ago, there was a time I was alone, exiled because of what I was capable of. Now a facade of cuts and bruises litter my skin and a condescending smirk adorns my face. Another battle won, another battle lost. They say eyes are the windows to the soul but if that's true then mine are all boarded up. He will never see my tears, he shall never know how weak I truly am. Nor how it breaks my heart when skin connects and blood flows. But I'll play pretend, after all I'm good at that game.

"Of course he loves me. He did marry me." It's always the same answer to the same questions. I'm not lying but I suspect they know I'm not exactly telling the truth either. I do love him, with all my being. I love everything about him from his sadism to his arrogance. From his unpredictability to his possessive nature. He loves my strength, how resilient I am. He loves how I'm untouchable and the way I look surrounded by the blood of vanquished foe. He loves how I manifest into a monster. But he does not love me. Thus I try to suppress the hope that wells up inside, after seeing his small smiles when he's convinced I'm not looking. The subtle actions when he assumes I'm not paying attention and the gentle touches when he believes I'm asleep. I ignore the elation they bring in order to spare myself the inevitable pain.

Often I find myself lying awake at night, pondering this life and how it all played out. How the monster who lays by my side, the beast that shares my bed became so human in my eyes. It's strange how he's so unnaturally quiet when he sleeps, and there are times I wonder if he's actually awake, waiting for the time to strike when I finally let my guard slip. Other times I tend to wonder about what his real opinion of me is. It really is ironic how I can read his every thought and opinion about the world that surrounds us, but when it comes to me I can't glimpse even a single thread. And so only the ceiling has borne witness to my inner torment and silent weeping. Because suddenly I know, I'm alone all over again.

There is no affection in this building we call home. There is laughter, but little of it. There is frustration and boredom, anger and suspense. At times excitement but mostly there is silence. For this 'home' is often devoid of all life but my own. Empty, not unlike myself. I do not know if he is happy, I have no evidence that points either way. I can only speak for myself when I say I am not. But I am content, for now. After all I got what I wanted, should that not be enough?

So perhaps I'm a masochist or perhaps I'm an idealist. Perhaps I'm simply a fool. But, regardless, I will continue to fight and I will never let myself lose. For I know that if I give him a foothold he will take the mountain.

So I will never give him a reason to leave. I refuse to fall from treasure to trash in his eyes. If he is the king, then I will fight for the position of his queen.

And yes, perhaps I'm selfish but he's never seemed to mind. After all he's a selfish man too. I guess the hardest part will be in the end, when I finally have to accept that this is it, and all it can ever be. When the only thing that I can say about my life is that tastes so very bittersweet.