By Irith Ayllistira

THE HANGING

6.18 A.M, 11th November, Royal Castle of Corona

I bled today. Not from the core, for it drained out of its blood since Jasper first entered me. Spoiling me. I bled from the heart, because it was the first time I woke up in the morning and I didn't remember Eugene's face.

I just hold on to the premises: two brown eyes, looking at me with desperate lust; but were they round? Were they almond-shaped? And were the lashes curled or straight, long or short? Do his eyes glow in the starlight or do they remain dark?

My new life misleads me. Jasper's features start to merge with Eugene's – they are now the same man, the same beast, the same prince. Together they are a vicious creature, a creature whom I love and hate, a creature I wish dead and a creature I wish in my arms. How to separate the man that completes me the most and the man that tears me apart?

I don't even quite remember who I was before. A loving girl, perhaps, a girl that dreamed of starlight, smiling princes and animals that talked. I felt so protected in my ivory tower that all the shame and the hatred of the world passed me by. Oh, I just didn't know that all that shame and hatred were about to fall upon me with the fierceness of a God and the strength of a Titan.

How have I changed? Was it the rape, the beating, the lies? The thought of Jasper, killing my own soul, separating me from my true love and taking away my legitimate throne?

I don't dream anymore. My nights are colored red and white, a profound slumber that purges the filth from my body. Consciousness would definitely kill me and bring all hope to rest. At least the little bit of hope that still remains.

The worst thing is to willingly mount him. The worst thing is to smile as he thrusts his member in me and to moan whenever he pulls my hair, almost yanking it off. The worst thing is to cuddle beside him in bed and fake a fucking sigh, telling him how pleased I him with his performance. The worst thing is to tell him how excited I am to ride him in the morning and feel his seed spill inside me.

Oh, he likes his details.

At least, as I kill my own values, my body preserves. With a satisfied client, Jasper has no need to tie me up or beat me with a belt. The pleasure of being pleased is greatest than the pleasure of pleasing – at least for a while, or so I pray for every night.

Is he more willing to share is secrets? Definitely. Jasper is filthy and trusts his filth too much. He believes that whenever something goes wrong he has the mouth and the strength to fix it. What he doesn't know is that the little dust that slips away builds up the stone that will knock him of the throne. I'm glad my enemy is dumber than what he thinks he is.

After today, more of that filth will come to me. I just have to be his loyal companion, the whore that hears the master's whispers and pleasures him until he goes to sleep, dreaming of all his plans.

I have to be silent and content until I slip a fucking rope around his throat.

My murderous thoughts don't alarm me. My murderous plans don't shock the silly girl that still lives in me. No one will ever climb my tower grabbing my hair . If anyone wants to climb the tower they have to find the door.

And behind the door I will wait, holding a knife.

Holding a knife with the hand that already killed an innocent.

A/N: Irith Ayllistra, AKA the Ghost Rider, makes an appearance. Barely fulfills the fans' wishes but at least gives a little taste of what may come, perhaps, in the next months or (who know?), years.

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