^(-_The End of Love and Hate_-)^
With a taste for violence and pain in the hearts of others, he was barbarically inhumane, torturous and sleazy. Divine though in his house, a manor of the finest; with it's high ceilings and long hallways; producing such an echo that the faintest of noises could be heard down the street.
He kept her behind a door, under lock and key. Hiding her away from the world, keeping her for himself; his pet. No matter the torment his voice would bring. A smile was upon her face, the sense of all her beauty and youth ingulfed him, drowning him in the pleasure she brought him. She did not tremble, she did not dread, she embraced him with open arms.
Down the hall, and up the stairs in the north tower he would stow her away. Keeping the hangings tightly closed around the windows, making perfectly sure that no one could notice a speck of life within the palace of her inclosure; a cage.
She was a secret to society, the rest of the world had never met her face. As far as he was concerned... His secret, she would remain. A prisoner of hate. The key to his heart, a madman of pure curiosity, locked inside his dark, and distorted mind.
He loved to watch people suffer, and hated the putrid feelings and life his victims concealed deep within them; he snuffed it out of them. He hated sunshine, and thrived on the darkness of the night. But above all things, showing feeling for life disgusted him completely. To care would have been to fail his own mind. To give away, what he felt was his beloved way of being; his purpose in life would be suicide. No, he'd stay putrid and vile, for all eternity, alone in his mind and the key to his heart; the key to the door, of which lay behind, his pet.
His hands were rough and cold, like a whip in a stable sitting in the harsh of winter. Her skin was always soft, like the skin of a peach. And warm, oh so warm. His eye's were permanently narrowed, beady little pools of hateful black.
But those eyes of hers. Those eyes; a bright loving green, almost glowing taking away his breath every second he looked into them, but her eyes were hardly his favorite thing about her. That hair....
Long, flowing, and black as night with just a tent of golden red; down to her thighs, an explosion of black curls, like waves crashing into the wall of the sea. He would often find himself running his hands through the delicate strands, speaking in riddles like a madman. In which she would giggle at him, telling him how truly silly he could be.
"The Mad Hater" she liked to call him. Had she been anyone else, he would have cut their throat for even opening her mouth, instead he took this as a compliment; "A mad hater? Oh but only yours..." He would never become violent with her, in all their years of confindment with one another he had never dared lay a finger on her; harshly.
He yelled and screamed, cursed and beaten. Violently he'd slain many a men. And felt no shame, or pity for them. He could even sometimes be found laughing at his victims. Before and after their perish.
But her.. She could not be harmed. He wouldn't allow her to leave her quarters, but never would he strike, or yell. He wouldn't let himself, nor did he feel the need. Infatuated beyond belief, to a sickening, agonising point. Dying in love. No one had ever treated him like a human being. No one but her.
It seemed the only one that had ever had any power over him was his own prisoner. The mere thought of her brought him to his knees; a smile across his face.
The touch of her hand upon his skin made his heart pound from the depths of his soul, completely out of his chest; beads of sweat rolling down his face down to his neck. A love so deep and so confusing that death itself could not explain the absurd thought.
She hated the outside world, soaked in the adventure of the night and being the prisoner of hate. Being held captive made her feel safe, she knew nothing of the life outside those walls, beyond the brick and stone. Concealed itself within a tall steal gate; that kept her in, and the scares of the world out. Nor did she wonder. Her mind was stuck on him, he was a mystery to her, yet she couldn't stop her heart from falling every time she saw him.
He relied on her to keep him sane; as sane as a madman gets I suppose. But he had no idea she relied on him. She needed him desperately, loved him passionately, cared for him delicately; like a rose, so vulnerable, and weak. She needed him more than air.
Love itself would fall for the passion between them. If only these feelings would meet. If not held in secret by the other.
The poor saps, lost in a violent war of life and ignorance. The only thing they ever feared, would be the only thing that had the ability to save them from this world.
The sun would be let in someday, their fear bringing the end to love and hate.
