Survive the war.
Survive the voices in his head.
Survive the pressure of being crowned a king when he was better fit for the shadows.
Kamari’s lips brushed his again, and as heat spread across his skin, he decided that despite the hardships of his life, of living with a mind that didn’t feel like his own, her lips on his must be happiness.
Yes, he thought.I’m happy.
He clung to the thought like it was something tangible.
Kamari is the light that will keep me from drifting. My moon that will keep me grounded.
And for a long time, it worked. Her laugh and her voice were so intoxicating, he hardly heard the voices at all. They were a distant memory. A nightmare he was finally free from. They fell into a routine, she at his side, making decisions together for a better Vargah. A better Novaria.
For a year they stayed this way. Growing deeper and deeper in love, until he could no longer keep the voices out.
Desmond sat at his desk shaking off another bout of fatigue.
"You cannot stay, Desmond."
He shooed the voices away, but they pressed on.
"Leave now."
"You will be better off."
"Come with us."
“I don’t answer to ghosts!” He threw his pen atop his desk and stood. “I don’t answer to voices in my head. I will not answer toyou.” He glared into his empty study, but he felt their presence in the chill of his skin and the sweat on his brow. In the spiraling, sinking feeling of dread in his stomach.
Silence stretched from corner to corner, the darkness a rising storm in the small room. Pressure rose in Desmond’s chest, pressing and pressing until he couldn’t breath.
"You know very well, Desmond Orathka, we arenotin your head."
Desmond picked up his pen and sat. Scribbling any and every detail he could into the final pages of his journal. Desperate to put onto paper what he dared not say aloud. He wrote feverishly, his words bleeding together on the parchment. For years, he journaled every moment of his life because he knew, deep down, his life would not be long.
Sweat dripped from his brow. His fingers shook and ached. The darkness grew behind him and within him, gripping his chest like a vice.
Time, time, time.
He was running out of time.
But still he wrote. He wrote despite their warnings not to, he had to put it onto paper. He needed her to know. A sharp pain erupted behind his eyes. He cried out, pressing his hands over his ears.
“LEAVE ME ALONE–”
“Desmond?”
The swell of darkness retreated to the corner, shrank down until it was nothing, and Kamari was there in her silk nightgown, like a beam of moonlight, brushing his tangled hair from his face. “Desmond, are you alright?” Worry etched its way between her brows and Desmond had a thought to kiss it away.
“I’m sorry, my love.” He cleared his throat and took her hands in his own. “Just getting some thoughts out.” He smiled and hoped she wouldn’t see the fear behind it.
“You know you could tell me, right?” Kamari wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “If something is bothering you.” She brushed his hair from his face and cupped his cheeks in her hands. “If something is hurting you, I need you to tell me Desmond.”
The voices were there, humming in his ears like vile insects.
"Do not tell her."
