I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He wishes he could hate her. Desperately wishes he could hate her as she imagined he hated her. It would have made everything so much easier. Would have saved him from knowing she could be both his heaven and his hell. It’s infuriating that one creature could have so much power over him in the only ways that mattered.

But of course he could never tell her that. It would serve only to hurt them both, and Ashhal is not that kind of masochist.

In the end, as much as he wishes he could hate her, he cannot. Instead he is left with his own anger and inadequacy - a toxic combination serving only to infuriate him further. Fueling the venom he spits at her. Kindling his rage as he tries to blame her even when it becomes increasingly clear he cannot.

Until she reminds him just how long they have known each other. That she is the only living creature who might remember him when he had been a different man, before the bitterness had claimed his life. He hadn’t been better then, but he had had purpose. A purpose that had long since faded, leaving behind only the echoes of who he’d once been. Of the man she’d once known.

In the end, none of it matters anyway. As the fury fades into confusion, he can only stare at her as she explains it had been her daughter masquerading as her. Confusion, because he believes her without question. Confusion, because the explanation of how her daughter’s power works lays bare that which he has been trying to shove deep where it would never see the light of day. Confusion, because it is almost a relief to have his one genuine secret exposed.

He had always been so successful in his determination to care about nothing or no one - except for her. She’d slipped beneath his defenses eons ago, and he had accepted then that they would never be. It was easier that way.

He knows this would change nothing. As much as he had always denied it, she had always been it for him. But he would never be it for her. And he is far too selfish a man to accept that. He would rather die in agony a thousand times than experience the far greater pain of her giving herself away piece by piece while he watched. For the first time in his life, he was finally able to admit it, even if only to himself.

And just like that, the anger is gone, leaving only the hollow emptiness that always seems to be waiting for when it goes. And as his jaded gaze catches hers, he realizes her daughter had seen something Ryatah never had. Realizes too that there remains only one way to keep from battering himself against the wall he’d been running into for ages.

“You’re the only one with the power to break me Ryatah.” His voice is low, agitation creeping back into the grating tone. “I don’t have very much left that isn’t already fucking broken, but you could change that without even trying.” His breathing is steady, but his dark eyes grow hard. As though he could shield himself from her answer. “Have you ever imagined spending eternity like that? Because I fucking have.”

And it was miserable, every damned time.

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He'd never shown himself before because nothing of him was worth showing. The cracks she was now peering through revealed only the blackened depths of whatever remained of his soul. He'd never admitted to love because he wasn't even certain he was capable of it. Even now he's not certain that's what she truly stirred within him rather than something darker, something far more base.

Ashhal has never exposed quite so much of himself before, and he is surprised to learn that rather than vulnerable, he suddenly feels more free than he has in ages. As though releasing everything he'd repressed for years had lifted an immense weight from him.

Perhaps that is why it is hard to feel guilt for the pain his words had caused her. Or perhaps it's simply that he's glad she finally understands. By that same token, he believes her when she claims she never meant to cause him pain either. It seems they had that much in common.

His own wings lift in response to her agitation, jaw working as he tries to formulate a response. To his surprise, the anger doesn't return as he had expected it to. Instead there is only acceptance. The unexpected realization that he wasn't the one that could decide for her what she wanted to do.

"I can't," he finally replies in a low, almost fatalistic tone. His eyes jump sharply to hers, his jaw tightening. "Your blind fucking obedience is never what I wanted."

And it wasn't. Even if he could trust a choice he made for her, he knew it would never give him satisfaction.

"There's nothing left of me to save anyway. You're wasting your time trying."

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He had never tried to give her hope - not on purpose. He had known from the very beginning there was nothing redeeming in him. If anything, he could not be what she had needed, not the other way around. He would have made demands she could not hope to obey. Would have insisted on impossible things. Not because he would have wanted her to be something she was not, but because he would have wished her to be exactly as she was.

She couldn’t twist herself into what she imagined was the perfection he wanted because there was never anything about her he wanted to change.

And so when she speaks the words, claiming she could never be what he wanted, a harsh and discordant laugh escapes his lips. He cannot do anything but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. But she had released the demons inside him, and now she would have to be the one to live with them. “That was never the fucking problem.” His words are harsh, a harshness he doesn’t try to temper. “If I’d wanted you to be anything else than what you are, it would have made never seeing you again the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”

She’d been the only one who made it through the tiny chinks in his armor because she had been the only one who could have ever hoped to understand him. The only one who hadn’t demanded he change.

Until she had demanded it. Until he’d thought that maybe he did want to change.

What a dumbass fucking notion.

They are so close that he can feel the heat of her, the whisper of every tiny movement she makes. For a moment, he closes his eyes. It would be so easy to imagine this was years ago. That at any moment, he would take his rage and shape it into something far more carnal with her. And it’s tempting. So goddamned tempting he can nearly taste it.

But she had made him vulnerable when he never wanted to be. Had exposed the worst and most raw edges he has, and in the moment, he’s not sure he would stop if she said no. He already has enough regrets to carry around with him for the rest of eternity. He doesn’t need one more.

So, instead, he steps back. She would never know how much that simple action cost him. Would never know how it spoke of the regard he has for her.

“You’re wrong,” he says, a finality in his tone. His gaze sharpens, a hard and bitter edge to it, filled with unacknowledged heartache and regret. “You would be far better off forgetting I ever existed.”

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He had never exposed himself like this to anyone in his life. Never peeled back the layers of his own reticence to reveal the raw edges beneath. And he had never realized how goddamned freeing it could be. Never realized how much it had hurt to keep them wrapped and hidden away. And Ryatah, damn her, was the only one who could have ever made him do so. She could damned well deal with the consequences. The inconsistencies. The most awful parts of him that she once imagined she wanted to know.

He sighs when she replies, her voice wavering and thick with emotion, his own jaw clenching until a tick jumps in the pale lines of his cheek. “I came back because it was you,” he growls, his voice low and harsh with his own ruthlessly repressed regret and self-loathing. “Because even though I fucking knew you would never choose me, I couldn’t make myself stay away.”

Even now, he couldn’t seem to make himself stay away. He had run and run and run again, and always, somehow, he always ended up right back where he started. He could not fault her for finding her own happiness, even if he hated it. Could not fault her because she never would have found it with him. He had always known it to be true. His life had always been cold and cruel and brutal. The future would bring only the same, and even as crass and selfish as he is, he had never wanted that for her.

But there are no words he could find to tell her that. No way he can explain that is what had made him run. That that is what made him abandon her and their newborn daughter in that cave. No way to tell her that he hated children not because he didn’t care, but because having him as a father would be far worse than having no father at all.

Though it shouldn’t have, her question catches him off guard. His ears flatten against his neck, a visceral response to the sentiment. He had despised it when he realized his memories had been stolen, even if it had made life so much simpler. Still, it would be so easy to lie to her. To tell her he had been happier. But the truth is so much darker than that.

Lips tightening into a familiar scowl, his dark eyes find hers, a blistering despair hidden by forced stoniness. “I have never been happy,” he snaps, finding it a surprisingly hard thing to admit. “No, that’s a lie. I was happy once, and it wasn’t even fucking real.”

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He can feel his own frustration rise even as hers does. He should have known it would be impossible to expose a century's worth of repressed emotions like this. Should have known she wouldn’t really understand. Should have known she couldn’t possibly understand. He had always known this would change nothing. Would serve no purpose beyond allowing him to finally release the poison he’d kept inside, burning holes in his heart until he wasn’t certain there was anything left.

But he’s not like her, not really. He never had been. If he broke he would not be remade. He would be left hollow. A shell that goes through the motions of life because he is forced to. He can already feel the cracks spreading, the faded memories of what he’d become. The man who had lain and starved because there was no point to life yet unable to die, being born and born again in that same spot as the cycle repeated.

He doesn’t interrupt her as she speaks, doesn’t interject. Instead he stands like stone, obsidian eyes glittering as he regards her with ill-concealed disbelief. It isn’t until the end, when she softly declares that it might have been him had he only given her a chance. He does stir then, shifting closer, the anger catching on his tongue. But he doesn’t yell or rage. It wouldn’t change anything after all.

“Do you imagine that a hundred years of rejection could be so fucking easily undone in a few short years?” he growls, accusation in his tone. “You used to run as fast and far as I did, and you damned well know it. Or have you forgotten how many times you’ve fucking rejected me too? Was I supposed to believe you’d suddenly changed your mind?”

There is cruelty in his voice now, but he can’t seem to help himself. “Isn’t it fucking ironic that had you only been a little more patient, I might even have started to believe you when you said you loved me?” He steps closer - so close he is nearly pressed against her now. “But it was never me, only the version of me you wanted me to be.” He laughs then, bitter and humorless. “I don’t know that I’m capable of love either. But if I am, it’s you. You as you are now, as you were then. As you were a decades ago when I first fucked you.”

Then, because that is an admission that could never see the light of day - not really - he closes his eyes. “But that won’t change anything, will it?”

He knows it won’t, but foolishly, he waits for her reply. And when the ‘no’ inevitably comes, he will make sure she remembers nothing of this conversation. It would serve neither of them any good.