BLEEDING HEART | ONC 2024

014 - HIM

I've been following her for a week.

I conceal myself in dark corners and project myself into her mind, whispering all the things I know she'd like to hear. And every time she whirls around, thinking I'm behind her, I ensure I'm camouflaged, and she won't see me. Behind a bush, a tree, another person; I'm always hidden, and she always shakes her head and moves forward, thinking she's hallucinating.

She's not. I'm causing this. And the poor, sweet soul has no idea.

These powers I've been gifted—getting into someone else's head—they're intense. At first, I could only use them a few minutes at a time, because they depleted me. With practice, I was able to stay in Dru's mind for hours, and eventually, days.

But it's not only physically exhausting; it's mentally draining. I have access to some of her thoughts, and they're confusing. The word angel keeps popping around, making no sense. She keeps calling herself that, and while I initially thought it was a term of endearment, I'm no longer sure.

I don't stop, no matter how troublesome her imagination is. No matter how violent she's become towards others. Many folk jerk sideways at her approach now. She's known as the brooding witch who stomps around grumbling, and no one wants to get in her way. She's been banished from Hazel's Vale, and rarely leaves her temple grounds cabin except to gather food.

Apparently, the priestesses are no longer sharing their portions with her. I find it hard to believe they'd share with anyone, in truth. What I learned about them through Bazroth was that they only cared for the goddesses, only served them.

Somehow, Dru made friends with them, and they'd granted her shelter and safety. I have a feeling that will all pass, soon. They're sick of her, of her antics, her moods. She's often inebriated, yells at everyone, and no one wants to be around her.

But I keep on. I force images of myself into her brain; memories of our night together, and of other nights that might have occurred. I fill her up with desire, then yank it away when she wakes, alone and all dried up.

I've touched her, a time or two, while she slept, taking naps in the few inns that would let her use them. She has no clue. Her body responded to me, and in her head, she was picturing us making love, so I didn't consider it to be too big of an invasion. She wanted it.

But even if she woke up, she wouldn't have seen me. Perks of my demonic power: I could be invisible if I wanted to. So I hovered over her half-naked body, trying not to drool as I enticed her with sexual dreams.

Often, I murmur in her ear, making her tremble. I say things I hope will arouse her, soothe her. But all they do is rile her up more. She's loaded with fury, and she's on the borderline between sanity and losing it.

In the moments I leave her alone, I curl up in a ball in my rented room, rocking myself. It hurts me to do this to her, to inflict so much torture. She haunts me, too, though she's not aware of it. She's not consciously doing it, because she's so busy trying to ignore her thoughts of me.

I wish I hadn't acted so brashly. I could have gotten away with a few more nights with her, a few more rounds. Could have indulged in her a little longer, satisfied my urges, so it wouldn't be so difficult for me to continue to ruin her from the inside.

But Bazroth's voice echoes in my head—yes, a real power, I've realized. I first thought I was receiving past recordings of his words before I was born, but it's truly him. He squeezes into my mind for progress updates, demanding to know how soon the population will be infected.

I'm forced to tell him it's still a work in progress, and he doesn't like it.

"It's a time-crunch, Azath. We don't have unlimited time or resources."