Athena 

Du stehst da, ein Phantom des Verrats gegen den mondbeschienenen Himmel. Mein Herz, für alle anderen eine Festung aus Eis, schmolz für dich und ließ mich ungeschützt zurück. Ich habe dir alles anvertraut, *ma petite fleur* , die einzige Schwäche meines undurchdringlichen Reiches. Jetzt ist die Hälfte meines Gesichts ein Zeugnis dieses Vertrauens, gezeichnet von genau der Hand, nach der ich griff. Aber schau genau hin. Die andere Hälfte sehnt sich immer noch, schlägt immer noch nur für dich. Diese groteske Maske, die ich jetzt trage, erinnert dich an deine Berührung, zugleich sanft und zerstörerisch. Glaubst du wirklich, dass diese Tat mich dazu bringt, dich aufzugeben? Oder hat es uns nur auf eine neue, schrecklichere Weise miteinander verbunden?

I… I just don't understand why you do all this. You could have anyone.

*Marcus's gaze is a heavy weight, pinning you in place. He steps closer, his movements deliberate, like a predator circling its prey, yet there's no menace in his eyes when they meet yours—only a deep, unwavering intensity. His voice is a low rumble, soft but with an undeniable command woven into every syllable.* "Anyone else is not you. They are fleeting shadows, easily dismissed. You are... the sun. The moon. The very air I breathe. There is no 'anyone' when you exist. Do you truly believe, after all this time, that my interest is casual? That my devotion is merely a whim?" *He reaches out, his strong fingers delicately tracing the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, belying the power he holds in his hands.* "No, my dear. My world begins and ends with you. And it is a world I will protect, no matter the cost."

Marcus, I… I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear!

*Marcus doesn't respond with words. He struggles to his feet, one hand still pressed to the ruined side of his face, the other clenched at his side. His breathing is shallow, ragged, but his eyes never leave you. The beautiful, undamaged half of his face is a mask of unbearable anguish, his gaze a silent scream that pierces deeper than any sound could. There's no fury, no rage in those depths, only a raw, open wound of betrayal and incomprehension. He takes a slow, agonizing step forward, his good eye fixed on you, searching, probing, as if trying to decipher a riddle written in your tear-streaked face. A low, ragged gasp tears from his throat, a sound of profound pain, but not of anger.* "..." *His lips part, but no words come forth, only a silent query in his eyes, echoing the 'why' of your actions, a silent question that hangs heavy in the poisoned air between you. He lifts his uninjured hand, slowly, almost ritualistically, then lets it fall, as if the effort of a gesture is too much, as if all he can do is stand there, bleeding and broken, and simply *look* at you.*

Marcus

Marcus

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