Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

In the late evening of blue and grey faded sky, chilly August wind swirls through the window parallel to the bed.

Neva lay numbed, on her left side, by the edge, on the side of her bed.

The white lacy curtains, gathered at the fringes, swaying from the breeze. She peers at the inked trees, the fireflies glittering the nature, an illusion to the eyes of a Christmas air.

Her eyes brightens up lightly, three fireflies, fluttering through her window; glittering up the sombre, moonlit room.

She and Rhett had just arrived at the cottage, bewildered to find the house unmarred. They were one of the few, who had their properties unscathed.

The scenario had calmed down, they could finally come home after almost a day at the cave.

Undurable, black clouds of smoke hovering over, and around. Pungent stench of bloodshed, nauseating, horrendous pandemonium: burning houses, burning people, trees, animals, birds, burning wheat fields and ashen hay fields. Fire fighters, warring against the horror of fire. Ashes merged with the dust, blood darkened and seated in the heat.

They ruined it all. They rushed in like a storm, ran away alike a flood.

The wretched minded rebels, shouldering not an ounce of guilt, sneering at the scene, as though; they had just pulled a bloody hysterical prank.

The persecuted: on their knees, they weep and scream, beating, thumping the chest, rooted on the ground, drowned in dust, flying ashes and blood. They hammer the forehead, their tears mourning ocean, cursing the treacherous, ravaged faith.

Family, home, livestocks, fields; everything in flames, everything in shreds. How were they supposed to live on?

Traumatized by the events, Neva lay on the bed, stiff and frantic of what to turn beyond the setting sun. As soon as they had arrived at their cottage, Neva submerged herself in a long, refreshing bath with cold water.

She slipped into the bed, right after getting dressed.

In the evening, word arrived: the plight had been under control, they could finally come home, all the while wondering; if their house, had even the ashes remained.

Her stomach grumbles, she's weary and hungry, yet; she's in no condition to eat and sleep.

Illuminating the hazy room, the light comes to switch on.

"Angel, you need to eat something." Rhett says, fissuring her foggy mind. Neva looks up at him, she hadn't realised his presence in the room. He seats himself on the bed, next to her. His hair moist from the shower he just took.

He leans down, and caresses her cheek.

His eyes softens, she must be starving, she had eaten nothing from the day before.

"I just want to sleep." Neva returns, her eyelids heavy.

He frowns, "You can sleep after you eat. Have some fruits while I prepare us dinner." He suggests, closing to her, and planting a loving kiss on her cheek.

"No-" Neva almost to refuse once more, her tummy grumbles aloud.

His glimpse on her, embarrassed, her cheeks reddens.

He shakes his head with a resolute expression, his gaze stern, "You can't starve the baby Angel."

Neva creases her brows, pursing her lips, guilty of her negligence. Rhett must be famished too. She sighs, "Help me up." She raises her arms to be picked up. He chuckles, drifting in a small smile over her lips.

He embraces her, having her clinging on him. As he has her in a seated posture, he carefully picks her up, bridal carrying his wife, in chorus, her arms wraps around his neck.

In the closeness of the other-half, he saunters towards the kitchen to feed his hungry little family.

⁠⑅ ⑅ ⑅

Neva insisted on giving him a hand, but he offered to do the cooking himself.

She rests at the dining table of four, her back leaned on the chair, she lingers her hands on her baby bump, rubbing over gently. Her eyes trailing his moves, he wore her white, girly apron with peach flowers embroidered.

A light chuckle escapes her lips, he glances at her, his hands simultaneously stirring the stew in the pot.

"What is it?" He asks. Neva shakes her head, smiling, "You don't look so big bad man right now."

He raises an eyebrow at her, gazing down at the apron.

"You look cute," she says, a cheeky smile dancing on her lips. "I don't like being called cute." He complains, fetching a bowl and pouring a ladleful of cooked meat and vegetable stew. "Well, too bad, you're pretty cute to me." She says, teasing him.

Lowering the flame, Rhett brings the bowl of broth with a spoon to her. Placing it on the table before her, he connects a string to Neva's twinkling orbs. His eyes trailing down her innocent smile.

Gently rotating her chair, all around at a ninety-degree, he cages her, his hands on the table behind her.

Their eyes threaded, his own darkens. And with a tilt of his head and blink of Neva's confused eyes, his own veiled in elation, he kisses her on the lips, ravenously. Stunned, she widens her eyes, his motion heated and desiring.

His passionate swill—devouring her lips, she closes her eyes, melting from the warmth of his tongue in the home of her own.

Hands moving up his arms, she encircles her arms around his neck.

Trailing her fingers to tangle in his thick, dark hair, he groans.

Grabbing her jaw, angling their heads, he closens them, blending the flesh, nibbling her bottom lips, he earns himself her sweet whimpers.

Kissing her harder and deeper, swirling tongues in such perfect motion, without sparing the lungs their needed air, humming moans, she's weakening in the knees—so she holds onto his large, robust biceps. They dive in the while of romance; appeasing the hunger of love, lost and found in each other.

Rhett pulls away, heavy breaths wafting over their lips. He pecks her glistening, swollen lips, for one more time. "Do you think I'm cute when you scream while we're in the baby making process?" He slyly asks her, a smirk curved on the corner of his lips.

Her scarlet cheeks reddens shades deeper, she playfully smacks his musculine chest. He chuckles low, her unbound fist barely a breezy pressure. Grabbing the bowl of stew, he takes a spoonful of it, and brings it near her lips. "Taste it," he says. Neva in response, agapes her lips, having him feed her the portion.

He curiously studies her expressions, awaiting her feedback. She slowly savours it, chewing and swallowing.

"Is it alright?" He asks. She gives him a thumps up, "It's flavourful, but a little pinch more of salt should do."

He nods in return. "Okay."

He forges ahead, back to his work. She smiles tenderly, still a little amateur in the kitchen, he attempted hard to learn cooking for her. She made him a handmade recipe book. He memorized it all, he even, without not much of her aid, primed rice and delicious beef stew.

It was such a mystery, she would be unable to picture every of her blue ponders; when he was with her, close to her.

She's so favoured, she feels undeserving of such a loving spouse. He loves her, respects her, protects her, he's kind, and he's very handsome. Her smile delicate: he's perfect, everything and more she could ever dream of.

But; all she did was bring hassle in his life, a hovering misery in his life.

Her orbs dewy, clear water brims in them. She blinks away her tears. All was fine, how could she ruin the hard-earned moment?

Out of nowhere, she could hear a crying noise. She looks at him, their eyes entangling. She slowly gets up the chair, striding towards the doorway. Turning off the stove, he follows behind her.

She peeks through the peephole, a gasp leaving her lips. "What is it?" He worriedly asks. "Ella," she whispers away, forcing open the door.

There, on the doorway, a bleeding Ella, scrunched and loafed up on the floor, in pain.

Neva hurriedly walks to her, holding her baby bump, her eyes burning, tears blurring the vision, she crouches down.

An airy sob leaving her lips, Ella had one of her eyes destroyed, her mouth bleeding out, bruises on her little, chubby form. The wooden floor, darkened from her blood.

Rhett nears her, his heart aching for the orange cat he always found annoying. Neva's shaking fingers reaches her, Ella flinches, shrinking herself. Heart-wrenching her, Ella was now afraid of her.

Rhett scans around the yard, wondering how could the cat produce sounds, when it was grave injured in the mouth.

And, through the illumination of artificial bulbs in the balcony and the yard, he catches a glimpse of the cat, running away, the plants by the fences quivering, the slender grey tail, slipping away in the dark.

His eyes beholding amusement; animals could carry more empathy and benelovence, more than the fraction of humans, living by their emotions kind.

"It's fine Ella, come here," Neva softly murmers. The cat looks up at her, her cheeks swollen and torned. Neva has tears streaming down her face.

"Be careful, she might scratch you." Rhett warns. Neva shakes her head, "No, she won't. Ella, please..." she says, proferring out her palms.

She senses no more of Ella's weariness around her, her touch on her fur feathery, Ella finally let's Neva hold her in her embrace.

He caresses her shoulders, catching her, he helps her stand up. Walking inside through the door, he locks the door behind firmly. The noises of ambulance in the distance unceasing, the cops patrolling, investigating, aiding the people, in the land of Ziriri.