Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

(Trigger warning: Violence ahead ⚠️)

A gasp ripping out of her arid mouth, Neva's eyelids slits open.

Tears streaming down her temple, her blurry eyes stares at the grey ceiling above.

"You're awake?"

Flinches her a sudden, deep hoarse voice.

Neva glances at him, he lay beside her, so close to her face. She now realises, the heaviness of an arm wrapped around her waist.

The man with dark, esoteric eyes, burying his gaze deep into her beautiful cocoa orbs. Where her long and full, curved black lashes, viscous from tears blossoms a round, rosen almond shaped eyes.

His fingers reaching to caress her scarlet cheek, in a daze Neva whispers, "Rhett..."

Ishmael halts his hand—his jaw clenching. His gaze darkening, he grabs her jaw hard, squeezing her cheeks, having Neva's faint eyes sober up shallow.

"Don't, ever take this name again," He warns, harrying words through gritted teeth.

Neva blinks at him, clearing the senses, her eyes roving over his features. Her lips trembles, she asks herself: how can this be her verity?

Where does she live? In a nightmare, or in the world?

If she didn't know better, she would have lived in the illusion of Rhett's warm glistening eyes in his, dark sombre ones.

She chokes out a sob—hoping this is still a long nightmare. He retracts his grip from her jaw, eyes softening at her closed eyes, flowing thick droplets of her crystal tears.

Hovering over her, he kisses away her veiled lids, having Neva shudder from the touch of his warm lips.

He kisses the tip of her nose, gently moving down her lips, when her palms meets his chest—pushing him away with her fragile strength.

"No, don't. Please take me back to Rhett." Neva murmers, her begging—hopeful eyes connected to his own.

Ishmael smirks, "I won't. I can't." He closens to her ear. "Because I've burned them.

And they died a deserving, grueling end."

She feels a claw rending the heart out of her chest. Neva's iris trembles, his whispers haunting her. An agonizing pain, her senses rotting away.

"No," Neva breathes out. "You're lying." Ishmael, amused looks down at her. "I don't lie, my love."

He slides away her hair, diving for her neck, he kisses there; marking her as his.

Her chest heavy, rising and falling briskly. She whimpers; memories unravelling of her happiest little whiles.

The sobs, turning so heart-wrenchingly loud. Neva attempts to shove him away, but Ishmael forces her down, pinning down her hands with his own.

He kisses her on the lips, devouring every taste of her mouth. Neva shuts her eyes tight, struggling so hard to free, wailing so tragically, as he's murdering her once again.

He parts away their swollen lips, pinning her hands with only one of his own.

Shredding her new, differing dress, he cannot hear her screams, as she greives with silent tears—where the head weaves Illusions.

She's numb and quiet—and so he bruises all over her delicate skin, gorging on her stiff body.

Her cries tormenting her—the heart aches, she cannot breathe anymore. She cannot feel what he's exploiting anymore, she feels not the raging pain down her abdomen no more; for she discards her body, while her soul wails for her beloved husband and son.

He's nailed to her, the bare, drizzled bodies are jerking fast, tearing her apart. His burning form and heavy grunts decaying her all, the violence derives the cries of thousands—the soul melting in the raging lake of Hell, the creatures of abyss, eating her inside out.

She numbs her senses; and prays to be with her loved ones.

With a flickering faith left in the perishing soul; she prays to die.

She blames everyone; yet no one.

She hates everyone... Yet no one. For it's her, her fault alone she's here.

She closes her eyes, and hopes the darkness to swallow her all. And awake her with her husband and their son—warm and breathing in her embrace.

For she denies the nightmare of the real world; their deaths; her tragedy; and now Neva breathes through Illusions of Utopia, her garden of Eden.