When the grip of madness tightened its hold, Rezette found himself haunted by an unrelenting urge to kill. The rush of pleasure that surged through him at the thought of rending flesh and spilling blood was intoxicating, driving him inevitably towards scenes of carnage.
But amidst the chaos of his mind, there was one thought that consumed him more than any other – Elizabeth. Just speaking her name sent a feverish heat coursing through his body. Since the first moment he lusted after Elise’s form, the onset of madness had become a torment beyond measure.
If only Elizabeth stood before him now, he knew he would be powerless to resist her. Rezette’s hands clenched the sheets, his veins bulging with the force of his desire.
Regret gnawed at him for not bringing something to remind him of Elise – a token of her presence, a memento to anchor him amidst the storm of his madness. Perhaps a trinket she often wore, or a silver hairband with its delicate curves. Better yet, he should have brought her along, kept her by his side to quench this insatiable thirst. At the very least, a portrait to gaze upon her face in his darkest moments would have sufficed.
With a bitter self-mockery, Rezette touched his chin, his mind drifting back to the scent that lingered in the air just before he departed. He remembered the silky smoothness of her skin, a blend of sunlight and moonlight.
With trembling fingers, he sketched the contours of her form in his mind’s eye – the graceful curves, the enticing sway of her hips, the soft swell of her figure. The memory of her voice, moaning in ecstasy, echoed in his thoughts, a siren’s song drawing him further into madness’s embrace. And amidst the chaos, she remained as irresistibly beautiful as ever.
In his twisted reverie, Rezette found himself indulging in lurid fantasies, parting his wife’s legs with a provocative intent. He thrust into her fragile form, gazing into her frightened golden eyes. Yet, even as he surrendered to these futile imaginings, he knew deep down there was no need to savor Elizabeth’s tears or to expend effort coaxing her adaptation.
Self-revulsion clawed at him, an intense loathing for his inability to halt these base desires. It was in these moments that Rezette despised himself to the point of trembling with disgust – the moments when he felt his humanity slipping away, replaced entirely by a bestial instinct.
Like a wretched cur, he groveled, mirroring a father he had never known. Blood splattered across the canvas of his mind, the visage of Elizabeth morphing grotesquely into that of his mother, her eyes wide with agony as her body tore apart. Instinct overwhelmed reason, and he was consumed by a hellish ecstasy.
“Ugh….”
Rezette clenched his teeth until his jaw jutted out, recoiling from the repulsiveness of his climax. Fumbling beside the bed in an attempt to escape the haunting illusions, he inadvertently triggered a crack, summoning a small bolt of lightning that struck the candlestick at his fingertips.
As crushed herbs ignited, the scent of mandrake filled the air thickly. Yet, far from quelling his arousal, the flames only fueled an unbridled excitement that coursed through his entire being, obliterating any trace of self-loathing in its wake.
Horribly, he yearned for Elizabeth.
His possession, his prized possession. Invaluable to him beyond measure. She was his, and his alone.
After indulging in her lips repeatedly in his mind’s eye, Rezette finally shook himself free from the suffocating reverie. Damn it, it had only been two days. Realizing the urgent need to hasten his return, he resolved to expedite his plans.
It was late September.
This happened just days before Elizabeth left Rotiara.
***
The winter purge force loomed larger than its summer counterpart. Covering the vast expanse of the Grenthern mountain range up to the northern tip of Grandel, Rezette found himself overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the task at hand. His solitary efforts proved insufficient to handle the magnitude of the operation.
Despite the expanded manpower, the purge sequence remained largely unchanged. Once Rezette had carved a path through the purge area and regained some semblance of composure, the knights formed trios to systematically cleanse and purify the land.
Ruben, tasked with igniting fires to vanquish the lingering black magic of the dragon, stole a glance at his lord standing aloof. He leaned in to whisper to Isaac.
“This cycle feels different, doesn’t it…?”
“Indeed. He lacks his usual bloodlust.”
Ordinarily, their lord refrained from engaging in the herb-burning ritual during purges. Yet, a mere two days into this expedition, he began incinerating an unprecedented quantity of herbs.
The lord, usually reveling in the slaughter of beasts, now exhibited boredom and irritation rather than frenzied joy. This unexpected change allowed Ruben to approach him on the fourth day, even initiating a simple conversation.
