Liar

He could sense his heart beating faster; his breath got deeper. He briefly touched his trembling breast, before slightly lifting his head to soak in the chilly evening air. He didn't quite turn around, he stood in the place he was, before leaving the dusty trail and entering the nearing cliff, which opened up in front of him.

He caught himself feeling a little wistfully, returning to the place where they had argued, he had challenged her, blamed her by revealing his aim to defeat her. She had been enraged even if she had been too proud to admit how disappointed she really was. He could tell by the gloomy look in her eyes. She had failed. It was all to obvious; his refusal to support her, as he was told to do, all that he had been created for, every single hope, her very trust had been washed away with the tide.

Liar something started to throb right behind his temples.

Liar, she trusted me. Her very last chance. Selfish bastard.

He didn't bother to look back; he straightly made his way to the edge, hushed shortly in front of the steep chasm, the great, rough ocean only a few yards beneath his feet, the endless wide of the rainy sky and the mighty, furious waves, blustering and breaking against the insuperable cliff. It was their place, he could feel her all around, he could smell her scent, he could taste her smack. She knew he was going to defeat her, oh how certain she must have been about that. But she didn't care; blinded by her vanity and self-confidence. He had observed her fading right in front of him, but could still hear her scream, and after all there was a voice, her voice pleading him, begging him for mercy, screaming in rage, screaming in pain, in disappointment and distress.

Liar, it was his fault, his and his alone. Oh how well he remembered her; her stunning beauty, her tempting boldness, her intellect and smartness, her wisdom. Her slender legs, her porcelain skin, her paleness, her royalty and poise. How many times had he been longing for kissing those ruby lips? He had been yearning for covering her frail skin with kisses, for touching her perfect, angular neck with his hot breath, while whispering some ardent promises into her silky raven-hair. Her hair, oh how much he loved her hair! These ebony- black cascades melting into her beautiful, regal dresses, her bellicose frocks and corsages. Her perfect skinny hands fostering his demanding skin, while he muffled his vows, unbreakable like a chains, binding himself to her- forever.

But then, he shook his head, she had spoiled his life, all these lies, the broken promises and the pain, the grief, the unbearable despair.

Liar. She had killed his real mother, she claimed responsibility for Nimue's terrible abuses, the mental and the physical ones. She, who created him for only one purpose; he was supposed to prevent her soul from being forgotten, since she didn't love him at all. Did she? He took a deep breath. Darkness was falling slowly and the shores beneath got more aggressive every minute for they were gradually shaking the rocks harder as the first stars rose upon the night sky.

Had she actually been capable of love? He wondered how many times had he asked himself the same question- he wasn't looking forward to finding an answer, never. He closed his eyes.

He remembered her, oh how well he remembered her. He remembered her voice, her smile, her emerald eyes, her all. She had been his mistress, his mentor, his creator. He had been depending on her, she had been his addiction and would always be- he hated himself for this silly devotion, but couldn't find any remedy in this vortex of desire.

Liar. He hated her. He still did with all his heart. She had taken everyone he loved from him, she had ruined his little realm of happiness, she had taken it from him. Why? A selfish bastard she was. She'd always been. Selfish and ignorant. Which one of them was the victim, who the offender? He couldn't quite figure it out, though he'd tried countless times; he, who had always seen for the wealth of his surrounding more than for his own urges, his very own bliss. Hadn't he?

Liar. He satisfied his needs whenever he needed to. He didn't have any consideration for Nimue or the waitresses or even the ladies-in-waiting at Camelot. He was the one to bury his head in shame, not his mistress. He, a damn coward he was, never really dared to near her, to run his fingers through her dark floods, never ventured to make her scream for him, pleasing her in a way only he alone could. Coward. His frozen hands started to shake, his breath was taken by a poignant breeze as the sea was landing. What a damn coward I am. But it still wasn't his fault. It was hers. She'd lied to him several times, he could never trust her, and even now, after all this time, he didn't dare to put any trust in her memory. Had she really existed or was she just a still living memory of a shady dream? Well, at least she must have existed; otherwise he, himself wouldn't be on this earth, would he? Maybe it has been just another lie of hers, maybe she'd murdered his mortal father also.

Liar. He shook his head in terror. Why did he come back? Why did he torture himself with another of these confrontations? He should go forgetting her, like everyone had, why was he the only one maintaining her memory? Why didn't he let go, why couldn't he let go? The answer was as simple as frustrating, shocking, and revolting. Waves were constantly crashing against the shores, shaking his every limb; the wind was as cold and fatal as her embrace.

Liar. He lied to her, he had left and disappointed her. Why did he still feel guilty when all he ever aimed to was her defeat? All he had ever been looking for was his revenge. And his most fervent wish became true- she has been forgotten. She had ceased to exist. Why didn't her memory let him go? Guilt. He felt eternal guilty and stained. And after all he had to admit his treason, breaking down in front of the open sea, lifting his hands heavenly: "Why didn't you watch over me more carefully?" He didn't quite scream, in fact, there was no single word leaving his mouth, it was a silent, very despaired hissing. Why couldn't he let go? Oh, he knew it for certain. After all he had to confess that he still loved her, his mistress, his mentor, his mother.