Chapter 20
Thorn
The Eulogy of Hope
Prudence, a delicate tether to sanity, like a thread of gossamer pulled taut between the precipice of chaos and reason. Sophrosyne, a name spoken of not for indulgence, but for the steadfastness of sobriety, the quiet restraint that binds a soul to its own discipline. On most days, I cloak myself in it, wrapping it around me like a mantle, hiding the storm that brews beneath the surface. A tempest that threatens to tear apart the fragile walls I’ve so carefully constructed. I take pride in starving the primal instincts that claw at me, in tempering the fierce need that burns deep within, and in silencing the urges that, if allowed to rise, would consume me in their madness.
I walk in measured steps, a semblance of grace that conceals the savage roiling beneath. The feverish desires, like flames that would devour, recede slowly, unwillingly, like waves retreating into the unfathomable depths of the ocean’s dark embrace. In these moments, I retreat into the shadows of my chambers, seeking solace in the quiet, where the world outside seems to vanish, leaving me alone with the parts of myself I dare not expose. Here, in solitude, I claw at the truth of who I am, feeling its pulse just beneath my skin, waiting, ever patient, to rise.
After all, it is blood and diamonds that have forged the Moretti name, the essence of both woven intricately into the legacy I carry. Traditions, unspoken yet enduring, throb within my chest like a second heartbeat that keeps the name alive, even as they are bound by iron and deception—threads that weave through the very foundation of my existence, entwined with the shadows of my own darkest desires.
But on other days, my bones hunger for the thrill of violence, the searing, acrid thirst that only blood can quench. I step out from my chambers, drenched in the warm, metallic crimson of my victims, my appetite satiated for a fleeting moment. Yet always, it rises again, relentless and insatiable. Their screams, their writhing agony, the madness that dances in their eyes. This is the call that stirs the monsters inside me, the hellhounds who know no mercy. I fear no evil because the shadows belong to me, and so does the valley that stretches beneath my feet. A verse my mother carved into my palms, a sacred line meant to guide me. But her perception of that line could not be further from mine. Hell, to her, was a place for fallen angels, for the missteps of the lost, but to me? Hell is far more intimate. It is the darkness that swirls in the pit of my soul, and even the most devout saint would pale before it. Evil, in its truest form, is as much a part of me as the breath that fills my lungs.
Discipline—such an elusive thing. An act long abandoned, discarded like so many chains that once kept my turpitude in check. It is as if the very essence of restraint has been bewitched, undone by some ancient sorcery. Like Circe herself had whispered her poisons into my ear. Yes, I am a connoisseur of toxins, a poisoner. But even I know that the true poison is not the vials that line my shelves. No, it is her—the one who holds dominion over my thoughts, the one who will unravel me. She is illicit, as forbidden as the fruit that Eve tasted, and I know it’s the allure of the forbidden that draws me in, that beckons me with its dangerous charm. Odessa, her name is a song that whispers of destruction, and she will be my undoing, of that I am certain.
Wrapped in diamonds, her wild, feral eyes glimmering with a hunger I’ve never known, her voice, a serpent’s hiss, calling forth temptation. Odessa could bring kingdoms to their knees without so much as lifting a finger, though she doesn’t yet know it. She doesn’t understand the power she wields, the precious stone she truly is, nor the venomous curse she carries within her. She is both my salvation and my ruin, and in her lies the delicate balance of both. How she doesn’t see it is a mystery, but I know all too well. She is my malice, my undoing, and I will let her be.
A virgin.
She sleeps mousily and blithely. And it appeases me how her mind conforms to solitude when I’m near, even if she won’t bet her lashes to speak of it.
After lunch, I arranged for her to meet with Dr. Hathaway. A medical evaluation is mandatory for her caliber of dance, and given what I knew about her health, I was determined to ensure she was examined by my trusted doctor. While her Waardenburg Syndrome showed no immediate impairments or concerning symptoms, I needed to rule out any potential complications that might arise.
However, I was not aware that she hadn’t been touched. It’s twisted and depraved in more ways than one, but I lack the mortification to pull my thoughts from ripping into her and making her bleed. The bewilderment that flashes in her eyes is a white lie to the perverted images collecting in her head. And to her disbelief, I have been far less carnivorous. My hands itch to split her open, to pry her flesh apart and feast on her heart. To lick on her bones until all of her is buried in me and for my flesh to be marked by her blood.
I want to be woven in her veins and tangled in her limbs.
She’s naked and prying . And lord do I want to make her body shiver from my touch as she cries my name like a prayer, full of devotions.
She’s naked and prying . And I will sink my teeth in her tonight, to quell a bit of the appetency that has kept me awake.
Odessa is the mania that rakes at my sanity, a psychosis to my derangement, as her voice soothes my sins. She makes me sick with a desire, with an unhinged ferocity to possess her like a treasured gem.
Gentle breaths slip between her pinkish lips and her plump breasts move in tandem. A gleeful cast glimmers on her from the moonlight pouring through the open curtains. The room is fairly dark but the bluish grey is all the light I need to admire her. Silver hair unfurled on the pillow, arms spread to her sides and her legs open, leading to her beautiful cunt. A divine ruby.
With bloodied hands, I long to carve poems as destructive as a coriolis storm into her soul. She makes me a slave to her beauty, and on my knees she will be the muse that I play to. A woman with both hellfire at her feet and holy water in her hands, with a body moon soaked and kissed by the wild. She is warm witted with a splendor that is rooted in pain. And for that pain I hunger to shatter the world like Hera did, just for her.
My length hardens, pressing roughly against my sweatpants as I feel dribbles of pre-cum lick of the tip. I drop my hand to palm myself, the slight friction giving me little relief. The overwrought I feel to bury myself deep in her howls inside me wildly. To lick every part of her flesh and etch her taste on my tongue and inhale her seraphic scent.
The mattress dips to my weight as I move up her featherlight limbs. A true sleeping beauty and I, the fear that makes her nightmares wither to mist. I take my time to worship all her curves and dips, gently skimming my fingers over her smooth skin. She feels precious, like a fleeting whisper in the wind. Delicate and warm, as though a single touch could unravel her entirely. Every inch of her seems to tremble beneath my fingers, a fragile dance of skin and bone, easily lost to the softest of caresses, as though she could break at any moment.
Gorgeous.
My calloused hand moves to cup her warmth, and fuck , how have I not done this before. My free hand snakes around her small neck, feeling her fragility against my palm. I want to unravel her world, thread by delicate thread, until all that remains is the quiet echo of my name in her heart. To become the air she breathes, the ground beneath her feet, the pulse that guides her through the dark. I long to cradle the fragments she hides—the scars she curses in the silence of her mind—and hold them as treasures, cherishing the parts of her she cannot bear to see. I want to strip away the walls she’s built, until there is nothing left between us but the raw, unspoken truth that I am all she needs, and she is everything I desire.
My thumb gently rubs circles around her nub, eliciting a small whimper to slip past her lips. Her body burns against mine, a living flame, trembling with a wild, electric hunger that mirrors the fire beneath my skin. She thrums like a struck chord, each breath a note in the symphony of our shared longing. The air between us hums, thick with quiet desire, as if the very space is aching to collapse, to fold us into one fevered, unbroken rhythm. I push a finger inside her and her eyes open wide. The blur in them quickly fills with disarray and a flicker of arousal.
Fiery.
Her eyes, orbs that draw me into a galaxy of stars, hold my gaze, vast and unending. Silken strands of angelic hair spill over the pillow like streams of light, framing a face that is both wild and surrendered, untamed yet irrevocably mine. She looks at me with a fire that scorches and a tenderness that anchors, a perfect balance of the feral and the familiar, as if the universe itself conspired to place her here, in this moment, entirely and unquestionably mine.
She is breathtaking beneath me, a vision of grace, her body a canvas of light and shadow. Every curve, every tremble, speaks of something untamed, as if the universe sculpted her from stardust and set her here, radiant and fierce, to exist in this moment with me.
Her hands rise, gentle yet certain, to cup my face, fingertips brushing a strand of hair that has fallen across my brow. She tucks it behind my ear with a tenderness that makes my heart stutter. Her touch lingers, tracing the curve of my cheek, as if memorizing every inch of me. She pulls me closer, her eyes dark with intention, and when her lips meet mine, it’s not just a kiss—it’s a collision of worlds. The taste of her is devastatingly sweet, like a spark that ignites something primal and boundless, leaving me breathless and undone, as if the stars themselves paused to witness the gravity of this moment.
A fire builds between us with every breath, every touch. The world falls away until it’s just her—just the feel of her lips moving against mine, our hearts thundering in the same rhythm. When we finally break apart, breathless and tangled, she looks at me, her eyes full of something that shakes me to my core. Her fingers glide along my jaw, and her voice, soft and full of awe, whispers,
“You’re so beautiful.” The words settle over me, their simplicity cutting through everything, making my chest tighten with the weight of her gaze.
“And you’re mine”
I trail soft kisses down her throat, each one a promise, my lips brushing the curve of her skin with reverence. Slowly, I move lower, savoring the warmth of her, the way her breath catches with each gentle touch. The air between us is thick with something, darkly and I pause, letting the moment stretch as I meet her stare, finding both tenderness and longing in her eyes. It’s a dance, slow and deliberate, as if every inch of her deserves to be worshipped.
I push her legs further apart and she whimpers. A sound filled with desire and need. I salivate at the sight before me. She’s wet. I lean in, my lips tasting her softly, savouring her sweetness, like a madman. Her fingers weave into my hair, tugging gently and urging me closer, a silent plea that stirs something deep within me.
I gaze up at her from between her thighs, and her stormy vermilion eyes meet mine with a quiet intensity that sends a rush through me. There’s something so captivating in the way she responds, the way her body arches to my cede, eager, and yet so full of trust. Her face is flushed and her lips parted, her every movement a wordless invitation .
Her scent is innocent, a delicate mix of vanilla and honey, sweet and warm, like the softest embrace. It wafts in the air, drawing me closer with its gentle, comforting sweetness, filling the space between us with something pure and effortlessly inviting.
I lift one leg over my shoulder, closing my mouth around her and tasting her with a reverence that feels almost sacred. She tastes like the Elysian fields, like the promised land. Like a place untouched, filled with innocence and beauty. Her scent is sweet—heady, and it fills me with a desire to claim her, to be lost in her completely. The need to drown in this moment, to let every inch of her consume me. All I can think of is her… the way she moves, the way she makes me feel—like I’ve discovered something more precious than anything else in this world.
I’ve been walking this green earth, a starved and blind man.
Her breaths grow heavier, each soft sound slipping from her lips with increasing urgency as she grips my hair harder.
“Sebastian, please — I need…”
“You taste heavenly Wild Rose. Like a sweet, sweet seduction I can never get enough of. ” I pull my head up.
Her voice, breathy and dipped in arousal, flows into my ears like a melody. Her legs tremble as her back pushes off the bed. But with one hand I guide her back down, her magnificent decent mounting and like an angel fallen she shatters apart, a scream pouring past her lips. I feel like a rapaciously greedy man, a voracious predator as I relish in her taste that fills my mouth.
Her unraveling is like a wave crashing, a release so powerful it leaves us both breathless. The way she trembles and lets go completely is more beautiful than I ever imagined. Her cry, soft and desperate, fills the space between us, and in that moment, I realize I want nothing more than to be lost in her, to make her feel everything she has given me.
I watch as her eyes flutter, heavy with the pull of sleep, her breathing growing softer, slower, as the world around her fades into quiet. But when I rise to my feet, there’s a subtle shift, a soft plea in the way she whispers,
“please.” It pulls me back to her. A quiet yearning in that one simple word, a desire for the comfort of my presence. Without a second thought, I gather her gently into my arms, feeling the warmth of her pressed against me, and the closeness that makes everything else feel distant.
I lay her carefully in bed, our bodies intertwining with the soft embrace of the sheets. The room is still, save for the gentle sound of our breathing, and in that silence, time seems to stand still. Her head rests against my chest, and I pull her closer, relishing how perfectly she fits in my arms. Everything disappears, and the only thing that matters is her.