"Do you love me, or do you envy me?" He takes one step forward, not a small step, or a large one, it is a perfect step. "You may look, you may love, you may envy. It is only natural." The pressure on my neck dissipates like it wasn't even there, I crane my head upwards, where it was like staring at the sun before, now it is like staring through foggy glass. It takes time for my eyes to refocus. He waits patiently, and I see him, God I see him.
Alexander Saint Valentine, one of the four heads of Ouroboros, the oldest son of the Valentine bloodline, there were none more feared. One word from him spans kingdoms, creates movements, and causes men to tremble. I had never been close enough to him to see his face, his ring finger holds a special artifact made to distort his image in any photo and video taken of him. I thought it another form of noble arrogance.
Three women had once been executed years ago, for the crime of sneaking into a Valentine's bedchambers. When asked why they did it, they said, "We had to see him one more time."
I had tracked down the executioner, another Ouroboros dog for the graveyard. Before I killed him, I asked the executioner if they begged, or cried before their death. I wanted him to do the same. He looked at me with haunted eyes, and said they had the widest smile he had ever seen, even as the noose wrapped around their neck.
I had thought the man a storyteller, but now looking at Alexander's pink eyes. I cannot help but understand how a single stare could drive women to their deaths, I held no doubt many men as well. His hair is slicked back, the color of obsidian, it is not black. Calling it simply black would be a sin, his hair looks devoid of light, not greasy or overdone like most nobles, it suits the man.
What catches my eye is the one lock of hair that is unlike the rest, it is in its own world, hanging over his forehead. It is the color green, it is so different from the uniformity that Alexander emits, like a splotch of ink on clean paper.
"Well? Love or envy?"
He is only a few inches taller than I am yet it feels as if I am in front of a giant, his broad shoulders can be seen through the greatcoat he wears. It is as black as his hair and adorned in a mixture of silver and gold etchings. A dusty-rose shaded cord binds his coat together, A single midnight blue tie wraps underneath the lapels of a bone-white dress shirt. Not a single wrinkle, hair, or even speck of dust is visible to my eyes.
"Envy."
His face does not move at my provocation, it is as if his jaw is cut from marble. "You say so with so much conviction. Tell me, how do you live with such envy? It has turned you into." For the first time he looks at me, I see his brow furrow, it is disgust.
"I dreamt of being powerful, of conquering the world. I think every child dreams of being the strongest, that every young lad dreams of conquering the world. At only 26 years old, you have done both. They whisper your name to children, in the hopes they will become you." I respond, the corners of his lips twitch, he is pleased. "But that is not why I envy you."
We had no idea what Alexander Saint Valentine's power was. It was wrapped in as much mystique as the family itself. From what I could tell so far, he had some sort of power through speech. I glance around, finding nothing except the small house, there are none of his usual guards or floaters from what I can see. My body thinks for me.
I was fast, fast enough to not even realize I had already rushed at him from my position, aiming to rip out his throat. He doesn't even lean back, looking at my frozen hand with a face devoid of any emotion, and that is when I realize, we couldn't have been more than wrong.
I scream as my last hand is crushed, it flails around, like a limp rag soaked in blood. How was he so strong? I want to cover it, to bash against the floor in rage, instead I rush towards him once more, Alexander's gloved hand points at me lazily, and I freeze in the middle of my rush. My arm is frozen outstretched towards his throat, he droplets of blood oozing from my crushed hand forms a neat line in the air. "Why do you envy me?" he asks with eyes so empty, emotionless, it reminds me of someone I know, I knew.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. How? How?
Froth spills from my mouth as I respond without thinking, "I envy you because you never had to dig through trash for food! Watching people walk by and look at you with disgust, like I am not human, just like them. When was the last time you were beaten in an alleyway for bronze coins worth less than the buttons on your coat. My mother... my father... you don't know pain, you don't know struggle, you were born lucky! You! Were! Lucky!" My voice breaks at the end, I cannot even move my neck, saliva drips down my mouth onto my neck, the feeling is nothing compared to his stare.
"I see." he says indifferently, flicking his finger. My body is forced flat into the ground, it feels like a boulder on top of me. I struggle enough to lift my head, my vision tinted red by the blood. "If those are the things you believe to have value. If that is the meaning for your conviction. I understand why you are so meager. Why you have nothing. You are truly pathetic, no less than the dust in the wind. You do not suffer because I am strong, you suffer because you are weak."
He was wrong, it wasn't my fault. I force down memories that have haunted me my whole life. I didn't mean to get everyone... I'm sorry. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." I utter like a mantra.
"Even in death, you can do nothing but cower. How disappointing." He moves his gloved hand to slick back the one loft of hair that is out of place, but he stops right before, he makes an expression I cannot discern. "You have something precious of my sister, I love her. I will ask you once and only once. Where is it?"
The whispers tell me to hand it over, to give the orb to its rightful place, with him. I clench my jaw, I didn't care if the whispers screamed, I would rather die. I slam into the ground with my forehead, using it to propel me back. I make it to my knees but without my arms I cannot stand.
He is right.
It is not the fact I am dying that angers me, it is Alexander Saint Valentine's stare. Even with my desperation, my newfound strength, I can't even move. There is no pity, or disgust, I am truly beneath him. I was not worth the emotion. I laugh a sad laugh. I am sorry for lying Irelia. I am sorry for all the people who will die because I am weak. I am sorry. Hell is not hot enough for the torture I deserve. I am sure Lucifer will find a way.
The pressure on me increases. I feel the bones in my body begin to bend and crush, the vessels in my blood bursting. What kind of blessing could do all of this?
"What do you dream of Valentine? Is the world not enough, Where does it all stop. If I am given another life, I will bring Valentine to its end- "
He moves with such speed, I cannot even see a flicker, I can only feel the pressure from the wind.
"The name Valentine will not be dirtied by your mouth. I am a Valentine, I do not need a reason. For that is enough."
It is a weird feeling to see your body detached from your head. His hand is extended like a blade, he had chopped off my head with a single slash, and not a single drop of blood made it onto his body, his clothes as pristine as when I first saw him. He rips a pink orb out of my chest with the ease of a butcher, it glows brighter in his presence. He turns his back walking into the strange house, his coat fluttering in the wind.
I try to laugh, but I am dead.