Clarissa Beheads The Villainess

[31] What Lips Touch

Clarissa watches Astaroth. All day, and all night. She sits at his bedside, telling him stories about the world she's from, and more about herself.

"Kings who cared more about themselves were only of history and tales. Oh, but foolish leaders are still everywhere. And there were no crazy princesses while I lived- I think."

If Astaroth can't sleep, then she will not.

When he's in too much pain to feed himself, she feeds him.

A fortnight following the visible symptoms, Astaroth's entire left arm was black and useless. Now, it colonizes his upper torso treading to his neck. It hurt to swallow.

There was no stopping it, not even cutting off the necrotizing limbs.

"Are there cruel diseases too from your world?"

"Many. And plagues. People will always suffer. If not because of each other, or illness, then nature. In every universe."

He struggles to eat, to move, and his face contorts when he talks.

"Why is it, you've spent all this time with me yet you haven't shown a sign of sickness at all?" Astaroth could barely move his arm, but his will had him fighting the pain to graze her skin with his finger. Clarissa watched as he tried, and shivered at the weird feeling.

"And I ask, why it's been all this time and no one has gone to see you?"

"The two are probably on their honeymoon. Two busy looking only at each other."

"But Vixen."

"A jealous man."

"What do you mean? Vixen would never. But he has been kind of distant for a long time even before... err that." She dreaded remembering it too. The fire before her eyes and the screams echoing in her mind.

"He likes you. Never noticed?"

She shakes her head. "I never cared enough to notice."

"I must be lucky then."

Clarissa's face heats up, breaking their locked gaze. While she was too busy admiring the walls because now she felt awkward, she holds his good hand with both of hers, warming his cold, stiff fingers. Astaroth's body is as cold as the wind during ghost season. They say the world becomes cold as unrested souls come back to life.

"So how much longer do you think your mind has?" She asks, noticing Astaroth began looking embarrassed too.

"Long enough."

"Is there anything you want to do before then?"

"I would..." his eyes fall to her lips, and back to her silver irises that reflected his sad figure. Sometimes that made it hard for him to look at her, seeing himself. "I would like to kiss you because I would be a double dead man seeing you kiss my corpse instead."

"What makes you think I'll kiss your corpse? I honestly think I'll retch putting my lips on anything dead."

"You eat chicken, cow, p-"

"Do I smooch my food?"

"They touch your lips though."

"Horrible argument." Clarissa rolls her eyes. Honoring his wish, she pulls her body up, and now hovering over Astaroth she leans in and (kind of) kisses him. A reserved, quick peck on his lip.

Astaroth pouts. "Not enough."

He holds the side of her face with his right hand and pulls her back in for a proper kiss. And another three to savor the moment, no more so because he shyed away from being the greedy type.

Their breaths were hot as they separated, and Clarissa sits back down at his bedside.

And she stands up again.

"I'll be back..." she runs out the door.

"There she goes again." Astaroth groans. Every time it came to confronting her feelings she runs away. If he's lucky, she'll be back in a few hours. If not, she won't show herself till the next day to bring him breakfast.

For now he can only dream about kissing her again. That's the most that'll ever happen between them he assumes. The man in his times of mortal fear would ease his mind by thinking he'd respawn Freya style. That, he'll never know until he's dead. But what he does know is that Clarissa's lips feel nice, and that is far more comforting than the unknown.

His trail of thought goes places, but never too positive.

"What more can I do with a woman when my body is rotting? Few days from now and my cock will rot too, and I will be provided a cup to piss in once I can no longer walk myself to the toilet."

He shivers at that thought.

Clarissa will end up a hospice nurse to him. Isn't that so romantic? Couples promise to take care of each other when their old, bald, and have dementia or amnesia. Except Astaroth isn't old.

"This sucks!" He yells to the ceiling. "I would've preferred dying to my horse accidentally kicking me. At least then I wouldn't have to make anyone clean up my ass at this grown age."

Clarissa hasn't cleaned his ass... yet. She has yet to realize her responsibilities, for now she is but a blushing maiden.

Astaroth glances at his left arm and clicks his tongue. "Fucking ridiculous this life of mine is."