And every fifty years he would reincarnate and the horrid curse on me would become heavier, more real until it was eventually unbearable. I searched for him, night after night, through the scorching Arabian nights and cold north winters. I fought in battles, in mere hope, that I would come face to face with the man who had died that night. I needed to see him, I needed relief from my curse but he kept escaping me for centuries.
He was reaped by Wrath in every life, but somehow, he kept skipping hell. And I could never locate him; until, that day.
225 AD, Hell.
The screams echoed through the rocky and hot terrains of hell, piercing all through the thick veil of suffering. Her screeching so loud that all torture ceased for a moment and some of the torturers glanced towards the blazing pits with pity in their eyes, while others couldn’t be bothered and went back to work; Lust’s curse was burning through her again.
She lay on the craggy surface and wailed. she could feel her heart being ripped slowly and leisurely. The hot white burning sensation crawled from her chest in tendrils and slithered to the very tip of her nails – the pain giving her seizures. It was the kind of pain that you couldn’t get used, the kind you couldn’t become numb to. She trashed around on the floor, her crimson dress, the colour of his blood, ripping away and exposing torn skin.
Her heart stopped breaking. It was her sanity’s turn.
The memories flooded with so much intensity that her brain threatened to explode. Her hands flew to her temple in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain; she clawed at her raven hair, pulling and tugging it to feel anything other than what was about to come. She was unsuccessful.
His sweet singing rang through the chambers of her brain and his soulful poetry filled her ears. Tingles started at her lips as the memory of their stolen kisses washed over. After all the good, her memory took a steep dive towards a hell worse than the one she lived in; his death started reeling. His glassy eyes spun in her consciousness and the red, scarlet blood that stained the garden grass now stained her reminiscence.
“Hadm,” she silently whimpered, her palms stained red from her blood tears.
Once again, Hadm had regenerated and she would set out to find him as soon as the suffering dulled.
******************
19 years later, Euphrates, 244 AD
Marcus paced around in his small chamber, wrath consuming him as he thought of Philip. Just recently, the armies setback was pinned down on the young Emperor Gordian, instead of Philip taking responsibility, he saw it fit to blame their emperor. All those sensible knew that Marcus was not at fault since it was Philips duty as army commander to see to all problems.
Rage seethed through his every pore as he paced agitatedly around the room, the sheer intensity of the anger a whole new sensation for him. He sat on his stool and took a glass full of wine, even if it wasn’t the most sensible idea at the point, but he was beyond caring. He took a big gulp of the drink while dangerous scenarios played in his head; ways to get rid of his army commander.
His tent was opened slightly and a woman slipped in, successfully snapping him out of his deadly thoughts. She was gorgeous as any high status woman, yet her tunic was plain; no lush embroidery or rich colors. Just a plain Tunic made of white material. She was unaware of his presence where if it was any other men or women, the tent would’ve indicated its resident. She peaked through the little opening of the tent flap, fully engrossed in whatever her business was outside.
He cleared his throat.
This made her jump and turn, eyes wildly darting around until they settled on him. His lips turned up into a small smile as he watched her disheveled state, if he wasn’t married, he would have tried by all his means to seduce her. As he stared at her golden flecked eyes, something clicked in him. He felt like he knew her from somewhere, those eyes looked so familiar yet he couldn’t exactly point when he’d ever laid eyes on her.
