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justforbooks · 2 years

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Η Μητέρα του Σκύλου εκδόθηκε πρώτη φορά το 1990 και έκτοτε συγκινεί όχι μόνο το ελληνικό αναγνωστικό κοινό, αλλά και τους λάτρεις της καλής λογοτεχνίας στο εξωτερικό.

Το πολυμεταφρασμένο αριστούργημα του Παύλου Μάτεσι υμνήθηκε από την εγχώρια και παγκόσμια κριτική και συγκαταλέχτηκε από τον λονδρέζικο εκδοτικό οίκο Quintet Publishing στα 1001 βιβλία της παγκόσμιας λογοτεχνίας που πρέπει να έχει διαβάσει κάποιος μέχρι το τέλος της ζωής του (στον τόμο 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die).

Η γαλλική εφημερίδα Le Monde αναφέρει χαρακτηριστικά: «Στη Μητέρα του σκύλου, όπως ο Φώκνερ στο Η Βουή και η Μανία, ο Μάτεσις δίνει τον λόγο στους πτωχούς τω πνεύματι [...] έργο εξαιρετικά δυνατό».

«Ένα κορυφαίο έργο της ελληνικής –και όχι μόνο– σύγχρονης λογοτεχνίας» το χαρακτηρίζει η γερμανική Die Welt, ενώ ο συγγραφέας Άλαν Σίλιτοου αναφέρει: «Μόνο ένας δεξιοτέχνης της γραφής θα μπορούσε να γράψει αυτό το βιβλίο».

Ο κριτικός Κώστας Σταματίου σημειώνει στην κριτική του στα Νέα το 1990: «[...] γράφει με άνεση καταπληκτική, παίζοντας σαν ταχυδακτυλουργός μ’ έναν διαχρονικό πλούτο λέξεων [...] η σάτιρα, η υπόγεια ειρωνεία, το πικρό, καταλυτικό χιούμορ του Μάτεσι και παράλληλα ο λόγος, γλωσσική διδασκαλία – τι να πρωτοθαυμάσεις;» Λιτός και περιεκτικός ο Κώστας Τσαούσης αναφέρει στο κείμενό του για το βιβλίο στο Έθνος: «Στο λευκό της τελευταίας σελίδας του βιβλίου σημείωσα: Κάλλιστο».

Στις 20 Ιανουαρίου συμπληρώθηκαν εννέα χρόνια από τον θάνατο του σπουδαίου λογοτέχνη και οι Εκδόσεις Καστανιώτη ξανασυστήνουν στους αναγνώστες τη Ραραού, επανεκδίδοντας τη Δευτέρα 24 Ιανουαρίου τη Μητέρα του Σκύλου σε σκληρόδετη έκδοση, συμπληρωμένη με εργοβιογραφία του συγγραφέα.

Μια ασήμαντη, άοπλη, άχαρη και αδύναμη γυναίκα προσφέρεται ως γελωτοποιός μας, επειδή δεν γνωρίζει πως είναι τραγική. Γελώντας, περιγελάει τον εαυτό της και μας ξεγελάει για να μην την περιγελάσουμε εμείς. Με τη ζωή της υπερασπίζει μια άλλη γυναίκα, τιμωρημένη, που αρνείται να αμυνθεί: τη μητέρα της.

Στη διαδρομή της αυτή (τη ζωή της ολόκληρη), από προπολεμικά ως τις μέρες μας, γνωρίζει την Κατοχή, την προσφυγιά στην πρωτεύουσα, την επαιτεία, μεταμφιέζει τον εαυτό της και τη ζωή της. Δεν θα καταλάβει ποτέ ότι, υπερασπίζοντας τη μητέρα της, συντροφεύει τη μόνιμα ταπεινωμένη πατρίδα της, μέσα στην οποία ζει εξόριστη λέγοντας αστειάκια.

Ορισμένοι ίσως και να νομίσουν πως συμβολίζει τη χώρα της (χώρα τους), επειδή αμφότερες έχουν υποστεί συγγενείς εξευτελισμούς, έχουν συγγενές μη-μέλλον και ευθυμολογούν. Για να μη γίνει στόχος σκοποβολής, θα σμικρύνει και θα γελοιοποιήσει τον εαυτό της. Θα προετοιμαστεί για τραυματισμούς, αυτοτραυματιζόμενη προληπτικώς καθημερινά. Όμως κανείς δεν θα τη λιθοβολήσει. Επειδή κανείς δεν πήρε είδηση την ύπαρξή της.

Και επειδή δεν έχει κανέναν δικό της άνθρωπο (την εγκαταλείπει ακόμη και ο συγγραφέας του βιβλίου αυτού), η γυναίκα βρίσκει καταφύγιο στον αναγνώστη του βιβλίου για συντροφιά και παρηγόρηση. Διότι κανείς δεν μπορεί να εξηγήσει ένα βιβλίο. Ούτε ο συγγραφέας του. Όλοι όμως μπορούν να το διαβάσουν.

📷 Photo above: Ο Παύλος Μάτεσις

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Παύλος Μάτεσις #Η Μητέρα του Σκύλου

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the-phooey · 2 years

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Have you ever thought, Brendan, how many completely different lives there are to be lived if only one could choose?

JG Farrell, Troubles

#jg farrell #j.g. farrell #troubles #quote #quotes #lit quote #lit quotes #literary quote #literary quotes #books #book #1001 books you must read before you die #book bucket list

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rjdent · 1 year

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The Songs of Maldoror in 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die and the front cover of my new illustrated English translation of Le Comte de Lautréamont’s seminal classic, published by Infinity Land Press:

#Maldoror #The Songs of Maldoror #Le Comte de Lautréamont #Lautréamont #Isidore Ducasse #Infinity Land Press #R J Dent #1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die

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monique-snyman · 2 months

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Reading Goals: 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die

In my previous post, I talked about how I recently acquired the book 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die, and how I had a plan. Well, folks, it’s time for me to divulge how I have prepared myself for this literary journey (challenge?) and how I am actually going to read so many books before I kick the bucket. Reading Goals: 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die Preparation Is Key One…

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#1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die #classic books #Classic Books To Read #Reading Goals

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the-professional-cutemeister · 3 years

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these, our bodies possessed by light || vergil x reader, chapter 1

The city of Red Grave has been defeated; Urizen, the devil king, has risen. No warriors have been able to best him, and countless lives have been offered to him in sacrifice. They say the devil king’s bloodlust is boundless… And you, last of the witches of Red Grave, are his betrothed.

(Vergil x F!Reader, with some V x F!Reader. Arranged marriage AU, with elements of Beauty and the Beast and 1001 Nights. An attempt to give Urizen some personality. Romance, eventually.)

much thanks to @tonitart for supporting me as i write this. <3 if you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

read it under the cut or on ao3 here!

these, our bodies possessed by light

1. land a man in a landscape and he’ll try to conquer it

Today was to be your wedding day.

Soon to be married to the devil king, all you could feel was trepidation and fear. Your marriage was not one for love, far from it; it was a marriage of compromise. Of sacrifice.

An offering of your life, for peace between the humans and demons, a reprieve from the cruelties of hell on earth.

You have a responsibility, your aunt told you as you dressed in the nicest gown you owned. It’s an honor, to have so great a task bestowed upon you.

I am going to die, you wanted to say. Your finest dress would become your funeral gown.

As one of the last witches, you were offered to the devil. With your unique abilities, the people of Red Grave hoped that you might find a way to end the devil king’s reign of terror. While it was true that you possessed some magical power, you were experienced mostly with healing and incantations, rather than combat magic.

You had met the man—if he could be called that—who was to be your husband only once before. You were relieved that at least, you would not have to live in the Underworld for this union; you would live in a palace that remained on earth.

No man nor demon on this world or the one beneath could face him. The people were sure that his was the wrath of a god, unleashed upon a defenseless humanity, and that such a great and terrible god could only be sated by the ultimate sacrifice, the gift of life.

However, you remembered that day—meeting your betrothed, slouched on his throne as you were presented to him. He had not been any more amenable to the marriage than you were. Impossibly tall, his features masked by demonic armor, you had been unnerved at the sight of him. You recoiled when you imagined the marriage bed—you could not possibly be expected to perform the wifely duties for such a creature, could you? He looked utterly monstrous to your human eyes: a twisted appearance, his body the color of brimstone and blood and covered in roots and thorns.

His voice was inhumanly deep and rattled your very bones.

“Is this to be my bride? A human?”

Despite yourself, you froze like a rabbit faced by the wolf. Your heart thundered and you could not help but cower, because what defense did you have against this creature?

You let your eyes settle on him. You could not discern even a hint of humanity in him, only the cruel cold glow of blue light in the gnarls of his skin, the suggestion of a crown by the thorns on his brow. There was no soul in those eyes.

The man beside you quailed, though he had been the one who had arranged all this. He said, “This is an offering from the humans. One of our most precious—one of our own. A great sacrifice.”

You were hardly as great an offering as he made you out to be. You were no virginal young maiden, no legendary beauty, nor the prized first daughter of a proud and subjugated lord. Your life and your body were being thrown away to sate the bloodthirst of a devil that did not even desire you. What use were you, really, to him?

He seemed to consider this. “I could kill her,” he said, “the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.”

Your blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly—but this was a devil, not just any devil, but the king of them. You would not put it past him to kill you in cold blood. You knew that devils would not hesitate to execute any mortal that dared displease them.

And those who had come to his house before you, all killed by his hand, were the evidence: warriors that dared take arms against him, spies who attempted to undermine his power from the inside, and others like you, who had been offerings from their own hometowns. They, too, had been sacrificial lambs, offered to the demon king in a desperate bid for the legions of hell to stop ravaging the land, misguided appeals to the devil king’s nonexistent mercy. You knew not why those women had been deemed unsatisfactory, nor how many they numbered, only that they had all failed to suppress the devil king’s thirst for blood.

Rumors abound that he took wives not for procreation nor for pleasure, but for his own sadistic, murderous desires. Some lived for quite a while, others only a single day before being executed. But they all ended up the same way: dead.

Today, at your wedding, you had to find out how you could stay alive.

Before you left, you recited a spell of protection for yourself, so that you might not come to harm. You spoke the incantation from your memory as easily as you read it from a book, the familiar words and energy of the magic calming your mind. You pulled out a pendant you wore around your neck, a simple crystal you had infused with dormant power. This you poured your protective ward into, then hid the pendant beneath your wedding clothes. Then, a prayer, to the spirits above and below, that your magic might hold, and your treacherous intentions remain obscure.

Your betrothed had made almost no arrangements for the ceremony, not that you thought demonic weddings were even supposed to exist, anyway. There was simply a minister who had administered the rite upon the both of you, reading aloud the marriage vows and presenting the documentation of your union. One other demon was present as your witness, and that was all. You found you much preferred this, if the alternative were to get married with the people’s eyes upon you, watching and complacent at your sacrifice.

Your husband was called Urizen. He remained seated and he spoke no more than was absolutely necessary. There was no reception after the ceremony, only a dispersal of the scant amount of demons in attendance.

He did not stay with you afterwards, either. In fact, you would not see him until well after night had fallen.

In the meantime you were introduced to your chambers. Possibly the only good thing about this was that you would be living in comfort, however short the rest of your life might be. The palace was an old one, standing centuries before your great-grandparents were ever born, and comprised of so many rooms and structures that you could conceivably take years to explore it all. It was clean, surprisingly so, but cold and empty. It did not have the life of servants bustling around, or any other residents. Or maybe it did, and you had not seen neither hide nor hair of them. The palace was certainly large enough.

Of note were the books in what you assumed to be your husband’s room. There was an astonishingly large amount, and when you looked, they were mostly fiction and poetry, contrary to what you had thought. Some titles you even recognized, and many were well-worn, obviously read several times.

It was a strange detail, you mused, that a devil with such disdain for humans would so readily consume their literature. It was something that had kept the gears of your mind turning the rest of the day. You had a way with words, and writing had always been one of your strengths. This, along with the way your magic manifested, would be the key to your survival.

In the evening you took dinner alone. Despite being human, you were still considered with some respect, as you were served delicious food in a large and ornate dining hall. You were just completely alone; even the demons that served you were mere mannequins, unable to speak or perform actions beyond their purpose. You had the feeling that your new husband did not like to populate his home very much. You weren’t sure if that were better or worse; surely there would be no one to witness or call out to if he attempted to murder you, and you doubted that anyone would even notice in such a situation.

After dinner you washed up, spending so long in the bath you were sure you would shrivel up like a prune. You didn’t want to think about what was to come once you headed to bed; Urizen had not yet returned from wherever he had gone.

With apprehension you left the bath and dressed for bed. You wore a long nightgown, one that covered your body as much as possible. You missed your corset and your layers that shielded your body, much better than a simple nightgown could. You climbed into the bed, a large, ornate affair carved from dark wood and curtained with damask. The bed was sinfully soft, and against your better judgment you found yourself slipping into sleep as you lay there, wrapped in blankets and exhausted from the day’s events.

* * *

You didn’t want to do this.

Terror clasped at your very bones as the plan was explained to you: you, the last witch remaining in Red Grave, would be sent tomorrow into the devil king’s lair under pretense of an offering, as many other towns and cities had attempted to do.

“Hide your magic,” your aunt told you. “Find out what you can about his protections.”

“Yield to his demands,” your uncle instructed you. “Do what you must to survive.”

Numbly, you nodded, even as your veins ran cold.

“Your life is no longer your own,” they said. “The people of Red Grave count on you, now.”

The people of Red Grave had sent their men and women in futile attempts to fight the demon king. When that failed, they began to leave, or to bend the knee to cruel and demonic overlords. Some had fled to Fortuna, hoping that the supposed land of Sparda’s blessing would offer respite from the demonic invasion. Only a few years later was that hope disproven; demons installed themselves in that city’s highest of holy orders, and now Fortuna too bowed under the weight of hellish rule. Your parents had gone to war, too. They fought, and they died, and now you were expected to assume that burden.

You pressed a hand to the crystal that hung from your neck, a last gift from your mother, who taught you everything you know.

Then you silenced your fear. Outside, the summer flowers bloomed, mindless of the blood spilled on their grounds, and you promised upon your life to venture into the heart of the devil king.

* * *

You immediately woke at the opening of the door. You were still restless, after all. Moonlight still poured in through the window; you hadn’t been asleep long. The one who entered was a devil, one you recognized attending your wedding. From his chest he glowed orange, the light the color of molten rock, with an impressive set of wings extending from his back. He spoke:

“My lady. You are summoned to the throne room.”

You blanched at the address, though you expected it as befitting one who was the demon king’s wife. You supposed this made you a queen, but the title meant nothing when you felt like a prisoner. You were not allowed in the throne room, not unless you were explicitly summoned. Despite your position, you held no power in this place. All you had were your brains and the strength of your will.

“Y-Yes,” you wavered, and stood unsteadily, your hands wringing at the cloth of your nightgown. You followed the devil to the large room where Urizen stayed, dark save for the fireplace, kept lit with blue flames.

It was your husband, looking much the same as he had during your wedding. He still wore the same expression of cold indifference. At his side floated the ever-present red jewel, a mysterious object from which you could feel waves of strong demonic power. What manner of magic was it, you wondered?

“My lord husband,” you addressed him, taking a knee as you had been instructed to.

“Wife,” he grumbled, as if saying the word pained him. “Get up.”

You stood. Urizen was seated on his throne, one arm bending to support the chin, eyes skating over you to land on the flames in the fireplace as if you weren’t even there.

You had not moved. You bit your lip, wondering if what you had in mind would work, or if it were even sane. Once again, the image of the books next to the chair revived itself in your mind.

“My lord husband,” you said again, “may I interest you in a story?”

Your voice interrupted his brooding. He raised his head slowly from his hand, his face turning towards you in what looked like a silent fury. You hoped you hadn’t inadvertently angered him with your seemingly inane question.

“…A story?”

There it was, that deep, deep voice that sounded like the rumble of the earth itself. There was something strange in his tone: less animosity, something more akin to questioning. Maybe curiosity, if you were feeling generous.

“Yes,” you said, “I like to tell stories.”

You could barely keep the tremor from your own words. So far, he had done nothing, but Urizen still terrified you, as distant and dangerous as he was, the sound of his words before still echoing in your head.

I could kill her the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.

You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Maybe for now he would keep you alive, or maybe he would murder you later.

“You realize this is no harmonious marriage,” he said. “You mean nothing to me. I do not care about your stories.”

He sneered the last word. You could not help but shiver, but your mind’s eye once again found those well-worn books, stories and poetry that were clearly loved and perused. How long had it been, you wondered, since he had cracked open a book?

You settled yourself next to his throne. Carefully you started to speak, weaving the story you had formed in your mind. You had always been a lover of art, of literature, and you had dedicated many years of study to the humanities. You felt you could put together a story that would keep his attention and weave your spell so that your husband would not lay a hand on you and—maybe—change his heart.

To your astonishment he made no move to stop you. On the contrary, he seemed like he was listening, though he never said a word and never did he turn those cold eyes towards you.

You felt your resolve waver, but you didn’t let yourself falter, not when you had lulled him into this strangely receptive mood with your words. You still feared the devil—after all, he could so easily kill you, and even slouched in his throne you felt the aura of death from him. The red crystal revolved, silent and dangerous.

You continued your tale. You told it all the way until you had reached the last of what you’d written. The hero had fled the destruction of his hometown and met a young woman to whom he’d recounted his tale. He felt torn between his need for vengeance and the feelings that were quickly growing for her.

“Is that all?” Urizen asked.

You looked out the east window. The sky was swathed in violet and edged in gold by the encroaching sun.

“Morning approaches, my lord husband,” you said. “The story must be continued the next evening—I haven’t slept.”

He grumbled, but made no further complaint. Then, “Get out.”

“My—”

“Return to your chambers. Bother me no further.”

You quickly stood, nodded, and nearly ran out of the throne room. You weren’t sure how long you ran, or if you were even going in the right direction, but you made it back eventually.

You closed the door behind you, chest heaving, and not only from the running. You felt like you had just escaped with your life, and when you clutched a hand to your chest, your heart was pounding. You clenched your fists, fear and anxiety knotting between your lungs.

Knees weakening, you fell back into the large, soft bed, trying to calm your racing heart. After tossing and turning you fell finally into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning you woke alone. So, he didn’t have you killed in your sleep, at least.

When you looked out the window the sun was already high in the sky. You’d slept in a little; considering how late you’d stayed up the previous night, telling your husband your story, it was to be expected.

You hadn’t been given any actual responsibilities in your new home. You had the distinct feeling that Urizen considered you little more than a nuisance in his home; a thing without real purpose here. It suited you just fine: the more invisible you were in this den of demons, the more likely you were to get out of this alive. And the longer you stayed, the more you would become acquainted with the devil king, and his weaknesses, no matter how small those might be. All you needed was a single chink in his armor, and you’d be able to work your magic.

Your husband, to your knowledge, had never left the throne room. You could not go to check; the red devil that had escorted you there the night before was also nowhere to be seen. Was he just a servant, you wondered, or something more? His presence at the wedding implied the latter.

With you thus unoccupied, you decided to fill your day with exploration. The palace was undoubtedly beautiful, and you wondered why a devil would take such a place as residence. Maybe it was a site of great demonic power…? The home of a conquered human lord? You would not put it past the devils to take a man’s home as a war trophy. You were simply astonished at the state the house had been left in: it was pristine, as if servants cleaned it every day, as if demonic forces had never breached its walls. The glass of all the windows remained intact, the floors sparkling; elegant curling columns reaching towards beautifully painted, vaulted ceilings, and stained glass throwing multicolored light against the walls.

Wandering the halls, you trailed a hand absently along the walls. The sunlight shone brightly outside, and the thickness of the air signaled the height of summer approaching.

Somehow, you found yourself at the far corridor of the west wing. Judging by the sun’s position, it could not be later than noon, and so you thought a bit more exploring could not hurt until you were expected to take your midday meal.

This part of the palace was as pristine as the rest of it, just as clean and untouched, but the energy felt different here. Where you previously felt ignored by the few beings that crossed your path in the halls, here you simply felt… alone. It wasn’t a lonely feeling. On the contrary, you felt peace in the solitude.

At the end of this corridor was a large double door, vaulted, heavy and inlaid with colored tile. It was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was inside. After checking to see that you were indeed alone, you placed both hands on the beautiful doors and pushed, making your way inside.

The room that revealed itself to you was a vast library, with towering shelves that seemed never-ending. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, so bright and the air so still that you could see the motes of dust floating.

The way the doors creaked and the difficulty in pushing told you that no one had set foot in here for a very long time. You supposed demons did not really have much time or purpose for human literature, though once again you thought of the books in your chambers. Were they Urizen’s? You doubted it when you thought about it. He had not been to those chambers with you, and it seemed in character for him to arrange a whole separate suite of rooms for you, far away from himself.

You looked again to the library you were in. A shame no one seemed to come here, because this place had been built to take advantage of the sunlight. There were tables and chairs for writing, and cozy little alcoves for reading. You could easily picture yourself spending hours here. Your parents had nurtured a love for reading in you, and you felt a prick of loss at the thought of them.

As you lightly ran your fingers across the spines of the books, reading their titles, the dust stirred. Truly, no one had come in here in recent memory but you. You thought maybe this could be your hideaway, far enough that you could feel even a little like yourself again, and still close enough by that you could easily validate your presence here. All these books would help, too, as would the ones in your bedroom, for crafting more of the stories that had somehow ensnared your husband’s attention. And if, by chance, they held magical knowledge as well, you could do some surreptitious research.

Moreover, it was simply a beautiful place. Even if you were not in the clutches of a devil, you would gladly come here every day.

The sun outside heralded the afternoon, and you knew you would be fetched and served lunch. Quietly, you left the library, closing the doors behind you. You could return another time, you thought. For now, you would acquiesce to the expectations (however little there were) of you.

In the throne room a human was being brought to kneel before the demon king. This man had dared protest his power and struck one of his knights in retaliation. Such insolence demanded punishment, and the decree for him was death.

“Do what you must,” said Urizen. “My power will not be challenged.”

He waved an imperious hand, sprawled as he was on his throne. The guards took the prisoner away, heedless of his piteous cries.

“I did nothing wrong! It was him, he—”

They dragged him to the courtyard, the man’s struggling making a spectacle of the walk. It was just your luck: the window overlooking that courtyard was the one right in front of you.

One of the silent knights struck him across the face with his metal gauntlet. He fell to the ground, and another pulled him onto the chopping block.

His pleas were cut short by the descent of the axe upon his neck.

You stared, barely believing what had happened right in front of your eyes. A man had been killed. You watched the blood spurt, the ground turn red beneath him. Above the body, the branches of a large, leafless tree swayed in the windless air, its bark as white as bone. Red splattered over that bone-white tree, soaked into the earth beneath, and his head rolled on the ground with a heavy thunk.

What had that man done? You weren’t shocked that executions were carried out here at the palace itself, but seeing it was another matter entirely.

Were you going to be next?

You had no stomach for the rest of your meal. You stood, fighting the urge to retch, and took off back to your room. Feeling numb, you hoped that you would not be summoned to attend to your husband in the evening. You weren’t sure you could take another fright in the same day. To distract yourself, you made notes on the story you had started the previous evening, in the case that you would need to provide a continuation. Your mind wandered, far from the confines of the palace walls, as you wove your tale.

Of course, right before you were about to begin your evening toilette, the same devil from the night before came to your room to escort you to Urizen once again. Various other demons came in and out of the palace during the day, but this one was the only one you had encountered at night, not counting the mannequin demons that cleaned and served in the kitchen.

In case this devil was going to remain as your chaperone, you deigned to ask him his name.

“I can’t really say, my lady. But you can call me Tony.”

You noted there was a strange, clipped quality to his words, as if some spell or physicality prevented him from uttering his name. Or maybe you imagined it because demons had different voices than humans. More than that, though—

“Tony?” you echoed. “That’s…” An unusual name for a demon, you were going to say. Much too… human. His face, too, was far more humanlike than the other demons you had encountered.

To your surprise, he chuckled. “A weird name? Sounds better than Urizen, I’d say.”

His nonchalant manner took you off guard. You hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“I only meant that I didn’t expect a devil to have such a normal sounding name,” you explained.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t need to be complicated. Just Tony is fine.”

Before you knew it, you were back again in the great hall, standing before the doors to the throne room. Tony walked ahead of you to open the doors and once again, you saw your husband.

You walked through the large room, one you surmised was the largest one in the entire palace, approaching your spouse. Tony remained outside.

You tried not to let the images from earlier that day distract you too much. The man’s cries. The blood seeping into the ground. The tree that moved by itself.

You nearly crumpled the notes in your hand.

“Wife,” Urizen said, in that deep, dark tone. There was no discernable expression on his obscured face, and none in his voice. You bowed before him and awaited his instruction.

“The tale from yesterday. Continue it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. As long as this remained all he asked of you, you would be okay, probably. Shuffling through your notes, you began to recite the rest of the story.

Again he offered neither comment nor interjection, or really any reaction at all, which you supposed was the best you could hope for at the moment. The plot you’d woven was fairly basic: the hero of this story was torn between his mission and the growing love between him and the lady who had rescued him, and while he was making to leave, the lady asked to accompany him. She wanted to help him, she said. He did not want to get her involved in his problems.

“This is not just about you!” said she. “I lost loved ones in that attack too. And who’s to say they won’t attack this town too—”

“I have a mission. It’s dangerous.”

“With them out there, everywhere is dangerous,” she said. “I am going whether you want me to or not.”

Cursing his mission for vengeance, she left him to seek a new home for her family.

“What a strange tale,” Urizen said.

“Wh-what?” This was the first time he’d spoken about the story itself. You couldn’t tell whether he meant the comment as a compliment, or as a sign he disliked it, and a shiver of panic rose in you.

“If that is all, you may go.”

You weren’t done, but you also didn’t want to go against his word.

“Then I shall resume tomorrow evening, my lord husband.”

He said nothing, only waving his hand in dismissal. You gathered up your notes, bowed hastily, and left the room.

You wondered—why did he decide to comment on the story now? Was there something about the tale he disliked? He had given no clue as to his feelings, as always. His expression had remained inscrutable and distant. Your hands clenched around your books and papers, frustrated.

Tony was nowhere to be found outside. Alone, you walked back to your room, returning to fitful sleep.

“So? What about it, V?”

There was a crow perched on the top of an armchair in the library, where a young man sat deep in thought.

“Think she’s the one?” the crow asked the young man.

“She has power, I can feel it,” he responded. In his hands he held a book, idly flipping through the pages.

“But what about—"

He interrupted the crow. “She’ll come back. I’ll speak with her then.”

“If you’re sure,” the crow said. “Y’know, I could always fly out there, get her to come if you can’t—”

“No need,” he responded. “What she needs is here. She’ll come back.”

#vergil x reader #v x reader #dmc #devil may cry #vergil #vergil sparda #devil may cry 5 #dmc5 #dmc vergil x reader #fanfiction #my fics #fic: tobpbl

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

🕌 A Whole New World // Yandere Kalim Al-Asim x Reader//🕌

Worst thing I’ve ever written 😭 😭 😭 😭 But it’s out before the new chapter so I’m content lol.

🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌

"Oh my isn't it amazing?" (y/n) hugged the book closer to her chest an excited squeal leaving her lips as she laid down flat on the plush Persian carpet. Kalim crawled over to where she was abandoning his conversation with Jamil and half-eaten sandwich. "What'cha reading," the young prince asked curiously.

(y/n) lazily cracked open an eye, her bright smile ever-present. "It's the 1001 Arabian nights! The one by that famous storyteller from the Land of Hot Sands! " Her voice held a dreamy tone. Kalim's eyes widen in some sort of foreign comprehension. Nostalgia flashed in his marigold orbs. "Jamil! Do you remember those stories from when we were little?" His head wiped around, eyeing his childhood friend. The black-haired youth-only nodded absentmindedly as he chewed on his sandwich. "Jamil use to read me one of the Arabian night's stories before I went to bed each night!" Jamil just hummed in agreement, he seemed too wrapped up in intentionally ignoring the conversation.

Kalim flopped on his back, arms pulled back acting as a pillow. His eyes never once left your frame, his piercing gaze was practically glued to your body. "SO~~ Which one is your favorite?" his tone was light and cheerful, he just seemed so oddly happy. Brushing it off you guessed it might have just been the sentimentality talking. Mentioning those old stories must have stirred some childhood reminiscence. Your eyelids fluttered downwards, closing in thought as your mind raced through the countless stories you had consumed throughout the day. But there was one that seemed to shine rather brightly in your head.

"I guess the lovers of Bassorah, there's just a sort of hopeful ring to the whole story...It's hard to explain but it kinda proves that true love isn't just an open pathway. There are numerous difficulties that lovers must face before they can hold each other in their arms." When you finally opened your eyes again, you noticed that Kalim's grin had been replaced with a quizzical look. His eyes scrunched, traversing between you and Jamil. Signing the older boy, he finally shuffled over to the two of you. He crossed his leg before explaining the story to Kalim. Realization dawned on the white-haired boy, you listened in wondering if Jamil had actually memorized the old folk tale. But as the story progressed there seemed something off about Jamil's retelling, something gritter, grimmer even...It was wrong, so wrong that it sent a flood of shivers up your spin. But a quick glance at Kalim made it obvious that the prince was not only undisturbed by the fables

The sun had started to die quite some time ago. The sky was painted in bright melting colors that seemed to resemble sugary sweets. Jamil and (y/n) had started packing up the little picnic while Kalim sat and watched. His red eyes followed (y/n) as she nimbly picked up the plates and leftover food. She was so breathtaking, so enchanting, something about the way she moved and talked had poor little Kalim bewitched. He couldn't help the fantasies that kept sprouting in his mind. The longing to hug you close to his chest, to feel your warmth, breath in your scent. He could imagine them so vividly that they were practically felt real.

With a heavy sigh Kalim waved good-bye as the young girl walked away to her dorm room, book pressed close to her heart.

Kalim watched with a downhearted look as the last rays of sunlight screamed for help before being engulfed by the darkness of the night. Every couple of moments the young prince would tear his gaze from the starry tapestry to throw a childish lovesick complain to his childhood friend -who's body was beginning to tremble with visible annoyance- each nag circulated around the same premiss. "Why doesn't (y/n) love me?" over and over and over again. Really Kalim didn't mean to be a bother he was so wrapped up in his sorrow that he could bother to remember what words had slipped from his lips moments ago. It was well into the late-night when Kalim turned once more to Jamil his shoulders slumped, poster slagging. His mouth opened, but before any words could escape into the large room. Jamil stood up, feet stomping on the rug under him. Angrily Jamil marched over to Kalim his arms swinging before grabbing ahold of Kalim's shoulders. His long nails dug into the royal's shoulders. "Listen Kalim, I'm getting sick of this puppy crush of yours! Can you please just forget--" Jamil stopped mid-sentence, his grey eyes widening as a plan hatched in his mind, slithering around the most devious parts of his brain. A smirk formed on his chapped lips, "Kalim!" His excited tone reverberated off the walls. "Grab the flying carpet! We're going to get you a date!" Jamil ran for the door, picking up the dorm leader staff on his way. Kalim watched his friend race out the room, he remained stunned for a second before he ran after Jamil yelling; "But where do we keep the flying carpets?? Jamil! Help!"

The cool night air washed over you, as you stood by the window, brush in hand, combing your messy locks. Your eyes carelessly jumped from star to star, soaking in their twinkling brightness. Each star seemed to sparkle a little more vividly when your gaze landed on it. It was almost like they were silently wishing you goodnight....or warning you about the secrets the night was hiding.

You were shaken from your stargazing by the sound of a slamming door. You didn't think much of it, brushing it off as just being one your friends sneaking in for a late-night chat. Casually you turned around, only to be stricken by a wave of fear, slither across your lavish dorm room, was something out of a nightmare. A larger then life serpent was bolting for you, it's scales glittered in the chandelier light, flashing between shades of gold and ruby sometimes even turning as pitch black as a starless midnight. Its tongue flickered out sniffing the air then crashing back between its lips. For a fraction of a second, your eyes met, the monstrous snakes grey orbs seemed to be mocking you. You were sure that if he was able the monster would have been laughing at your distress.

With each step you took in retaliation, the snake slithers forward, it's towering body was constantly looming over your petit frame. You were pushed up against the open window, no place left to hide. The snake was far to close, it's tongue grazed your cheek each time it darted outwards. You were finished, hopelessness was to the only feeling that floated through your body. You closed your eyes, ready to accept your fate. That was until a gust of cold wind blew across your face, carrying with it the sound of your name. At first, you kept your eyes closed, blaming it on your subconscious. But the noise of your name kept coming back to your ears. Finally, in a desperate attempt, you dared to turn away from the snake and spare a glance outside. Your eyes widen, hope bubbled in your gut. Standing outside your window floating on one of the infamous flying carpets was nonother than the dorm leader of Scarabia.

"(y/n)!" his voice was like a god sent, pure melody to your ears. "Do you trust me?" His hand was extended palm awaiting your own hand. You didn't think for a moment, instantly you reached out and grabbed his arm, permitting yourself to be dragged out the glass-less window. Your knees hit the concrete of the outer wall as you tumbled onto the flying carpet. The carpet didn't miss a beat, the second your flesh hit the rug, it was off soaring into the dark night.

The icy wind blew across your face, your body was pressed suffocatingly close to Kalim's as he navigated the flying tool across the clouds. Your heart was still pounding in fear, each beat reverberated through your bones adding an additional layer of panic. The hight and constant maneuvering of the carpet did little to ease your stress. Nether you nor Kalim had spoken since the journey began. You bite your lip waiting for him to make the first move. To say something, anything! However, what ended up breaking the silence was rather unexpected joyous laughter coming from your companion. "That was a pretty convincing show that Jamil put on wasn't it (y/n)?" there was no malice in his tone if anything it came off more as if this was all a game. A young child laughing after a good game of hiding and seek.

You turned to Kalim with a shock written all over your face. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! I JUST GOT ATTACKED..." Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs where heaving trying to pull in more oxygen to no avail. It only now began to dawn on you just how high up the two of you had gotten. Kalim must have also been facing the same problem as the leaned his weight to the front of the carpet, causing it to accelerate downwards. You let out a shrike of terror, arms wrapping around the white-haired youth. "that’s overexaggerated, it’s really isn’t that big of a deal”

Your eyes widened how could he not think that this was a big deal. It didn't matter wither that snake was really Jamil or not, the shock was real, the fear was real. "Is this some sort of cruel joke!" you yelled. Kalim shot you a confused look, one of his hands reached up to entwine his fingers in your flowing locks. “But I thought you said this kinda thing was hot!“ Kalim genuinely sounded both hurt and confused. His eyes were pooled with deep sadness. You gulped "What are you--" your memory flashed back to the stories the two of you had discussed earlier that morning. In each story, the protagonist had to stage some sort of clever catastrophe to earn their lover's affection. In multiple stories, the hero always lore their lover into some sort of danger then swoop in and save them. That was had happened, Kalim had tried to show you that he loved you by both putting your life in danger and saving it. "Kamil look I--" He pushed a finger to your lips, shushing you wordlessly " Stop pretending you don't want this, you and I, we're meant to be so just for tonight let's pretend we’re the only people in the world". For the second time, that night uneasiness overflooded your sense, but in an impulsive fit of bravery and longing, you waved it off. Nodding as you wrapped your arms tighter around Kalim's waist, enjoying the scenery of the sand dons and the sweet flowery scent that came from Kalim.

You weren't sure when it had happened but at some point, the melody of the breeze along with the peaceful silence had lulled you into a tranquil slumber. You were stirred from your sleep by the rays of the rising sun. Slowly you pushed yourself up, there was something off about the bed you where laying on, somehow it felt much plusher than your own bed. As you attempted to turn you felt a sharp pain pulling you back onto the mattress. You moved around tugging your arms forward only to see the metal cuffs, orienting your wrists... something had happened during that carpet ride, what it was exactly you weren't sure. But you knew that you would soon get your explanation once Kalim returned.

In one of the rooms in Scarabia, a bloodcurdling scream could be heard. Blood trickled down Kalim's arm. dripping onto the carpets and oozing into the seems. Joyfully Kalim spun around, droplets of the crimson liquid flying off in all directions. Jamil sighed as he began dragging the body. "stop making a mess Kalim. Don't you think it was wrong to kill the boy? He was just a friend of (y/n)'s, nothing more." The white-haired royal stopped to look at his friend, a bright smile plastered across his face. “Nothing we do will ever be wrong if it's for (y/n)! She can't have anyone else but us in her life! They'll just be distractions!" Jamil rolled his eyes as he continued pulling the lifeless corps out into the balcony to be turned to dust. All the while Kalim skipped behind him joyfully humming some old tune and dreaming about his awaiting darling.

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