Paris

Paris is a man I love with all my heart. It wasn’t the kind of love I had for Caerwyn, which was an immediate attraction and affection, it was a slow buildup of affection that blossomed into an all-out mania for him.

At first, I had no love for him. I didn’t necessarily hate him, but I was deathly afraid of him at first due to his reputation. Like he did with everyone, at first, he shut himself away from me and wanted nothing to do with me other than wishing me to have dinner with him for appearances. He dedicated himself to being king and ignored his moth queen who he was embarrassed to have as a wife.

But something changed in him that day I showed concern over that fall he had off his horse and got that cut on his head. His eyes, turned black by the lustful god, had burst forth blue. A previously cold and antisocial man lingered on that moment and slowly became possessed by me. For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman not for a night, but for all his days.

And I was deathly frightened of romancing a man who I knew must have had women far prettier, experienced, and more enticing than me. Women who I was sure knew how to draw a man’s eye, unlike me.

Before I was captured, Mother and Daddy always assured me I was the prettiest thing in the land. I had an inflated ego back then and I thought they couldn’t be wrong. But after multiple humans thought me a hideous beast and after I got that ugly scar on my face, I had trouble looking in the mirror and seeing a pretty girl like I once had.

Until Paris made me feel like the most desirable woman in the world by pursuing me so aggressively. But he didn’t just think me pretty, if I hadn’t shown him kindness, he never would have found me so attractive. It was my kindness and affection he wanted more than anything. It was something he had never gotten from anyone else, and I had plenty to give.

He was happy with me; enormously happy.

But he was also jealous, paranoid, and prone to drinking. He had told me once that sadness coursed through his very veins. At first, I thought it must be because he was treated so very poorly by his family, but he was away from them, and he was still so sad so often.

I struggled to believe it was because that was just the way he was; I refused to believe it! But sometimes, when he doesn’t know I’m looking at him, I see him looking so lost and forlorn when there is no reason to be. He is a sad man, and he makes me sad.

Paris has icy blue eyes and black hair. They are such cold colors! They tell of a man who has shut himself way from other people. He has put up a wall of ice around his mind, and a cage of black iron around his heart. He has only lowered them enough to let me in and me in only. I adore being his angel.