I blame my creator for the curse that is bestowed upon me. I am an impossibility. A paradox. I am not human. Not troll. I am neither. A beautiful shell filled with an unstructured mash of desires and compassion. It slowly drains my life away. Rendering me unable to seek remedy.
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After the fatal audience with the king, I fell into deep despair. I would not leave my home for days. When the pain became unbearable, I traveled through little used corridors to find my way outside. Numerous nights were spent hunting for innocent pray, but not even the most powerful of orgasms could still the panic in me. I used to think of myself as alone, but where I before had been gasping for air, I now sensed myself drowning.
It was this despair that woke the fatalism in me. It was impossible for me to be happy. I knew I could not bear to see my beloved in the hands of that awful troll. I would meet anything the world threw at me for a chance to break this life.
Surrender to fate was like a new beginning for me. It was as if someone had flipped a coin. Love turned to hate. Anger to calm. I used to carry a small hope of love, but knew I was denied bliss. Now, I felt a hope of some revenge, but at the same time knew that full retribution was far beyond reach.
Life returned to a kind of status quo. I ate, slept, did my duties and contemplated my revenge. My beauty was indeed not exaggerated, and often a troll would approach with improper suggestions. None of them were allowed the taste of my flesh. I would deny myself any form of fulfillment until eye was traded for eye.
I never saw Skuld again, but sometimes Burr would walk contently along a passage. I made sure whenever we passed by that he noticed me, and smiled to him, even though it sickened me to the core. He seemed puzzled at this for a while, and a bit confused. I knew this was my leverage and tried to use it for what it was worth. My new powers would make him want me. This would be my revenge. Gradually, his gloating face turned to bewilderment, and then to hunger. I noticed how, when he was looking at me, his eyes no longer met mine.
Skuld would never allow herself to give him the pleasure of a happy wife, that I knew. And now I tried to play the role of the unreachable seductress. I would make him see the irony and hate it. What he gave up the moment he ruined our lives and stole my girl. He yearned for me, the person he hated the most, and I could see he despised himself for it. Still, his male urges were easy for me to sway. Each time our paths crossed he sunk deeper into his own abyss. I thought that seeing him like this would make me, if not happy, then at least satisfied. But I realized that my own self-restraint was taking its toll. Using my guile depleted my own reserves. Normally that was no issue, but with this victim it was different. Without knowing it, I slowly put myself through the same torment as my enemy.
The game lasted for a while, and we both became increasingly desperate. I do not know which goal I was aiming for. I just enjoyed seeing his constant pain. But when I caught myself thinking about his strong, powerful body and what pleasures he could give me, I knew it had to end some time before it was too late. He was around my finger and could not think of anything else. I had achieved what I wanted but still I continued to arouse him. Every slight increase in his desperation gave me just a tiny fraction of pleasure. At least it made me feel a little alive. The only pleasure I could ever have. But that fraction continued to be surpassed by the greater increase in lust.
Inevitably I found out just how much he could take. I was actually surprised that he had not cracked before. Did he really hate me that much? He seemed to boil with conflict. He loathed me and loved me. Hated me and wanted me. That night I ran into him in a less frequented passage. He was loitering in the hall, seemingly just waiting for me to pass by. Before I managed to notice the strain in his body, he grabbed me and pulled me into a dark cave.