Mind Games [Behemoth and Millie]

[Gildarts]

Rewritten. That was the current state of the girl's deprived, yet oh so enlightened mind. He had done it many times but never had he made a folly of such grave consequence. With the smallest of movements he tilted his head. Curiosity glittered his eyes. My my, what have I done? There was a bit of pride that leaked from his slithering smile as he recovered from near-death and his hands continued to shake. He clenched a fist but the numbed ball of fingers was left jolting uncontrollably. A grimace parched his lips. The telepathic had called it too close with the time he spent within the forlorn depths of passing memories, yet his agonized body still managed to suck in hasty breaths.

Behemoth had broken the news to the victim in his sadistic way, it almost sounded as though he took pleasure in it, and the gentle curling of his lips didn't fight this fact.

Millie and the thrall had become woven into one. And yet, he thought with a tinge of despair, neither truly remained. This wasn't a surprise for the man, as happy endings never seemed to exist when he was around. The girl, she was now aware she was broken, that blissful ignorance complimenting her so well, was no more. The joy would slowly ebb away, as his had. Though even the monster hoped she would not stop smiling at the triumphs of life. She would, however, be grateful eventually, even if her past life had been taken away and replaced by one of dejected isolation. Perhaps he has subliminally merged her with hidden notes of his daughter, for the mind worked in such a way that it tended to incorporate already established patterns rather than create anew. These same traces of scribbling trails were often threaded by memory. Behemoth wondered if he could see the same girl in Millie's eyes, but his search was cast aside by the fray of her unresolved anguish.

The thrall, subconsciously within, would want to follow him to the ends of the Omniverse to seek out its brooding revenge once more. Someday, perhaps it would even be realized, even if the drifting Millie remained completely unaware of such motivated desires.

Impressed as he was by her stores of knowledge, he could only ever read bits and pieces of her fragmented thought. It was almost as though the thrall was watching, waiting for the eventual demise of the man from the deep recesses of darkness. Perhaps Behemoth had been careless and left a crack for him to hide in, but it no longer mattered, for the thrall had lost most of its power. Behemoth wasn't careless however, and sought to resolve his unsound disposition as he spied a coy eye to the entirety of their situation.

Millie, would prove useful if he could bait her to remain. As much as his conquest had proven fruitful to his bemused goal of 'redemption,' a nagging thought pinched at the back of his mind. He wreathed with dread as it surfaced in but two simple words that brought more than enough pain to compromise the quiet aftermath of his endured torrential chaos. My daughter.

The night air hung dark and somber, he had been warmed by the fervent taste of gin and swished the searing liquid to the back of his throat as it lit a fire within him.

"I don't remember." Stripped and barren was her mind. It was full, yet 'lacking' memories, components that the foundation of potential and fundamental purpose needed to be realized. It had all proved rather unfortunate as she hadn't died, yet had been force to experience death's fullest truth in a similar way. Even he, the tortured silhouette of man, had not endured such madness. Behemoth wondered if her emotions were anything like his, trapped and embedded underneath all the carnage. If they were, perhaps he could establish a mutual 'understanding' between them.

Skeptically, he questioned the obscured idea of who she now perceived him to be. He had whizzed and flashed by her memories, altered that of both the thrall and the girl, yet had been left to wonder: Did she think him a hero? Or did her newfound darkness classify him as an enemy? Perhaps she herself didn't know, but was suspect to the latter, considering his own hell-borne tendencies.

He took another swig.

...

The cackle of waves as they burst against the chiseled rocks at their feet sounded as a thunderous, victorious roar. The vibration merged well with the pace of her sentences, so lush and full of all the fruits of Eden.

What good was this listless knowledge of not used? He could only wonder. The snake would work on warping his convincing question into subtle and compelling words that she would respond to. But that was for later. In this moment, the hum of her voice, pained yet distant, offered something of meaning. It was as though the names of constellations, planets, and arcing streaks of comets, served as a requiem for the lost girl, and perhaps she herself did not know it.

There was a brief pause in her flow of direction, Behemoth, though he enjoyed the rhythm of her words, siezed the chance to get a blanket for the both of them. His body, was that of a frail skeleton, and his bones showed through his gaunt skin. Perhaps he would retrieve a snack too, he wondered if the girl was hungry, but thought her answer would be rather detached and left without a word.

As he returned, she curled the offered blanket around her shoulders and welcomed the warmth of the mug in her glacial hands. Her face had been crisped by the soft wind, and the chill showed on her rose cheeks and nose.

"Here. A celebratory feast." Behemoth displayed his less-than-ample stores of food to the girl, who drank in the smell of hot soup and eyed the stale bread.

Still, the girl muttered a strangely understanding, "Thanks," before guzzling her portion in three large gulps.

He offered no reply to the girl, balancing the thought that he might let her have a moment of peace before the war of thought returned to her. The snake paid no mind to her noisy inhale, and sipped his stew with great care.

"Is there any more?"

Behemoth shook his head. "There isn't much left."

"Shouldn't a man who has more than enough pirate ships in his dungeon have enough food to last him a few days?"

"I agree, he should indeed." His eye twitched at the thought of being civil but he could masquerade well enough even with disgust forming in his stomach.

Not too long ago he had been called a bastard, now they were exchanging a few common sentences, it was of no real importance to him, but Millie probably had some questions for Behemoth, even she with such vast quantities of intellect could not know some things. He wasn't even sure the girl knew his name.

She hadn't neglected the fact of their disparate past either, and had scented the soup for poison before her first sip. It was only rational, and not implied to be personal. The girl had even glanced at his dish for any slight discoloration. It seemed, with a little remaining suspicion, that her stomach got the best of her.

"What are you doing here, with an empty fleet like that?" Her question was devoid of emotion, yet she seemed curious of the vancant hollow of his cage.

Behemoth read between the lines, and answered only as he wished. "Tell me Millie, would you ever ask a prisoner the reason he isn't free?"

There was truth in his question, though quite obviously rhetorical. It was almost redundantly answered by the less-than-perceptive girl, had she not read the fierce defiance that struck into her from his eyes alone. In that moment, it dawned on her. In the curved sight of empty boats and a cave entombed with treasure, next to the endless tallies on the wall were the words that had created it all. She remembered what had been cut from sight. Luminous, metallic, and lit by the dim flicker of torchlight.

"All that glitters is not gold."

It was, perhaps, that Behemoth sought something that could not so simply be found.

Of this, she could relate.

Her eyes remained steady as his creased and flicked to the side. This, under a veil of question was as sentimental as Behemoth delved. She embodied his lost daughter, leaving him callous at the ache of nostalgia. Meanwhile the girl watched him for a moment, and realized his voiceless pain. Millie wondered of his humanity, for it seemed those without morals even felt its harsh sting. What he had done to her was unforgivable, yet she had yet to flee. Maybe she had in a way honored their agreement, or maybe Millie was simply lost and clung to the only thing she knew despite how the man resembled an ever shifting compass. Behemoth seemed to have answers angled to replaced knowledge, perhaps in a way that fed into people's greed. If this was his eternal strategy, he wouldn't be that hard to connect with. A man like this would soon find that his own ever-thirsting greed was as empty as his heart.

For a moment, Behemoth exposed his kindness with a carefully placed challenge. "I don't think you have identified Vega yet."

Millie decided it was a comfort completing something she was able to, and continued reading the stars like they were fresh from the inked text of a book. His slightly narrowed eyes fell upon her. All the knowledge of the stars... He peered from their perch together on the cliffs and back into his amber glowing caves. And all the wealth in the world... Yet which of us is truly happy?

He looked up at the freshly glowing stars, glimmering like tears upon God's cheek. Their names gave their light purpose, yet Behemoth's mind could only venture upon a single enthralling thought. And of the words scrawled upon his cage wall became all too relevant to the pair, for the stars too, glittered, so very bright.