Bitter Goodbyes
This article is a part of Spooktober 2024 and is still a work in progress. Written for the Tongue prompt.Daman Ó Conaill stood for a long time, still as stone, staring at the now empty spaces in his small family home. Yen Xiang Jun had weasled her way into his life and heart with a wicked, teasing tongue, spending seven years drawing him into her web. He'd been a fool boy, thinking that he meant something to her. All it had taken was him refusing to bend to her will, to not let that wicked mouth lead him along, and she was gone. She had been there when he had woken up that morning, lying naked and languid in the bed that they had made their own over the past few years. Daman had kissed her bare shoulder, trailing kissing down her spine, and then promised her a night of passion when he returned from town with more supplies. She had kissed him so sweetly and told him goodbye. He had thought it was for the day. She had apparently meant it as forever. Daman had known he wasn't enough for her from the moment she had turned him, that something was missing in him. At least she had stayed for two years to teach him what he needed to know as a f vampire and hadn't just abandoned him. Still, even with that knowledge, her absence hurt. Dropping his bag by the door, he slowly made his way into the main room of the house. There was a folded peice of parchment on the table - an expensive rarity that she kept around that he found frivolous as a farmer's son - with his name scrawled across it. Apology, perhaps? Or more misleading turns of her tongue, trying to lead him forward like a leashed hound? Lifting the parchment, Daman flipped it open and found sharply clean English greeting him. There was a smattering of her own language at the top, the intricate intertwined lines that made the words of her native tongue. She had called him tiánmì de shìqíng - "A sweet name for a sweet man," she had said - but he didn't know what the words looked like in her native writing.
Forgive me, my sweet. I will not lie to you, Daman, that I am bored. There are things that I expected of you, things that have by far been proven wrong. And I need more than this domesticity you seem to enjoy in my life. You are a man I would have perhaps loved to wed when I was still mortal but not now. And, if I do not leave, I will no doubt slowly poison you. I want your sweetness to live, Daman, and not be snuffed out by me wishing you to be something against your nature. It is what I would do if I remained. While you refused now to follow me deeper into the dark, I know I could compel you. That I could spin together words that would have you at my very beck and call, eager to follow. And I do not want to be the one to cause you that harm. Call on me if you have need, Daman. You are still my son through blood and your battles will be mine if you but ask. I did love you, do not think I did not.
tiánmì de shìqíng - sweet thing (via Google Translate)


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