The echoes of Eliott's confession and the consuming intensity of their renewed kiss lingered in the air, a potent blend of pain and desperate desire. Maëlys pulled back slightly, her hands splayed against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath her palms. Her eyes, still blurred with tears, met his. The passion in his gaze was still there, wild and untamed, but beneath it, she saw the raw vulnerability, the years of silent torment.
"You took my choices," she whispered, the words catching in her throat, raw with lingering hurt. "You decided for me. You took away my past."
Eliott's jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. "I know," he rasped, his voice thick with remorse. "And I would give anything to change that. But I couldn't lose you, Maëlys. Not like that. Not to him. Not to the darkness we were spiraling into." He paused, his gaze pleading. "I tried to save you. And I spent every day since living with the consequences. Living with the ghost of a love you couldn't remember."
He reached up, his thumb gently caressing her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. His touch was a tender contradiction to the harsh truths he had just laid bare. "I was a monster for it," he admitted, his voice rough with self-loathing. "But I was your monster. And I always will be."
Maëlys looked at him, truly looked at the man before her. The dark tattoos that told stories of loss and promises unkept. The stormy eyes that held both torment and an unwavering devotion. The strong, scarred hands that had pulled her from the wreckage and now held her with such desperate tenderness. He was everything she feared, and everything she inexplicably craved.
The past wasn't just a distant echo anymore; it was a living, breathing entity between them, a third presence in the room. Léonie. Liam. Their intertwined fates, now clear, etched a new set of scars onto her soul, visible only to her. She could never go back to the blissful ignorance, the false peace. The truth, ugly and painful, had irrevocably altered her.
Can love, born from such chaos and steeped in such sorrow, truly heal? Or was it destined to forever haunt them, a beautiful, devastating specter? She didn't have an answer. Not yet.
She took a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to his lips, then back to his eyes. "I don't know if I can forgive you," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I don't know if I can ever forget what you did, or what we lost."
A shadow crossed Eliott's face, a flicker of despair. "I don't ask for forgiveness," he said, his voice raw. "Only for a chance. A chance to show you that even in the darkness, there can be something real. Something worth holding onto."
His hands tightened on her, pulling her flush against him, a silent plea in his desperate embrace. She could feel his heart hammering against hers, a frantic rhythm of hope and fear. This wasn't a fairy tale. There were no clean slates, no easy answers. Their love was messy, marked by tragedy, stained by secrets. It was a dark romance, carved from the wreckage of their past, a bond that defied logic and reason.
Maëlys closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, the intoxicating mix of musk and something wild that had always drawn her in. She was irrevocably tied to him, by blood, by secrets, by a past she was only just beginning to remember. And in that moment, she knew she couldn't walk away. She couldn't deny the terrifying, addictive pull of his tormented soul. The thought of a life without him, even with all the pain he brought, felt emptier, colder than any amnesia.
She might not be healed, but she was whole. And she was standing. Her eyes opened, meeting his. The storm in their depths was still raging, but now, she saw a flicker of dawn. "Show me," she whispered, her voice a fragile promise, her body pressing closer to his, a silent acknowledgment of their inescapable, engraved scars. She didn't know what their future held, but she knew, with chilling certainty, that it would be intertwined. Forever marked by the echoes of a love that had burned them, but refused to die.