Chapter Text
“As when a prowling Wolfe, whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, watching where Shepherds pen thir flocks at eeve in hurdl'd cotes amid the field secure, leaps o're the fence with ease into the fould.”
── ⋆⋅☀⋅☾⋅⋆ ──
The shock of seeing Elizabeth’s chambers for the first time had been immense, even more so than when he entered De Lacey’s cottage. Adam had climbed the sturdy vines that crept up the estate's stone walls, had emerged on the balcony, and stepped into a completely different world. Though he couldn’t see the colors as vividly as if it were day time, the opulence and decadence of it all had been impossible to ignore. It was massive: this one room alone had taken up almost the same amount of space of De Lacey’s entire cottage, and all this just for one woman!
Not to say that Elizabeth didn’t deserve the finest things. On the contrary, her benevolence in letting him enter her space was testament enough to the care she deserved. Adam had watched as her eyes darted in his direction, unseeing, trusting him without hesitation. It had made him warm inside to know of her faith in him, and being so close to her— what a wonderful gift it had been! To finally speak with no barrier between them, to touch her fair skin and drink in her visage with unfamiliar freedom. The copper wave of her hair had spilled down her back, so long that the tips had brushed the surface beneath them. Though the lack of color had saddened him, he had marveled at the soft strands as they flowed between his fingers. As she had drifted into slumber before his very eyes, he had traced the lines of her palms and marveled at the softness of her sleeping features. Somehow her face had changed, and haloed by her flowing hair she had looked so much like the angels Adam had seen in his various books. His heart had swelled beneath his breast as he shed tears over her beauty and kindness, and she had sighed in her sleep, eyes shifting beneath her lids, dancing through her dreams. Each moment had been a gift, blessings upon blessings, given freely from Elizabeth's hands.
In subsequent days she requests that he return frequently, and each time she does his pulse stutters and his heart jumps into his throat. The sanctuary of her bedchambers becomes familiar to him, the comforts that she has access to now afforded to him as well. He learns of plumbed water, of the ease and readiness at which the warmth is summoned, how this is a luxury only for the wealthy. Elizabeth allows him to use her comb, and after a brief struggle he's able to pull the wide teeth through his hair and feel how it softens and smooths under the attention. For the first time he sees himself in a mirror; Adam touches the glass, traces the scars on his reflection's face, sees his tears fall from his mismatched eyes— this he keeps to himself. It is just another reminder as to why he must hide in the darkness.
The time they spend together feels divine, and he yearns for it in every moment, until eventually her inevitable absence stings like a wound. Would if Adam could spend all his time with her, but the light of day is unforgiving. Only under the cover of night does he feel that Elizabeth will not turn him away, though De Lacey's words ring in his mind like distant bells. It is not a lack of faith in her that drives his choices, but rather a fear of himself, of his strange nature.
Peculiar phenomena have started catching his attention. When he is injured the wounds heal rapidly, an uncomfortable itching and stretching in his skin as it mends itself without leaving a scar. His size is uncanny, as is the strength that comes along with it. The sounds that rumble like thunder in his throat, those that resemble the wolves’ haunting growls or the purr of the calico cat, he has heard no other man make. These are things that set him apart, he has realized, from all other men.
But what has given him pause most of all are the queer dreams that are bestowed upon him during sleep. Different men with different lives play behind his eyes in the theater of his mind, broken flashes of things he doesn’t understand leaving him groggy and confused when woken by the rising sun. Scenes of happiness and sorrow, love and hate, violence and intimacy, all jumbled on the stage. Sharp lights and booming explosions and searing pain form many of these productions, but some are more appealing: a small child’s joy, the ocean lapping at a sandy shore, the embrace of a lover. These memories confound him, and the lack of clarity agitates him, like tiny splinters under his skin.
He brings these dreams to De Lacy's attention, hoping that the old man has some amount of wisdom to shed upon the matter.
"You say they are realistic?"
"Very much so." Adam takes De Lacey's wrinkled hand and guides a steaming mug of tea into his waiting palm. "They are almost like memories in their vivacity."
The old man's eyes flit around the cottage, perhaps seeing memories of his own. "Some men who have been soldiers have such realistic dreams. They relive their memories of combat quite thoroughly, typically waking with lingering fear or nervousness."
"I have woken as such many times before. It is… disorienting."
"I believe this to be yet another remnant of your time as a soldier. War changes a man in ways we cannot fully comprehend— many have night terrors well after their time on the battle field has ended."
"Hm." Is he doomed to be haunted by these strange memories? And what of those dreams that aren't of violence, but are of joy or pleasure?
They lapse into silence while Adam rests at De Lacey's feet. The hearth begins to glow as time passes, eventually brightening the room as the sun dips below the horizon.
"I must go." He hates to leave De Lacey, but his desire to be close to Elizabeth burns like holy fire within the temple of his heart.
The old man knows this, and smiles. "Ah, to see your Elizabeth, yes?"
"Yes," Adam replies, unable to hold back his own grin. "It is getting dark."
"You still have not allowed her to see you in the light." It is not a question that he needs to answer. "Well, one step at a time, hm? Go, enjoy your time together. I will be here when you return."
"I will not be gone for long, my friend."
── ⋆⋅☀⋅☾⋅⋆ ──
When Adam goes to her that night he’s delighted to see the cat curled up at the foot of Elizabeth’s bed. As he enters the chrysalis of bed curtains, hidden from the moonlight, safe from the world, the cat stands and lets out a happy-sounding chirp.
“I believe she missed you,” Elizabeth says, smiling as she strokes along the cat’s back as it moves towards him.
“I missed her as well.” The little thing is purring before he can even reach out to pet it. When his hand dwarfs her tiny head she squeaks out a small meow before crawling into his lap and lying down. The patchwork of her fur reminds Adam of himself— a mosaic of color on both of their skins. She purrs contentedly, and he matches the sound.
“Do animals always approach you so easily?” Elizabeth reaches her hand out blindly, and Adam guides it to the fluffy creature rumbling atop his legs.
“Usually, yes. Mice, deer, birds. Animals have always treated me kinder than men.” He thinks of the wolves with their vicious teeth, and how their paws had scrabbled at the underside of the doors to his shelter at the De Lacey homestead; somehow he doubts that they would have been as kind as the cat had they gotten past that barrier. “Though, the larger predators seem to care not for pleasantries.”
Elizabeth hums, drawing closer to continue lavishing the cat with attention. “Animals are good judges of character. It’s no wonder they act so friendly with you.”
Adam can hear the smile in her voice, sees it stretch gracefully across her face, and warmth rushes to his cheeks; even though she cannot see him, he must turn away. Such kind words couldn’t possibly be meant for him, yet Elizabeth speaks them as if they are true. If she could see him, truly witness the mess that is his form and his terrifying visage, he knows she would think differently.
The cat tilts her head into Adam’s hand as he scratches behind her ear, such open affection bringing a gentle smile to his face. Then Elizabeth’s hand— so soft and small— strokes over his own in her attempt to pet the cat in the inky darkness. Something shivers under his skin, a kind of thrill that flutters in his stomach before she has a chance to pull her hand away. Their proximity makes his heart beat faster, hones his senses on only the woman before him. The quiet hitch in her breath sounds as if she is right beside him, and he watches in grayscale as she cradles her hand to her chest and looks away.
Longing dredges up from deep within his bones, aching with every beat of his heart. Would if he could bring her hand back and slot their fingers together, press a gentle kiss to her delicate skin. The absence of her touch tears at something tender inside of him— the deepest parts of his heart desire her closeness, and each moment without their connection feels empty, hollow. Adam knows that Elizabeth does something to him, affects his heart with her presence, sends his pulse racing when they converse. When she is near his heart swells in his chest, galloping to keep up with the cadence of her laughter. The words she so graciously speaks blanket him in comfort and understanding, soothing his myriad pains. And her touch… it exalts his soul to bask in her light, and he feels himself come alive when they touch. The very depths of him strain to meet her, pushing and writhing under his skin, his purest essence craving Elizabeth more and more with each passing moment. When they touch he battles, fruitless, against the part of him that wants her closer, wants to feel the heart beating warm and alive beneath her breast with his hands, his lips. The love inside of him flights against his restraint, desperate and wailing as he holds it back, warring with himself in blissful agony.
It is no use, for Adam knows that love is not to be for someone like him. But here, beneath the shroud of darkness, he can pretend that he might deserve the affections of the woman he loves. Even if the illusion is broken by the light of dawn, he can cherish these small moments, hold them close to his chest to feel Elizabeth’s warmth in his arms for just a little while. It will never satisfy that soul-deep longing that he hides within his heart, but it must be enough.
── ⋆⋅☀⋅☾⋅⋆ ──
In the dusky light of just-before-dawn, Adam continues with Paradise Lost. As book four begins the Fallen Angel laments his misfortune and sneaks his way into the perfect Garden, concocting his plot to taint the hearts of God’s finest creations, watching the two as a wolf, hungry for blood. It saddens him that the pair know not of what is to come; in their sequestered paradise their lives are lovely, simple. Their love is pure, and Adam feels a prickle of envy, like vines around his heart, not so dissimilar from Lucifer himself, though outshone by purest longing rather than anger. Adam and Eve embrace, gaze at each other with utmost love. The man lays a kiss upon his partner, and Adam thinks of Elizabeth.
Would if he could feel her love so freely, could give his own in turn. To hold her perfect form, bring their bodies together so he can feel the sun of her love on his skin. Ah, and to kiss those petal lips, to revel in the press of their love manifest in such a way! How marvelous it would be, how divine! Adam bites his lip, feels it cracked and dry, darts his tongue out to wet it as he thinks of Elizabeth’s own, that exquisite rose poised upon her chin. He sighs, almost becoming lost in this dream, but an unfamiliar tingling plays in his stomach, tearing his attention out of his mind and back to the words on the page.
On he reads, following Lucifer’s devious machinations as Adam and Eve go about their lives, unknowing of the danger they approach. Book nine unfolds along the aged pages in his lap: the couple splits, believing that their work will fare easier to manage, despite Adam’s protests. Then comes the serpent, whispering his clever deceit into the open ear of Eve, and her trusting nature works against her, for she believes the snake, the Devil, and she partakes in tasting that forbidden fruit. Knowledge of good and evil makes itself known to her, though she does not despair— on the contrary, she eats the flesh and drinks the juice with an almost drunken joy, committing to share her newfound knowledge with her husband.
God’s first creation despairs at his beloved’s folly, and condemns himself to her same fate. For what choice does he have when the one he loves falls, other than to fall with her? Adam thinks of Elizabeth again, how he would follow her to the ends of the earth, to the bottom of the sea, to Heaven or Hell or anywhere between, and understands.
And so, the first man commits his first sin. Again there is no despair, and the couple, both imbibed of the supple fruit’s wine, make merry. But soon— so soon— that merriment shifts into desire. Their eyes lay upon one another, a sweltering fire, and “in Lust they burne,” taking part in each other’s bodies in the sin of carnal love until they fall into slumber.
That strange sensation is again in Adam’s gut, and he feels the heat of lust as if the pages themselves burn in his hands. Though sinful, this act intrigues him, enamors him, piques his curiosity and something else inside of him, something that feels instinctual. His body grows warm, and a strange pressure blooms in his groin. There is a shadow of his pulse in the organ there, though he isn’t sure why, and he ignores it in favor of reading on.
It fades quickly as Adam and Eve awaken full of dread and face their punishment, being cast out of Eden together. It is sad, that their story unfolds in this way; their curiosity regarding the forbidden fruit seems natural, and yet they were punished for it. And he cannot understand why their partaking in each other is such a bad thing— is not the union between man and woman a blessed act? He decides that he must ask De Lacey of his thoughts on these chapters.
It is early morning when Adam sets out to the old man's cottage. The sun has just barely risen, its golden yolk pierced upon the horizon flowing as languid, glowing light, slowly creeping its way over the land. It is later than he normally ventures out— it is a risk he is willing to take this morn. A feeling needles at his mind: urgent, anxious. Try as he might Adam cannot put his finger on what exactly it is, or what has caused it. It drives him out into the danger of daylight and towards the De Lacey homestead.
The closer he gets, the more that feeling strengthens. He recognizes it now as he closes in on the homestead: dread, cold and black. Something is wrong— he can feel it in his bones. The forest blurs around him as Adam runs through the last copse of trees, only to stop in his tracks at the sight that greets him.
Wolves.
Panic rushes through his veins in a torrent. Wolves, five of them that he can see, prowl outside the once peaceful cottage, hackles raised. Cold air stabs into his lungs with each labored breath as they come faster now, wild like the rapid beating of his heart.
The door is open, and within it the shadow of one last beast.
"No!"
Adam tears towards the wolves, his own safety the last thing on his mind. Two of them charge him: one clamps its jaws around his calf, shooting pain up his entire leg, and the other lunges at him, throwing him down to the ground. The wolf on top of him bites at his shoulder, latching onto it with all of its sharp teeth. Agony turns Adam's vision white, his ears ring, a ragged scream rips from his throat. After scrabbling at the animal on his chest he manages to throw it off of him, the body tossed effortlessly through the air to land with a heavy thump some distance away. The first one still gnaws at his leg, so Adam sits up and takes his fists to its head, delivering blow after blow, feeling its skull crunch under his hands, watching as red pours from its wrecked body, as viscera spits out from the carcass. Red, so much red; it sprays onto his face, drenches his hands, paints the pristine snow with violence.
Three wolves remain. Two of them stand before him, snarling and snapping their jaws. Suddenly the third barrels into his back— sharp claws tear through his coat and into his skin, leaving long slashes in his shoulders, searing with pain like fiery wings sprouting from his back. He grabs the wolf's scruff in a white-knuckled grip, shears its pelt from its body with a vicious ripping sound, then throws the corpse off somewhere into the snow.
The remaining wolves back away as Adam stands and screams. An unnatural growl underscores his voice, makes him feel beastly and wild. Wrath consumes him: it rages inside of him, frothing upon his lips as his snarl chases the two beasts away. His head whips towards the cottage's still open door, where a large, dark wolf stalks towards him from within. It bears its teeth; Adam bears his back. In this moment— as he runs at the wolf, intercepting it's leap towards him, and collides with its airborne body— he is more animal than man. His fury demands retribution, requires the dark wolf as a sacrifice. It bites his arm, and Adam closes his other around its neck, squeezing tighter and tighter until a sickening crunch is heard above his snarls, and the wolf's head drops back, limp and dead.
The still-warm remains drop with a dull thud at Adam's feet. Frigid air rushes into his lungs, anger peeling away to reveal the panic underneath. De Lacey, he must make sure he's safe—
"What is that?"
"It's that thing from the forest!"
Adam freezes. Fear shivers up his spine like an icy finger dragged along the bone itself. The hunters that had shot him months ago are here, now, looming behind him like an ill omen. Slowly he turns to face them, dread saturating every part of him.
"Don't move!"
He obeys— it does not matter. A horrifying bang sounds a split second before incredible pain explodes in Adam's head. Blood spurts from the wound, pours down into his eye, turning his vision red; he tries to staunch it to no avail. It's as if a steel rod was thrust into his skull. The agony makes him dizzy, but he still sees one of the hunters approaching him with a sickle raised above his head. Without a moment's hesitation the man buries it into Adam's chest, right above his heart. So much pain— how is it that one can suffer so much hurt to such an extent? How does his body receive these men's anger manifest, and still stand?
He screams, the pain almost unbearable. The hunter digs the sickle in more; Adam grasps the man's shoulder, feels the bones grind together in his grip until they snap and he shoves the man aside. The other two only stare as he lumbers past them towards the forest. Perhaps if he leaves they will stop hurting him, and he can make it back to the estate in one piece.
At the edge of the homestead Adam steadies himself on a arched wooden structure. The sickle burns as he tugs at it, but he finally pulls it free with a gasp. It drops from his hands into the pool of his own blood rapidly forming at his feet. He turns, checking if the hunters pursue him still, and barely has the energy to whimper when he finds their guns aimed directly towards him.
Another bang, more blinding pain. The shot pierces his stomach, knocks him back onto the ground. Briefly he wonders if they would relent if he begs mercy— but he looks into their eyes, sees hatred and fear, and knows it is all for naught.
One last shot rings out and punches into his throat, lays him out on the snow. Air refuses to enter his lungs. There is a sick, gurgling wheeze from his exposed trachea. The pain from all over his body bleeds together into a fading throb. Perhaps death would be kinder to him than this life. Perhaps it is not so bad to die.
As everything fades to black, Adam's last thought is of Elizabeth's radiant smile.