Love heals better than time.

****

Like a prisoner knew each cell and dungeon to the heart, every twist and turn of the palace was familiar to Indumala.

She intuitively remembered minute details, like a missing flower vase, a hidden window or the secret pathway to the courtroom. Maybe in a brighter environment she would have enjoyed being aware of such hidden knowledge, but a question poked her incessantly– why do I know?

Everything led to one answer– I was here. I was here long, long ago. Or perhaps not too long, only before the plague.

The guards unlocked the door to her room. Rudra had insisted on accompanying her. However, the guards were tasked by Hamal to escort each guest to their room individually. Rudra was anxious about a venomous plot and scheming ministers, but he could do nothing. This was not his domain. Somehow, he was weakened.

It worried Indumala. Knowing how wrathful and proud Rudra was as a man, it was scandalous for the Rajan to show such symptoms of internal defeat. It wasn't humility that humbled him but raw fear.

"This is your stay for tonight," the guards said. "We will be outside in case you need any help."

Indumala entered, and the door closed behind her– a creaking, haunting noise that made her wince.

The room was shrouded in an eerie darkness, barely illuminated by flickering moonbeams. Shadowy tendrils danced across the walls, giving the impression of lurking malevolence. Rich tapestries depicting triumphant battles and noble lineage adorned the walls, but their vibrant colors were muted and lifeless in the absence of company. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, its luxurious canopy hanging solemnly, as if waiting for someone to occupy it. The polished marble floors echoed with each solitary footstep, amplifying the silence that filled the space.

Indumala ran her hand over the artifacts in the room. A thick layer of dust covered them.

"Someone must have hurriedly cleaned the room and prepared the bed. Otherwise, this seems to have been unoccupied–"

A sharp, pungent odour made Indumala scrunch her nose. It filled the surrounding with a sense of urgency and alarm. The scent was reminiscent of charred wood and singed fabric, with undertones of smoky ash drifting lazily through the air.

"Is-is something burning?"

As suddenly as it came to her nose, the smell vanished. A gust of wind through the window played with the chiming rows of pearls hanging down the mirror. She approached it with slow steps. The gilded mirror reflected back the emptiness of the room. She wiped it with her hand and stared at her reflection.

Even in the darkness the bags under her eyes were visible. The dim light didn't remove the imperfections of exhaustion. Indumala took a deep breath to calm herself down, rubbing her sweaty hands on her robes. Alas, the burning smell wafted to her nose again. She pinched her nostrils.

Fire scared her. It reminded Indumala of the nightmares she had. To burn to death was one of the most horrifying ends to life– to feel one's skin melt and bones turn to dust, the sizzling lick of the flames and the kiss of a cruel goodbye–

"Who is there?"

Something breathed heavily on her neck. It walked away when she called. The mirror showed a shadow cross behind her.

Indumala touched the dagger on her belt. "Who-who is there?" she stammered.

"Petra..."

She turned to the mirror. No, it showed only her face, shaped like a heart. Her tanned skin was occluded by the obsidian night, although her warm eyes glowed akin to a deer's innocent orbs. But the more she looked at the mirror, the more obscured it became. The surface flowed like a viscous fluid, streaming downwards. Her face changed, becoming rounder, and her skin a shade of golden. Her eyes remained the same. But Indumala didn't recognise the girl in the mirror as her.

It wasn't her reflection. It was of the girl from her nightmares.

"Pe-petra?" Indumala asked. Was this her ghost that peered into her soul through the mirror?

The girl neither smiled nor cried. Her eyes became stony. Indumala took steps back. The reflection did too, mimicking her every move but not the expressions.

When a cold hand landed on Petra's shoulder, Indumala could feel the touch too.

A deafening scream escaped out of her lungs.

"Rudra! Baba!" She ran back and flopped on the bed. Only now she noticed rose petals scattered all over the crimson and flaxen bedsheet.

"Rudra is dead, Petra."

"No, he isn't. He isn't!"

"But he is, Petra. He has become a martyr."

A sinister laugh rang in her ears. She blocked them and ducked down her head. The voices, freed from the shackles of her mind, now roamed recklessly in the room. They said the same things over and over again.

Rudra is dead, Petra. Rudra is no more.

Come to me, Petra.

"Stop it, please," she begged. Phantoms danced above her head, near the ceiling, shutting away the light coming from outside. In a few moments the room was drowned in complete darkness, cut from the whole palace.

"I-I am not Petra..." Tears ran down her eyes. She hiccuped. "Or wa-was I?"

"Rudra is dead, Petra. Come to me."

Indumala moaned. Stuck to the bed, she didn't want to move, lest the vicious spirits feasted upon her. They circled above and chanted Rudra's demise.

"Rudra is lost, Petra. Come to me."

"He is not dead," she barely whispered. "He is alive–"

Petra?

Wasn't that the name he called me when he was transformed into his wolf?

Amidst the chaos ensued by the otherworldly shadows and the frightening chill, Indumala realised that perhaps there was more to her and her loved ones that she was unaware of.

"Rudra, come to me. Please..."

She curled up into a ball, hands joined together in a prayer.

"Please save me, Rudra. Please..."

****

Sleep didn't soothe Rajan Rudra's eyes. Sweating profusely, he tossed and turned in his bed. When it got too much to handle, he sat upright.

"Is she fine?" The guards didn't allow him or even Aryamna to accompany Indumala. The Senapati could still assure that his wife was alright, for they were given one room due to being a married couple. Rudra then was shocked how the diabolical Hamal was so considerate. The true colours came up when Rudra was prohibited from being with Indumala.

They weren't married, yes. Yet he could at least see her till her room.

But they were adamant on not letting him be near her.

"She isn't fine. She can't be."

Out of all the people, if someone could comprehend this truth the most, it was Rudra. He would feel it even more than her Baba Aryamna.

Rudra was the ancient love that Indumala had returned in search of. He too, like a hermit, waited at the edge of life and death to welcome her. Time had made him a monster. He ate the flesh of his own kind, bathed in blood and worshipped his decorated collection of skulls. Rage had come to be synonymous with him.

Indumala came and suppressed his eruption. It still boiled and brimmed within and could burst anytime. Perhaps some time ago it would have snapped at Indumala for not being respectful enough of Rajan Rudra. Now, it would wreak havoc a second time just to ensure she was safe. He didn't mind being cursed again. He didn't feel afraid of being seen as some ugly beast by the world, even by Indumala, although the latter would rip him apart.

"All this beggar desires is a bowl of love."

And if he does not receive it, he would make sure the same is snatched away from the world too.

Rudra's wolf growled. His eyes reddened, the hair on his forearms standing up. He lolled back his head and groaned. No, he couldn't sit here and mourn as a wolf. He had to find her.

"I had found you when you were ashes." He recalled the dreary past, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "Your scorched body had burnt my sanity too. I will make sure that you don't burn a second time, Indumala."

Petra.

Kicking the door open and beating the guards to pulp who tried to stop him, he shouted Indumala's name like a madman. His fingers were begining to change into claws. Instead of lucid words, the hurricane of emotions gave birth to incoherent grunts. No man dared to face Rudra when he looked too unreal to be human.

But that day, Indumala had stayed. She stayed despite fear and apprehension.

Which was all that mattered to Rudra.

Pulling on the invisible thread of fate that connected him to his beloved Luna, Rudra reached a room in a deserted part of the palace. There were no guards outside the room, but he could distinctly hear her cries.

It crushed his heart. She is crying.

He unbolted the door, for she was locked in mercilessly, and ran to her. She had become a mess– a pile of tears and blood. The dagger that she held fiercely in her palms bled in her own ichor.

"I am here, little one."

Indumala opened her red-rimmed eyes. Horror flashed across her face. Rudra touched his own visage. Oh, I must look so disgusting now. He looked at his arms, covered half in fur and half in human skin. Perhaps his eyes had turned ghastly too.

Maybe he shouldn't have come.

"Rudra..." She hushed, crawling on his lap. Wrapping her arms around his body, she hid her head in his chest. "Why were you so late?"

He gasped. Unpleasant memories deluged the present. He hugged her tightly, pulling her close to his thudding heart. "I am sorry." I really am, Petra. "I won't ever be late again."

It was his fault that she had died. He was to be blamed. No one else.

None.

"Cry in my arms, never alone," he crooned.

Her breaths were short and erratic. She ran her hands over his body, desperately collecting every drop of warmth she could find. "I don't understand."

"No need to. Just be with me."

"I heard them saying you were dead."

"I am fortunately immortal, Indumala. You will never lose me." And I won't let you slip past this time.

She moaned and pressed her lips to his chest. Half of the wounds he had been carrying since her previous death healed in that tiny moment. "I don't want to lose you."

"You need not."

"These people are demonic." She sobbed. "They are shattering my strength."

"Breaking down won't kill you, little one. I am here to gather the pieces."

She looked up at him. Even though his eyes were hollow and devilish themselves, two black gemstones glinting with untamed wilderness, Indumala found in that accursed forest a home. "It's laughable how I am not wary of you. I should have pushed you back, should have I not?"

"You chose a jinxed being."

"That makes me wretched too."

"No." Rudra kissed her forehead. "You will always be untainted. The sun doesn't get maligned by the spots of the moon. The sun never fails to shine."

"I really love you," Indumala blurted.

An awkward silence fell over them. Rudra gaped, staring helplessly at her. Indumala covered her mouth, suddenly conscious of the miserable quietude and the unseen eyes of the walls. "I didn't mean to put you in a tense position," she said. "Forgive me. I was careless–"

"Say that again."

The firmness of his tone set it crystal clear. Say it again. It's not a request but a command.

She blushed. "I said– I love you."

"Again."

"I-I love you?"

"Go on, Indu. Keep telling me until you are bored." His hands glided down and rest upon her little plump back. "It's something I have not heard for years. I crave it so much."

"It's sad how I had people to love me, but you missed it."

"I lost my people to time and transformation, Indu. Although many are again embracing me back."

"That's beautiful."

Rudra laid her down on the bed and spooned her from behind. He nuzzled her neck, slowly feeling the wolf leave and normalcy return. He grabbed her palms in his own, gently showering kisses near her earlobe.

"Who is Petra?" she suddenly asked, stiffening up in his cocoon.

Rudra's breath hitched in his throat. "Someone who lived long ago."

"Why had you called me Petra that day, when I saw you as a werewolf for the first time?"

Rudra cleared his throat. "Why do you ask?"

"Did you love her?" Her voice was shaky. "You shouldn't hide your past from me."

"There's nothing to hide."

"But they–"

"Indumala, you need to rest. I will keep my eyes and ears open."

"No." She turned to face him. "The voices," she fidgeted with the words, "they murmured that you were dead. 'Rudra is dead, Petra. Come to me'. I-I even saw her face in the mirror there." She pointed at it.

Rudra's eyes widened. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to be happy, but nothing seemed like a celebration. This should have been a joyous remembrance, not a suffering.

"Petra was someone, yes," he said. "You will know one day."

"How did she die?"

"She is alive." Rudra rubbed a thumb over her chin. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Indumala sighed. "All of you are hiding things from me."

Rudra smiled. "One day you will know everything. Take your time."

"Just tell me, I won't die, will I?" Indumala's lips quivered. "I-I am scared of all the nightmares becoming real. I don't understand why I see them. Petra and the fire, these visions and dreams, everything seems like a puzzle. But I won't die, right?"

"You are bodyguard of the Rajan. But Rudra is your bodyguard. Understood?"

Indumala sniffed back her tears. "Yes."

"Good. Now don't think anymore and try to sleep. I will be awake and alert. You need to relax."

"Can we go to your room?"

"I don't want to attract any unnecessary attention. I already punched many men while coming to your room."

"You will never change."

"I am a monster and I will be one, if that is the price of keeping you safe. I am ready to be despised for it. Even you–"

"Shh." She placed a finger on his lips, "I am fine with how you are. We will clash, I know, us being so stubborn sometimes, but I will still love you."

"I am keeping my confession for a better, more special moment in the future. Sometime when the ambience will be gala, so that you can remember it with a scarlet flush." He took her hand and kept it over his heart. "But you know you are here. You have always been, even before you came."

Indumala caressed his skin. The fears she were feeling when alone in the room had long gone. "You are hot."

"I know."

She narrowed her eyes. "No, I mean you might have a fever."

"It's a different kind of fever, Indumala. It happens when I get to lay beside my beloved or be intimate with her."

She scoffed. "We aren't married."

"I know. I am not saying you to do anything. Just sleep and let me look after you."

"Can I trust you?"

"Well..." Rudra averted his gaze. "I might steal some kisses, that's it. I am not a rascal, you know."

She pursed her lips. "Fine with me."

"Uh, stealing kisses?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Sleep, little one."

Two lovers coiled like snakes, tucked in each other's arms like precious pearls. One awake and one in slumber. One a monster and other a mage.

But both thirsty for affection.