The Gentle Touch of Darkness

The nights in the lower ring were always cold, a chill that seeped into the bones and refused to leave. Gerald sat in the dim light of his home, the single candle casting flickering shadows across the walls. He hadn’t slept in days. Plaga’s whispers were quieter now, less insistent, but they were always there, like a shadow in the corner of his mind. He wondered if he would ever feel peace again—or if he even deserved it.

As he sat, staring at the flame, a familiar chill crept through the room. He didn’t flinch or move. He knew who it was before she even appeared.

“Gerald,” Plaga’s voice called softly, almost tenderly. “You look tired.”

He turned his head slowly, and there she was, stepping out of the shadows like a figure from a dream. Her black dress flowed around her like liquid smoke, and her hollow eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. But tonight, there was no malice in her expression, no mocking smile or cruel words. She looked... serene.

“I am tired,” he admitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “What more do you want from me?”

Plaga tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her cracked lips. “Tonight, I want nothing from you,” she said, her voice soft. “Tonight, I am here for you.”

Her words startled him. He had never seen this side of her before, this gentle demeanor. She moved closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid of scaring him away. When she reached him, she knelt beside his chair, her cold fingers brushing lightly against his hand.

“You’ve given so much,” she said, her voice a soothing murmur. “You’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let me carry it for a while.”

Gerald tensed under her touch, his instincts telling him to pull away. But her tone, her presence—it wasn’t the dominating force he was used to. There was something different tonight, something almost... human.

Plaga rose to her feet and gently guided him toward the small cot in the corner of the room. He allowed her to lead him, too tired to resist. When he sat on the edge of the cot, she knelt before him, her hands resting lightly on his knees.

“You’ve fought so hard, my knight,” she said. “You’ve resisted me, questioned me, even hated me. But through it all, you’ve stayed true to your purpose. That strength is why I chose you.”

He met her gaze, his own eyes weary and uncertain. “And what do you want from me now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Plaga’s smile softened. “Tonight, I want to show you that I am not only the mother of decay, not only a force of destruction. I am more than the whispers in your mind or the shadows that haunt you.”

She stood and slipped onto the cot beside him, her movements fluid and graceful. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. Her touch was cold at first, but it wasn’t unpleasant. There was a strange comfort in it, a sense of security that Gerald hadn’t felt in weeks.

He stiffened at first, unsure of how to react. But as she held him, her fingers tracing light patterns on his back, he felt himself relax. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to let go, to lean into the embrace.

Plaga rested her head on his shoulder, her voice a gentle whisper in his ear. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone, Gerald,” she said. “Let me take care of you, even if just for a moment.”

Her words were intoxicating, and her touch was soothing in a way he couldn’t explain. She shifted slightly, her cold fingers brushing against his cheek as she cupped his face.

“You’ve been so strong,” she said, her tone filled with something that almost sounded like admiration. “But even the strongest need rest.”

Her lips, cracked and pale, brushed lightly against his forehead, the gesture tender and almost reverent. Gerald closed his eyes, his body leaning into her touch despite the voice in his mind that warned him against it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice trembling. “You’ve always been cruel, taunting. Why this now?”

Plaga smiled, her thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Because even darkness can be gentle,” she said. “Even decay has its moments of beauty. I see you, Gerald—not as a tool, but as a man who gave everything for those he loves. You are mine, and I care for what is mine.”

Her words struck a chord in him, breaking through the walls he had built around his heart. He hated how much he wanted to believe her, how much he longed for the comfort she offered. But in that moment, he was too tired to fight.

Plaga shifted again, lying down on the cot and pulling him with her. She rested his head against her chest, her fingers running through his hair in slow, soothing motions. The chill of her body seemed to fade, replaced by a warmth that shouldn’t have been possible.

“You’ve been alone for so long,” she said softly. “Let me be here for you, Gerald. Let me show you that you’re not alone anymore.”

Her words, her touch, her presence—they were all-consuming. Gerald’s mind swirled with confusion and doubt, but his body betrayed him, sinking into the comfort she provided. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders relaxed, and his breathing steadied.

“Rest, my knight,” Plaga murmured, her voice barely audible. “Let me take care of you.”

And for the first time since he had made the pact, Gerald allowed himself to let go. He let the darkness hold him, its touch no longer frightening but comforting. As sleep claimed him, Plaga’s whispers faded into a gentle hum, her presence wrapping around him like a protective cocoon.

But even in his dreams, a part of him wondered: Was this real care, or was it another of her games? And as much as he wanted to believe in the kindness she had shown, a small voice in the back of his mind warned him to be wary. For Plaga was not known for her love—only for her power.

Yet, in her arms, Gerald found a moment of peace he hadn’t known in what felt like an eternity. And for that fleeting moment, he chose to believe it was real.