Vincent had been there for so long that time had become meaningless. He had stopped counting the days, months, years-no, *centuries*-since he had been brought to Rody’s domain. The memory of his old life had faded into a distant, unreachable dream. The village, his family, the quiet fields of France in the 1800s-it was all gone now. All that was left was Rody.
He still remembered the night he had been taken. He had been so young then, only 19, desperate for something more than the loneliness that had consumed him. When the cult found him, he thought they were his salvation. They had promised him everything: love, affection, a place where he would belong. He was so naive, so willing to believe in anything, that he didn’t even fight when they tied him down and began their ritual.
And then Rody came.
The demon wasn’t what Vincent had expected. He was handsome, strikingly so, with sharp features and a gaze that burned with dark intensity. When Rody looked at Vincent, it felt like the sun had finally broken through the clouds of his desolate life. In those early days, Vincent had thought Rody cared for him, in his own cruel way. Rody had been possessive, yes, but he had also been affectionate in a way no one else had ever been with Vincent. He had touched him, held him, whispered to him in the dead of night.
And Vincent, in his desperation, had mistaken that for love.
For centuries, Vincent had endured. He had let Rody use him, let him take whatever he wanted from his body, from his soul. Vincent had thought that if he gave enough, Rody might come to truly care for him. But the centuries passed, and Rody never changed. His affection was fleeting, given in brief moments before he would grow bored and push Vincent aside, like an old toy he had grown tired of.
Still, Vincent stayed. What else could he do? He had no life outside of Rody’s domain. No one else wanted him, no one else would care for him. And even though Rody’s love was cold, even though it wasn’t love at all, it was *something*. And Vincent had convinced himself that something was better than nothing.
But then Manon came.
It had only been a few weeks since the cult had dragged her into Rody’s domain, but already, everything had changed. Manon was nothing like Vincent. She was soft, innocent, and terrified. When Rody looked at her, his gaze softened in a way Vincent had never seen before. He was gentle with her, kind in a way he had never been with Vincent.
Vincent had watched, silently, as Rody took her in. He had watched as Rody comforted her, whispered reassurances to her, cradled her trembling body in his arms. He had seen the way Rody looked at her, with something resembling *tenderness*.
It tore Vincent apart.
For centuries, he had been Rody’s. He had given everything, sacrificed everything, all for a few fleeting moments of attention. But Manon-she hadn’t even been here for a month, and already, Rody treated her as if she were the center of his world.
Rody would touch her face softly, brush away her tears, and speak to her in a voice so gentle it made Vincent sick. He would tell her she was safe, that he would protect her, that she was *special* to him. Words Vincent had never heard from Rody’s lips, not in all the centuries he had spent by his side.
With Vincent, Rody was rough, callous. He would take what he wanted, leaving Vincent to pick up the pieces of his shattered self afterward. Rody’s touch was always forceful, his words cold, dismissive. Afterward, Rody would turn away, leaving Vincent in the darkness, alone and aching for more.
But with Manon, it was different. Rody would hold her after, stroke her hair, and tell her how much he cared for her. He would stay with her, *talk* to her, as if her feelings actually mattered.
Vincent had never mattered like that.
The contrast was unbearable. It gnawed at him every moment, filling him with a deep, festering bitterness. Why was Manon so special? Why did she get the love Vincent had craved for so long? It wasn’t fair. Vincent had been here for *centuries*. He had *earned* Rody’s affection, but now, he was nothing more than a shadow, a forgotten toy.
Rody didn’t even look at him anymore. Not in the way he used to. There were no more soft touches, no more fleeting moments of connection. All of that was reserved for *her*. Vincent had become invisible, a relic of the past Rody no longer cared about.
It hurt more than anything Vincent had ever experienced. The pain was suffocating, a constant ache in his chest that never went away. He had given everything to Rody, and it had meant nothing. Centuries of devotion, of sacrifice, and Rody had thrown him away the moment someone better came along.
Vincent hated her.
He hated the way she looked at Rody, with fear and admiration in her eyes. He hated the way Rody *cared* for her, the way he spoke to her, the way he touched her. He hated how she had taken everything from him, without even trying.
But more than anything, Vincent hated himself. He hated that he still loved Rody, even now. Even after everything, even after being cast aside, Vincent couldn’t stop loving him. He couldn’t stop wanting him.
It was pathetic. He was pathetic.
But he didn’t know how to stop.
Vincent tried to suppress the bitterness that gnawed at his insides, tried to push down the sickening jealousy that churned whenever he saw Rody with Manon. But it was impossible. The more Rody lavished attention on her, the more it drove Vincent mad. Every gentle word, every soft touch Rody gave to her, was a knife twisting deeper into Vincent’s chest.
He couldn’t understand it. Why her? Why, after all these centuries of loyalty and devotion, was he so easily replaced by this trembling girl? He had endured so much-sacrificed everything-for Rody’s love, and yet here he was, discarded like he was nothing.
Vincent couldn’t take it anymore. One evening, after Rody had tucked Manon away in a secluded corner of the domain, leaving her safe and comforted as always, Vincent approached him. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands trembling at his sides. He knew Rody wouldn’t like this. He knew the consequences of pushing too hard. But Vincent was desperate. He had nothing left but the ache for Rody’s love, and if that meant risking everything, then so be it.
“Rody…” Vincent’s voice was soft, hesitant, as he stepped closer to the demon. “Please… Can we talk?”
Rody barely glanced at him. His sharp gaze was cold, disinterested, as if Vincent were nothing more than a nuisance interrupting his evening. “What is it, Vincent?” he muttered, his voice laced with impatience.
Vincent swallowed hard, his throat tightening. Even now, even after centuries of this, Rody’s indifference cut through him like a blade. But he couldn’t stop. He needed Rody to see him, to feel something for him again. He needed to believe that, deep down, Rody still cared.
“I… I just wanted to know if I did something wrong,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his vulnerability. “Have I upset you? I-” His words faltered as he searched Rody’s face for any sign of warmth, any hint that he still mattered.
Rody sighed, his expression hardening. “You’re being ridiculous, Vincent.” His tone was clipped, dismissive, as if Vincent’s feelings were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Vincent knelt before Rody, his heart thudding in his chest, fingers trembling as they brushed against the fabric of Rody’s coat. He didn’t care how pathetic he looked. He didn’t care that his eyes were swollen from crying or that his voice trembled every time he spoke. All he cared about was Rody. All he cared about was the faint hope that maybe-just maybe-Rody still had some affection left for him.
“Rody,” Vincent whispered, his voice cracking with desperation, “please… I just want to understand. Why her? Why does she get your love, your kindness, and I get-” He faltered, choking on the words. “I’ve been here for so long. I’ve done everything for you. Why won’t you even look at me anymore?”
Rody didn’t pull away this time, but his gaze remained fixed on Vincent, cold and impassive. “Vincent,” he said, his voice low and calm, “you’re not here to ask questions. You’re here because you chose to stay. You wanted this.”
The words stung, but Vincent didn’t back down. He was too far gone, too desperate for Rody’s love to let it go now. “I did,” Vincent admitted, his voice barely audible, “and I still do. But I-Rody, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand watching you with her.”
Rody had saved him first, hadn’t he? It was Vincent who had given up everything-his freedom, his dignity, his life. He’d done it all for Rody, desperate for the demon’s affection, for any sign that he mattered. But now, Vincent felt that slipping away, as if it had never been there at all.
Vincent swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t bear this anymore. The way Rody looked at him now-like he was nothing. He had to know if there was still something between them, something that hadn’t faded into nothingness.
“Why don’t you care about me anymore?” Vincent’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve been by your side for centuries. But now, you look at me like I don’t even exist.”
Rody sighed, his eyes narrowing with irritation. “Vincent, this isn’t the time.”
“It’s never the time,” Vincent interrupted, his desperation spilling over. “You always brush me aside. I’m… I’m still here, Rody. Don’t I matter to you at all?”
Rody’s face darkened, but there was no rage-only cruel indifference. He stepped closer, his tall frame towering over Vincent’s slighter one. “I’ve never told you that you don’t matter, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice low and calm, but each word felt like a slap. “But what more do you want from me?”
Vincent’s breath hitched. What more do you want? He had given everything-hadn’t he?
“I just… I just want you to love me again,” Vincent whispered, his voice breaking. “Like you used to.”
Rody’s gaze was ice, his eyes narrowing in a way that sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine. “Vincent, I never loved you.”
The words hit Vincent like a physical blow. His legs felt weak, his body trembling as he struggled to keep standing. “That’s not true,” he whispered, shaking his head, refusing to believe it. “You-there was a time when you cared about me. I know there was.”
Vincent’s hands trembled as he stepped closer to Rody, desperate to close the gap between them. His breath hitched in his throat, and he forced himself to speak, though his voice was small and shaking.
“Rody… please, talk to me,” he whispered, trying to catch the demon’s cold gaze. “I don’t understand… Why are you always with her?”
Vincent’s heart sank. He had lived centuries by Rody’s side, watching the demon drift further and further away from him, but now that Manon was here, it was unbearable. He couldn’t lose Rody, not after all this time.
“I just… I miss you,” Vincent said softly, his hands balling into fists. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to remind him of all they had been through together, but he was afraid of being pushed away. “You barely look at me anymore. You don’t… care about me the way you used to.”
Rody’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it wasn’t one of warmth. It was cold, mocking. “Miss me? Vincent, I never went anywhere.” His voice was flat, his gaze still distant. “I’ve always been here.”
“Not like this,” Vincent insisted, the words spilling out before he could stop himself. “You used to care for me. You used to…” He swallowed hard, the taste of desperation bitter in his mouth. “You used to love me.”
Rody finally looked at Vincent, his eyes dark and unreadable. He stared at Vincent for a long moment, and Vincent’s heart raced in his chest. For a split second, he thought-hoped-that Rody might soften, that he might see him the way he once had.
But when Rody finally spoke, his words were cold and sharp. “I never loved you, Vincent,” he said, the words cutting through Vincent like a blade. “You were convenient. That’s all.”
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his legs trembling beneath him. He felt as though the ground was crumbling away, pulling him into a pit of despair. Convenient. After centuries of devotion, of giving everything to Rody, was that all he had been? Just a fleeting convenience?
“I don’t believe that,” Vincent whispered, his voice shaking. “I know you cared about me once. I know you did. Please, Rody, I-” He stepped forward, his hand reaching for Rody’s arm, desperate for any kind of connection, for any hint of the affection he craved.
But Rody pulled away, his expression hardening. “You don’t know anything, Vincent,” he said coldly. “I’ve never cared about anyone. Not you. Not her. No one.”
The words hit Vincent like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He stood frozen in place, his hand still outstretched, as if reaching for something that was forever out of his grasp. He had lived for so long-centuries-holding on to the belief that Rody cared for him, that somewhere, beneath the demon’s cold exterior, there had been love.
But now, he felt that hope slipping away, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. He had given everything to Rody-his loyalty, his body, his soul-and in return, he had been given nothing.
“I love you, Rody,” Vincent whispered, the words breaking as tears gathered in his eyes. He hated how weak he sounded, hated how much power Rody still had over him, but he couldn’t stop. He had nothing left but this love, and it was tearing him apart. “I’ve always loved you. I’ve given you everything.”
Rody’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking over Vincent with disdain. “I never asked for your love, Vincent,” he said. “You gave it because you had nothing else.”
Vincent’s heart twisted painfully. He had thought-he had hoped-that his devotion would mean something to Rody. That even if Rody didn’t love him the same way, he would at least acknowledge what they had shared. But now, all of that seemed like a cruel joke.
“I gave you everything because I wanted to,” Vincent said, his voice trembling. “Because I wanted to be close to you. Because I…” His words trailed off, lost in the suffocating weight of Rody’s cold indifference. “Please, Rody, just… care for me again. Even if it’s just a little. Please.”
“I just want you to look at me the way you look at her,” Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible. He hated how small he sounded, how broken. “I just want you to love me the way I love you.”
Rody’s gaze was cold, unfeeling. “I don’t love anyone, Vincent. Not you. Not her. You’re deluding yourself if you think I ever did.”
Vincent’s chest tightened, the air growing thick and suffocating around him. The weight of Rody’s cruelty crushed him, leaving him empty and raw. He had always known Rody was distant, indifferent, but hearing those words-hearing that Rody had never cared-was too much to bear.
“Please…” Vincent’s voice cracked as he sank to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached for Rody, desperate for something, anything. “I can’t lose you. I’ll do anything. Just… just don’t leave me.”
Rody looked down at him, his gaze empty. “I’m not leaving you, Vincent. You’re still mine.”
Vincent’s heart shattered at those words. He staggered back, the room spinning around him as Rody’s indifference washed over him. How had it come to this? How had he fallen so low? He had loved Rody for centuries-had devoted his very existence to him. And now… now it felt like it had all been for nothing.
“I needed you once,” Rody said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “But things change.”
“I’m still here,” Vincent whispered, tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I’m still right here.”
Rody’s eyes softened for a fleeting second as he reached out to touch Vincent’s cheek, the back of his hand brushing away a tear. But there was no tenderness in the gesture-only a cruel mockery of the love Vincent had once craved. “You’ll always be here, Vincent. But you’re not what I want anymore.”
Vincent’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his hands trembling as he reached for Rody’s hand, desperate to feel some connection, some sliver of hope that he still meant something. “Please… just… love me again. I’ll do anything.”
Rody stared down at him, his eyes cold as ever. “I’m not capable of love,” he said, his voice calm and final.
Vincent sobbed, his body shaking as he clung to the hem of Rody’s coat, like a child begging for comfort. “You’re lying,” he whimpered. “You’re lying…”
But Rody didn’t respond. He simply pulled his coat from Vincent’s grasp and turned his back on him, walking away without another word, leaving Vincent crumpled on the floor, broken and alone.
Vincent’s chest ached, the weight of Rody’s rejection crushing him from the inside. He had given everything-everything-and in return, he was left with nothing. The centuries he’d spent by Rody’s side, the love he’d believed in, it had all been meaningless.
Vincent curled in on himself, tears soaking into the cold floor as he lay there, sobbing quietly. The darkness of Rody’s domain surrounded him, pressing in on all sides. He had been here for centuries, and yet, in this moment, he felt more alone than ever before.
The only thing that remained was the cold echo of Rody’s final words, repeating endlessly in Vincent’s mind.
I’m not capable of love.
Rody would never love him.
And yet, even knowing that, Vincent couldn’t stop loving him. He would always love him. Even if it destroyed him completely.
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