Lord Lochlan was cursed in the womb, condemned by the perceived crimes of his parents.
On the thirteenth year of his birth, the red glow of the moon washed over land and sea like a faded bloody stain. A constant reminder of the curse that marked him before he was born. Every night he gazed at it like he was lured and haunted by it. Just once he wanted to see the moon glow as everyone else saw it. Bright and illuminating. But he knew that would never be possible.
The all too familiar feeling of despair suffocated him, like long gangling fingers squeezing his neck, cutting off his air. He fell to his knees and begged for the sky to fall on him. He had suffered long and tirelessly and he was desperate for it to end. And yet, he fought to breathe. He fought to stand back on his feet. Because fighting back was as instinctual to him as breathing. He had come too far to let his loneliness and despair get the best of him now. He was battle worn and weary, but he still had a reason to live.
Or so he hoped.
He stood back on his feet and he fought against the doom that hovered over him since the day he was born and he stared up into the darkened sky.
At the moon that shines red only for him.
I should have stayed away from him. But I couldn’t.
HE was my love…my life. And he just might kill me.
I suppose that means…he may also be my end.