Rape. The word hums in my mind, a dark hymn, a compulsion I cannot confess to the world.
Oh, Ninoegyn, my Nino, how you consume me. I dream of holding her, my will an unyielding tide against her trembling frame. In my reverie, she yields, her tears a silent music, her form soft and pliant beneath my grasp.
I imagine her body bending to my desire, carrying the seed of my obsession—a child, a legacy, blooming in her unwilling womb.
I would watch, enraptured, as her belly swells under my vigilant care, a testament to our twisted union.
I would whisper to her of divine gifts, of a child sent from the heavens, my voice a velvet chain to bind her doubts.
She might recoil, her hands straining against mine, but I would hold her fast, murmuring love, my love, our love, until she softens in my arms. Her fragility, her brokenness, would stir me to cradle her, to nurse her like a starving soul in some forsaken land.
Yet, in her eyes—oh, those eyes—a flicker, a spark that defies me. A glance that cuts through my carefully woven dreams, sharp as a blade, unyielding as stone. Nino. Light of my life. Fire of my loins.