After every excess that stills his craving for flesh and blood, the dark king persuades himself that he has only done what should have been done long ago. Every single excuse for every single additional victim.
"They call it cruelty.
Because they possess no other word for decisions
that they themselves would never have dared to make.
I have shed blood.
More than a single life should bear.
But blood is honest.
It does not scream for meaning – it flows when something ends.
They speak of morality as if it were a law of the world.
Yet it is nothing more than an agreement of
those who hope never to have to decide.
Every peace they revere
is built upon violence that another has committed for them.
I have simply stopped denying this violence.
I have chosen where others hesitated.
Killed where others would have negotiated,
and every hesitation would have claimed more dead than my decision.
They want kings who remain clean.
Gods who remain silent when injustice occurs.
Saviors who do not get their hands dirty.
That is no virtue.
That is cowardice with pretty words.
They judge the blood on my hands –
and sleep soundly because it does not cling to theirs.
I bear their guilt,
because I know that they would break under it.
I will never find redemption for this –
and no song will ever bear my name.
If one calls me a monster for this –
then so be it.
Monsters are needed,
when the world is too ugly for heroes."
Yet after countless excesses—both of hunger and of justification—the void within the dark king remains, refusing to simply vanish. Quite the contrary: It grows even larger and larger.
So, sometimes he speaks to himself alone for entire nights, as if he were talking to his beloved:
"Oh, my beloved Lysandra, if only you could hear me.
If only you could feel what I feel."
As he says this, he touches his heart with his claws.
"If you knew how much I miss you.
If you knew how much I love you.
Of course, I also miss our two little sunshines, Elenya and Lyrielle.
I wish that we could all be together again, just like before.
Happy and united.
Yet sometimes I cannot even remember your name,
let alone your voice,
your face,
or even your scent.
I am afraid.
Afraid of forgetting you completely.
Sometimes only silence remains where your name should actually be.
I need you so much, my beloved Lysandra.
I love you.
I love you so much."
And while he speaks these words, his whole body trembles without him being aware of it.
And sometimes, in very rare moments, he even hears his beloved speaking to him:
"Elandor..."
"Elandor, my beloved."
"Can you hear me?"
"I love you too."
"I love you more than anything, my beloved."
"Du art my sun."
"Through you, I can feel safe even in the darkness."
"If you can hear me..."
"...then you must let go, my beloved!"
"Finally let go..." says Lysandra with a loving smile.
"I love you too, but you must be able to let go, my beloved."
"We will see each other again in the next life!"
"I promise you that."
"Fortis mea tibi est." (My strength belongs to you.)
"In virtute et fide te semper eligam." (In courage and faith, I will always choose you.)
Whenever he hears his wife's voice, it feels like an infinite pain in his chest. It is as if it were literally burning him and crushing him at the same time, so that he cannot breathe for a while. Meanwhile, his tears cannot stop flowing.
But: He also feels his heart beginning to pound again, over and over. Although he shouldn't actually possess a heart anymore. But if it is not his heart, whose heart is it then? And was this actually Lysandra speaking to him? Or only the last remnant of himself? He cannot say for certain.
Yet even when he hears his wife's voice and his heart pounds again, it is only for a brief moment. For every time he gives in to his dark craving for flesh and blood, a part of himself dies as well. Elandor knows that he does not have much time left until his humanity eventually vanishes completely. Only when this will happen, he does not know. After every single excess and with every single additional bite, this void only grows more and more, until one day this void, this pain, and this longing will become unbearable.
So he now subordinates his craving for flesh and blood to another goal: the longing for his true love, his Lysandra, and his two little sunshines. But the clock is ticking, and a race against time begins. He knows that he must act quickly, before not a single spark of humanity remains within him.