Nikolai Gogol

Love isn't everything people make it out to be.

Sometimes it's more.

And others, it's less.

Love is subjective to everybody on earth. Perhaps some feel it too much, and perhaps others feel it too little. Maybe some don't feel it all. Perhaps some believe love isn't real.

What is love if not a few strong endorphins in the human mind?

By scientists who favor mind over heart, love is defined by mental connections.

It's nothing but a reaction in the brain. It isn't the effervescent force people perceive it as so often.

So, is it fake? Are we as humans shackled to our default settings?

Love isn't crucial. You don't need it like you need water, like you need oxygen, like you need sustenance.

But for some, love is a need, and not the luxury that it is.

Some would go as far as to drown in their love for another.

Love, no matter how fragile, can also last centuries.

Nikolai Gogol wasn't one for indulgence in the whimsy of true emotion.

Emotion was a human trait.

Regardless, he was but a human, just as prone to feeling as anyone.

It made him sick. No matter how hard he wishes to free himself from care for others, he can't.

He's not free.

When Nikolai had begun his relationship with you, he didn't know what he was seeking.

Sex? Real love? Connection? An epiphany?

He didn't know what, but he hoped you would teach him something new.

Otherwise, this’d be a waste of time.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Today was a sunnier day than usual.

When he has no need for his jester-like persona, he's rather quiet and analytical. He listens to the gentle coo of a mourning dove at sunrise, allowing his hair to fall loose and blow softly in the wind that comes through the open window.

Now that he has a partner, being alone in your shared home feels strange.

Nikolai walks around the kitchen in silence, collecting his thoughts. He comes across your abandoned drink from last night, and he carelessly takes a swig from it.

It wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else, but the taste of your lips was all too familiar to him.

Nikolai adores the taste of you.

Ever since the start of your relationship with Nikolai, he hasn't felt nearly as hollow, even if he still struggles to express his true feelings. He never believed in feeling. He believed in freedom from that exact same thing.

But there you went, stuffing a bird inside a rusty cage.

Nikolai hangs around the house a little longer before he eventually goes out to look for you.

Slinging his coat over his shoulder, he stepped foot into the outside world once again.

He had no idea where you were, but he'd be damned if he didn't try to find you.

He may have been a crafty killer, but he wasn't the most amazing detective.

Hours later, he entered a park adorned in beautiful flowers. It seemed to be isolated from the rest of the big city. Why was such a mysterious beauty so gated from the rest of the world out there?

In the middle of a rose patch, Nikolai finds your form unconscious on the ground. Blood had already dried on your clothes.

He's quick to kneel at your side, reaching down to feel for a pulse.

There was none there.

He doesn't know what he should feel right now. He feels nothing, and yet for once, he wants to feel something, to make sense of the pit in his stomach.

Silently, Nikolai grabs a few roses and stashes them in his coat. That's when he sprawls it out further, opening up a pocket dimension to put your body inside of until he arrives home.

When he finally makes it home, he clears off the kitchen island and opens the dimension back up, carefully grabbing your body and placing it up there.

To him, you almost looked more ethereal dead than you did alive.

His gloves hand reaches for your cold, limp one, holding it close to his cheek.

He doesn't cry. He feels a pit in his stomach.

He doesn't leave your side for hours, until he decides to strip off your clothing, revealing you in your most natural glory.

His fingers stray over your skin, as if trying to memorize the feel of your flesh.

But your flesh wouldn't be so pristine forever, would it?

Something about the scent and feel of your flesh was enticing, delectable.

It took some thought, but when he was done admiring you lovingly, he had came to the conclusion that you would rot soon.

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He took a cleaver to your body and chopped away until each limb was separated.

Each hack splashed a little bit of your blood on him, but he didn't have a lot of trouble getting through the muscle tissue. He was strong, after all.

He put each of your parts in their own bags, and then he emptied out the contents of the fridge and freezer to put all of you inside.

He did save one part, though.

Before bagging your torso, he had cut right down the middle of your chest and ripped your heart out.

With your blood staining him, he felt a strange warmth envelop him.

On a plate in front of him sat your heart, filled with blood, yet no longer beating.

Dragging his tongue along the side of it, he whispers,

“Your heart is forever mine, dove..’

And with those words, he gently nibbled on the organ, and then began digging in with his canines until a gush of metallic tasting fluid flooded his mouth.

And despite that, it tasted lovely. He finished the whole thing in less than half-an-hour.

Day by day, he'd eat more of your body until less and less parts remained.

Eventually, it came to where only the head remained.

He couldn't bring himself to eat it, though. So, it sat in the freezer like a centerpiece, beckoning to him whenever he missed seeing your face.

The table was stained with blood, and the place smelled of rotting flesh.

Awful.

As Nikolai strokes your cheek, a knock resounds throughout the living room. Cocking a brow, he moves to answer the door, opening it up to find..

..You. Standing there, in the flesh.

Alive.

He had to have been hallucinating, right? There's no way. He ate just about all of you, and so this was damn near impossible.

You suppose it would've been helpful to tell him about your ability that allows you to come back from death looking brand new, so as long as the soul stays intact.

His face is smeared with blood, and you're led to wonder just what the hell happened here.

Perhaps Nikolai loves the taste of you too much.