He'd always thought her beautiful, if only on a purely aesthetic level.

But then, that was the only way anyone could find Beryl appealing. On the surface, hers was a harsh, intimidating, mind numbing beauty. Skin whiter than his hair and hair redder than his blood he had shed so many times for her sake. Her eyes were passionate and expressive.

Never mind that she usually expressed murderous rage.

Anything beyond what the naked eye could see was ugly, through and through. She was vicious, willing to do anything it took to achieve her goal. She wanted nothing more than to see them all dead, lifeless eyes once full of hope staring back at her with an unasked question. She would cut them open and bathe in their blood, drink from the crimson cup of victory, feast on their flesh and call it vengeance.

But he loved her ugliness as much as he loved her beauty. Because she was the only way he'd ever be able to feel whole, fulfilling her every desire in hopes of forgetting how empty he felt whenever he looked at the soldier in gold or the masked prince with the sad blue eyes.