Love by Daria Molchanova

One step – and from the highest peak
you can fall into the darkest abyss.
This is love, isn’t it?
He probably understands it too well, but still enjoys even a simple gesture in his direction, any [fake] smile, commission. He falls into despair when she cannot remember his name, but flies up to heaven when she looks into his eyes, hiding her smile [she smiles?] behind her long scarlet sleeve.
“You, come here,” she whispers in a habitually blandly manner, and afterwards, when he kneels down in front of her, deceptively gently strokes his hair. “Today I want...”
“As you wish, madam.”
He knows it too well, right? But inside him everything seems to be on fire when she calls him, when he stands next to her, bowing his head. When occasionally he can throw a fleeting glance at her face. Snow-white, beautiful, strict and... frightening.
She says:
“I command you.”
He hears:
“I need you.”
And it always has been, it always will be. Following her shadow, rising to the "peak" from a smile that he wants to consider sincere, and falling into the "abyss" from a sharp cold glance that he doesn't want to notice.
“You... You're not going to argue with me?” she purrs the same sweetly, when the dagger’s blade is already on his neck, and he only humbly smiles and for the last time looks up at beloved face.
“As you wish, madam.”
He already loved this abyss.