Fight the fight alone
When the world is full of victims
Dims a fading light
In our souls
Leave the peace alone
How we all are slowly changing
Dims a fading light
In our souls
In my opinion seeing is to know
The things we hold
Are always first to go
And who's to say
We won't end up alone?"
Since the day I was born on this Earth, I have strived for things I knew I could never reach- I could only ever come so close.
That never stopped me from trying.
Being thrust from my place in Heaven changed that and I give up. But I suppose everyone has already guessed that, correct? Yes. Correct.
I could have had a family. When I think back to that time where the word almost only mad me hope more, it hurts, because "almost" now, makes me think of what can never be now that I've ruined it. Like a shattered vase, I can always try to piece my life back together, the bonds that were broken; but the glue would be cheap, and surely, the vase would only fall to pieces again. And so, what really is the point in trying? What good will it really do in the end? And what would make me think I was good enough for them? Their trust? I cannot even trust myself now, because look at what I've done. I steal away hope. I wreak havoc in my very wake. And since when did I start lying?
Since that lying, selfish, dead, superior being decided that I was worthy enough to enter His realm- and then, upon realizing I was frightened of the afterlife, mistook my fear as ungratefullness, and tossed me back down here like a wad of useless rubbish; when I needed His comfort. Now, where is the hope in that? Where is hope on broken wings, do you think?
"On broken wings I'm falling
And it won't be long
The skin on me is burning
By the fires of the sun
On skinned knees
I'm bleeding
And it won't be long
I've got to find that meaning
I'll search for so long."
Riley was chasing after his dog yesterday and just so happened to come into my neighborhood, and I invited him into my house, because he's my friend after all. I trust him- in fact, he's the only person I can confide in any more, and I am grateful for his companionship. But I do wonder if he really knows this... I wish he would believe me when I tell him.
Words were said, and things were done. But lies were not told. Lies never accomplish anything... Or so I've learned.
We spoke for a while, about ravens and writing desks, and I gave him peanut butter- and then, he asked me, "L, do you still like... Light?"
And I thought for a very long time.
"I hate him, and I love him." I said. "There were always times I wished he would get out of my skin. And he's been dead so long now, burning in Hell; a befitting punishment for a psychotic mass murderer..."
He shot me a cold glare, though I could tell he had not intended to do so. He's jealous, I know, even if I'm not really a "people person." I thought it was obvious...
I continued. "It doesn't matter now. He's dead. I'm dead. No one trusts me anymore. I don't work. I don't fight for justice. I simply sit here with each passing day, gradually, disgustingly, rotting away... Riley, Heaven is truly Hell when its so called "reward" is eternal life. No one should have to live forever. There is nothing importantworth living for now as an angel, but I cannot ever die, because angels aren't made for that. I should be burning away in the Might Blaze, because then, even suffering would be more satisfactory than being thrust down from eternal life and having to reside on this Earth forevermore, after I thought I would never have to return here. Misery is an unbearable emotion when you know it really is inescapable. Any why (in my case)? Because I keep fucking up. And I'm losing everyone I have ever dared to care about. Which is why I try to stay away from people; I am bad luck to everyone."
And he listened to me, a shocked expression slowly contorting his features. At the end of this, he blinked, and told me that he "wouldn't know." I immediately apologised for going off on him like that about such depressing subjects.
"But, L, maybe you're right." He stuttered. "But like I said, I wouldn't know. I'm just human..."
Just human, hm? Just?
What an understatement.
"When I was human, I helped a great deal of people. But now, as an angel, I bring nothing to them but pain. When I was human, I figured, I would dedicate my life and intelligence to others, and when I died, all my duties would be fulfilled and I could rest and not have to exist for so long, or down here, ever again. I thought I had said good-bye to this world, to any kind of life, forever. I never liked the thought of an afterlife. I didn't want there to really be one; even simply thinking something like this could happen scared me more than anything in the world."
"But, if you have something to live for then, living isn't so useless then, right? You have kids and shit. I think that's reason enough. And, there are a lot of people, here on Earth, that really enjoy your company..."
"My kid hates me, and he has reason to. He wants nothing to do with me, and- I don't understand why anyone would enjoy my company. I can't trust myself. How can anyone else trust me, then?"
"I don't know why... And... I can't help it, and though I shouldn't, I trust you. 'Cause... I love you. I mean, as a friend, of course!"
My face became warm and my eyes began to burn. Please don't, Riley... I beg of you. And I don't like begging, not ever.
Before I knew it, he told me to shut up and stop saying bad things, and he kissed me.
And eventually, we flocked over to my bed.
"I don't want to feel, to hear the silence; the quiet scares me because it speaks the truth. Please don't tell me why we are having this converstation. I wouldn't understaind when I cannot be trusted; because I am obviously just that stupid. I just want that salvation I was promised. I just want that salvation I was promised... in any form it is offered in. But it has to want me too."
And at some point in time (after a tickle fight, in which I swear lasted about an hour), we settled in the bed, in the dark, together.
"I'm cold."
"Whaddaya expect me to do about it?"
"...Do you know the best way to start fires?"
"With a lighter?"
"Hm, I prefer the old fashioned way... Rubbing wood together."
He blushed and I laughed, and said I was going to sleep and pretended to do so; Riley fell asleep quickly, and I watched over him.
When at rest, things are in their most beautiful state...
"Cry ourselves to sleep
We will sleep alone forever
Will you lay me down
In the same place with all I love?
Mend the broken homes
Care for them they are our brothers
Save the fading light in our souls
In my opinion seeing is to know
What you give
Will always carry you
And who's to say
We won't survive it too?"
I was leaning against my son's favourite bridge and looking down into the murky water this afternoon when I heard a voice I wasn't so sure I had ever wanted to hear again, saying my name.
Mello.
By his feet lay a briefcase, and wrapped around his lily-white shoulders was a jacket. He regarded me with an uncertain gaze and asked me how I was. I threw the rock I had kept in my fist at my own reflection in the water and said that I didn't know how I was.
"Don't do that, please..." he said, and came up to me, giving me a hug. And for a moment, I clung to him, and pushed him away, yelling at him to stop- such was futile; he only reeled me back in.
"Shut up, stupid."
I started crying. I didn't want him near me again. I didn't want to see his face. He wouldn't let me go. Dammit! How dare he make me cry?
Why should I even care when I haven't a drop of pride to spare?
"Mello, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
He winced as if he had not been expecting this, and lifted one of his paws and pressed the tips of his long digits into my back, rubbing at the twisted muscle beneath my skin.
"Yeah, I know. It's all okay. L, you need to go see Gabriel and Riley..."
"I did... Riley is asleep at my place and Gabriel doesn't want a thing to do with me..."
"...Yeah, that figures. About- ya know- Gabriel. But I think- I think, maybe Riley should stay with you. Take him in. He loves you a lot."
You aren't going to really lecture me about this, are you Mel? I wondered. I didn't want to talk about any kind of love, or relationship, bonds. Nothing. It was enough to make me want to spit my own stomach out like some kind of frog. Well, not necessarily it- but me. I'm disgusting. I don't think I really am worthy of being loved. Mello of all people should know that. How dare he even suggest it?
"I don't want to be loved ever again. Once was enough for me."
"If anything, I think that's what you need. And you want that, too. No matter how much you deny it, because you're a horrible liar. Did you know that, Detective? No one likes being lonely. You don't, neither does Riley. So staying with you wouldn't be a bad idea. You owe it to me."
Okay, so let me get this straight: You believe you know what I want and what I don't want, but, how can you think you know me when I'm trying to understand myself? Answer that for me, Mello. I dare you. Second- The guilt card? Are you certain you want to play this game with me? Choose wisely.
You want lying? Fine.
"...I don't want him. I'm still in love with you and, and I can't do anything now but sit in my room and rot away wishing there was no Heaven, and wishing I could have stopped existing, and wishing Light would have really made that happen like he swore to me he would, and he lied to me! But maybe this was his intention because he knew I'd go to Heaven and then, suddenly, I wouldn't be good enough for God, and then I'd fall. Because I was meant to suffer and live forever in this fucked up world!"
There you go.
Lies.
Truths.
You sort them out yourself if you think you know so much, Keehl.
And what did you do? You rolled your eyes to me.
And what did you say? ...
"Light was a little bitch. And you weren't meant to suffer. Honestly? You're being selfish. If you want to stop being in pain, stop yourself from wallowing in it, then go and fix it. Try to do something with your son. Let Riley live with you. I keep trying to get through to Riley and he still just loves you. And if you're not going to do either of that, then you can just go and get out of my fucking face, because the sight of you doesn't please me anymore."
So that's how you feel, hm?
I spent my entire life on Earth, living for the world, for the people, to bring justice and make a change for the better. And now you are saying, that in death, I cannot be selfish? Am I being selfish, Mello? What are you doing? What am I doing? There is a fine line, a miniscule thread, here, between love and hate, and the truth and lies.
I'm going to find some scissors now, and I'm going to snip that thread away.
Yes. In the same way I walked away from you today.
You came onto me all those months ago, and I warned you- I cannot love properly. I warned you, you would regret this. I warned you, get away while you could.
Don't you tell me to go away when you wouldn't. You have no right to. You fucking bastard... How dare you?
I feel sick. I think I'm going to go take my temperature now.
"Set a-free all
Relying on their will
To make me all that I am
And all I'll be
On broken wings I'm falling
And it won't be long
The skin on me is burning
By the fires of the sun
On skinned knees
I'm bleeding
And it won't be long
I've got to find that meaning
I'll search for so long..."
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Sebastian & Keaira- "Merely Eternity's Memories"
Sebastian Michaelis
Wednesday, October 12, 2011 - 4:08 PM
It cannot be determined whether or not my fiance can recall the events of our past. And I wonder to myself quite frequently, are they simply old, raggedy, faded, contessa-scale Victorian-era memories, dead and gone along with the humans Ciel and I once came to know?
Perhaps it is somewhat unnatural for a devil to dwell even subconciously on mere memories. For, memories are but a thing of the past; things of yesterday; the power of humans' minds to remember the things in their short lives. What good are memories to a devil?
What good are they, at all, to the King of Hell?
What good comes to a devil, anyway?
Cinematic records, perhaps; as they determine a humans fate and pass his final judgement: Shall he enter the Almighty Kingdom or shall he become fuel for the Mighty Blaze, to be burned hollow with bloody rays? Cinematic records are moulded by memories, even for a demon.
Henceforth, memories must be of some importance. Does Ciel know that?
I know it. I just answered my own inquiry about it, and I do believe it sounds very logical, indeed.
What, may you ask, brought upon this thought, to myself? It really is a very simple conflincting thing, really. You see, last night, I encountered a child clad in a lovely little dress that seemed, at the least, fimiliar to me.
His name is Denzel.
Denzel informed me that Ciel had given him quite a load of old dresses. And, normally, I wouldn't mind that so much- save for the fact that Ciel had included within those dresses a very special dress- at least, it's special to me.
What made the matter worse is that Denzel also mentioned that, perhaps I should go and hide these dresses for some time, because his brother Bambi was determined to set them aflame.
Two words: Hell no. Not going to happen so long as I'm around.
No child will burn away my precious memories, woven so demurely and carefully within every very thread of that old mass of rose-coloured silk; so perfectly woven.
I asked Denzel if I could perhaps, get that dress back, and he said I could, and so I did, and now I do.
...I believe it would result in safer action if I was to hide this dress away for a while, because I know Ciel will call me childish for clinging to events of the past that I am certain he believes are not at all very special.
I have my reasons.
And I am not telling them.
Some thoughts are better kept within the mind of their beholder.
Keaira Dimitri Faustus
Dear Caru,
You have been asking me constantly.
You have been asking others.
Anyone you encounter, you ask them, even if they are some random, dirty old hobo with rotten teeth and a musky scent that clings so desperately to their skin and refuses to be washed away via any amount of soap, perfume, or lotion.
And I suppose, you need an answer.
Who was your father? Who was Claude? And how did he die?
It's a very long story; I do advise that you bear with me now; and be attentive to every inkling of detail, every word, every simile or metaphor, I will be using.
Let us begin.
***
Once upon a time,
I was born to the young Earl of Trancy and Malphas Mephisto (insert very long "maiden" surname here") out of wedlock; I was not meant to be. Malphas (and do keep in mind that his story is not at all a simple one; He was betrayed, raped, misled, envied; but he has already told you his story, I know), one day, took me away to my grandfather's old cottage; I was to be thrown in the old oven and consumed by its flames. But before he was granted that chance, he was taken away from us all.
He was persecuted. He was tortured. And he was killed.
On the third day, he rose again, in the form of an angel.
He returned.
I was allowed to live; I was wanted by both of my parents, and I was loved.
Time passed, and Malphas and Alois married, and during that time, my father and I formed a very strong bond; and such can never be broken.
I never considered outside forces until the day I met Aranis- the son of Sebastian Michaelis and Ciel Phantomhive.
We fell in love, but that love soon fell apart.
Aranis pursued others; Mello, and even Sebastian- his father. Did he not consider me? Did he really think it was okay to go and break my heart without so much as a second thought?
I knew what he had done, but I could not tell him off, for, I had raped Cambion- who at the time, was a truly heartless demon; I did it only to put him in his place, for I am a lion, and such is natural behaviour.
What hurt the most was knowing he pursued these two other men with the potential of giving them his love. Even today, he claims he was blinded.
Indeed he was, and he very well still is. He is my friend, but I cannot trust him.
Funny, isn't it?
There was a time I sacrificed myself for him, because I could not take it any more; I ran away to New York and I stayed there until I was sixteen. That is four years.
When I returned, I had changed; I had tried drugs, smoking, alcohol.
When I returned, I paid a visit to Aranis before anyone else.
When I returned, the first thing I told him was that I didn't love him any more.
That night, he killed himself; he tore his heart out; Cambion was with him and was powerless to save him.
And, what of Claude?
Claude was the Trancy family butler, diligent and stoic- he became my friend and my favourite subject when it came to my art. His eyes were much like yours, Caru- golden, profound, breathtaking...
He was my best friend.
When I cried, he'd wipe away all of my tears.
When I'd scream, he'd fight away all of my fears.
And he held my hand through all of those years, and you are the sole thing of his that remains; the crystalized treasure of our love.
Though in my childhood I was often composed, I was still a child, and with being a child comes along the desire of childish revenge.
I was thirteen when I learned of Aranis's affair with Sebastian.
Angry, I went home and decided I should seduce Claude as a form of revenge, for, I had (for quite some time) recognised the looks in which the spider regarded me with; like a succulant fly tangled and writhing in his web.
That happened and we denied for a period of time that feelings had formed.
I came to love him, and I no longer loved Aranis.
Claude was what I wanted and needed. He considered my feelings. He could take care of himself. He was reasonable. He was smart. He was wonderful...
Meanwhile, Alois was watching everything unfold from afar and decided he did not like my relationship with his butler, a lowly servant, unpredictable and antisocial.
Do you want to know something, Caru? I was Claude's only friend. No one cared to understand him but me. They prejudged him. And now, they say they are sorry he is dead.
Lies.
My poor Claude... Alois made him choose between being a butler and his love for me.
Claude chose me.
He stayed with me and held me and saved my life, when I learned of Aranis's death and blamed myself, and attempted suicide because I simply felt I did not deserve to live. I killed him, I thought...
I was inconsiderate of Claude's own feelings. I overdid my mourning of Aranis. He felt insuffient, and he would always tell me.
And I would always tell him, Don't you dare even think that; I love you, and only you, and no one else. You are the only one who really cares about me and my thoughts and I can tell you anything. And you can tell me anything, because I won't judge you. And secrets don't need to be kept between us, because we are one, and we always shall be. I do love you; and I love us.
Aurelei was born to us later on, and she was a lovely child until she learned Claude was pregnant for a second time.
She became jealous and manipulated seemingly everything so that she could convince Claude he had miscarried.
I cannot begin to describe to you her hatred for him.
It resulted in her insulting him to the point of death.
I killed myself immediately, but was brought back to life three days later by Gabriel.
And the first thing I did was get my revenge.
...
Violence isn't the answer; It is the question.
And the answer is yes!
-Love, Keaira.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011 - 4:08 PM
It cannot be determined whether or not my fiance can recall the events of our past. And I wonder to myself quite frequently, are they simply old, raggedy, faded, contessa-scale Victorian-era memories, dead and gone along with the humans Ciel and I once came to know?
Perhaps it is somewhat unnatural for a devil to dwell even subconciously on mere memories. For, memories are but a thing of the past; things of yesterday; the power of humans' minds to remember the things in their short lives. What good are memories to a devil?
What good are they, at all, to the King of Hell?
What good comes to a devil, anyway?
Cinematic records, perhaps; as they determine a humans fate and pass his final judgement: Shall he enter the Almighty Kingdom or shall he become fuel for the Mighty Blaze, to be burned hollow with bloody rays? Cinematic records are moulded by memories, even for a demon.
Henceforth, memories must be of some importance. Does Ciel know that?
I know it. I just answered my own inquiry about it, and I do believe it sounds very logical, indeed.
What, may you ask, brought upon this thought, to myself? It really is a very simple conflincting thing, really. You see, last night, I encountered a child clad in a lovely little dress that seemed, at the least, fimiliar to me.
His name is Denzel.
Denzel informed me that Ciel had given him quite a load of old dresses. And, normally, I wouldn't mind that so much- save for the fact that Ciel had included within those dresses a very special dress- at least, it's special to me.
What made the matter worse is that Denzel also mentioned that, perhaps I should go and hide these dresses for some time, because his brother Bambi was determined to set them aflame.
Two words: Hell no. Not going to happen so long as I'm around.
No child will burn away my precious memories, woven so demurely and carefully within every very thread of that old mass of rose-coloured silk; so perfectly woven.
I asked Denzel if I could perhaps, get that dress back, and he said I could, and so I did, and now I do.
...I believe it would result in safer action if I was to hide this dress away for a while, because I know Ciel will call me childish for clinging to events of the past that I am certain he believes are not at all very special.
I have my reasons.
And I am not telling them.
Some thoughts are better kept within the mind of their beholder.
Keaira Dimitri Faustus
Dear Caru,
You have been asking me constantly.
You have been asking others.
Anyone you encounter, you ask them, even if they are some random, dirty old hobo with rotten teeth and a musky scent that clings so desperately to their skin and refuses to be washed away via any amount of soap, perfume, or lotion.
And I suppose, you need an answer.
Who was your father? Who was Claude? And how did he die?
It's a very long story; I do advise that you bear with me now; and be attentive to every inkling of detail, every word, every simile or metaphor, I will be using.
Let us begin.
***
Once upon a time,
I was born to the young Earl of Trancy and Malphas Mephisto (insert very long "maiden" surname here") out of wedlock; I was not meant to be. Malphas (and do keep in mind that his story is not at all a simple one; He was betrayed, raped, misled, envied; but he has already told you his story, I know), one day, took me away to my grandfather's old cottage; I was to be thrown in the old oven and consumed by its flames. But before he was granted that chance, he was taken away from us all.
He was persecuted. He was tortured. And he was killed.
On the third day, he rose again, in the form of an angel.
He returned.
I was allowed to live; I was wanted by both of my parents, and I was loved.
Time passed, and Malphas and Alois married, and during that time, my father and I formed a very strong bond; and such can never be broken.
I never considered outside forces until the day I met Aranis- the son of Sebastian Michaelis and Ciel Phantomhive.
We fell in love, but that love soon fell apart.
Aranis pursued others; Mello, and even Sebastian- his father. Did he not consider me? Did he really think it was okay to go and break my heart without so much as a second thought?
I knew what he had done, but I could not tell him off, for, I had raped Cambion- who at the time, was a truly heartless demon; I did it only to put him in his place, for I am a lion, and such is natural behaviour.
What hurt the most was knowing he pursued these two other men with the potential of giving them his love. Even today, he claims he was blinded.
Indeed he was, and he very well still is. He is my friend, but I cannot trust him.
Funny, isn't it?
There was a time I sacrificed myself for him, because I could not take it any more; I ran away to New York and I stayed there until I was sixteen. That is four years.
When I returned, I had changed; I had tried drugs, smoking, alcohol.
When I returned, I paid a visit to Aranis before anyone else.
When I returned, the first thing I told him was that I didn't love him any more.
That night, he killed himself; he tore his heart out; Cambion was with him and was powerless to save him.
And, what of Claude?
Claude was the Trancy family butler, diligent and stoic- he became my friend and my favourite subject when it came to my art. His eyes were much like yours, Caru- golden, profound, breathtaking...
He was my best friend.
When I cried, he'd wipe away all of my tears.
When I'd scream, he'd fight away all of my fears.
And he held my hand through all of those years, and you are the sole thing of his that remains; the crystalized treasure of our love.
Though in my childhood I was often composed, I was still a child, and with being a child comes along the desire of childish revenge.
I was thirteen when I learned of Aranis's affair with Sebastian.
Angry, I went home and decided I should seduce Claude as a form of revenge, for, I had (for quite some time) recognised the looks in which the spider regarded me with; like a succulant fly tangled and writhing in his web.
That happened and we denied for a period of time that feelings had formed.
I came to love him, and I no longer loved Aranis.
Claude was what I wanted and needed. He considered my feelings. He could take care of himself. He was reasonable. He was smart. He was wonderful...
Meanwhile, Alois was watching everything unfold from afar and decided he did not like my relationship with his butler, a lowly servant, unpredictable and antisocial.
Do you want to know something, Caru? I was Claude's only friend. No one cared to understand him but me. They prejudged him. And now, they say they are sorry he is dead.
Lies.
My poor Claude... Alois made him choose between being a butler and his love for me.
Claude chose me.
He stayed with me and held me and saved my life, when I learned of Aranis's death and blamed myself, and attempted suicide because I simply felt I did not deserve to live. I killed him, I thought...
I was inconsiderate of Claude's own feelings. I overdid my mourning of Aranis. He felt insuffient, and he would always tell me.
And I would always tell him, Don't you dare even think that; I love you, and only you, and no one else. You are the only one who really cares about me and my thoughts and I can tell you anything. And you can tell me anything, because I won't judge you. And secrets don't need to be kept between us, because we are one, and we always shall be. I do love you; and I love us.
Aurelei was born to us later on, and she was a lovely child until she learned Claude was pregnant for a second time.
She became jealous and manipulated seemingly everything so that she could convince Claude he had miscarried.
I cannot begin to describe to you her hatred for him.
It resulted in her insulting him to the point of death.
I killed myself immediately, but was brought back to life three days later by Gabriel.
And the first thing I did was get my revenge.
...
Violence isn't the answer; It is the question.
And the answer is yes!
-Love, Keaira.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Group Blog- Their Stories
Sebastian Michaelis
A singular set of pristine, vermillion orbs did not dare stray from the furry creature of their utmost fancy; a little tabby cat with lithe paws and a slender coat, and such gorgeous eyes that regarded the orbs with such wit and whim.
Sebastian gracefully cascaded to one knee on the cobblestone pavement that was placed just outside the newly rebuilt manor-house, and took the fimiliar feline in his arms and pressed his nose lightly to her little pink button one. His lips tugged into a soft smile, and he lifted her up into the air somewhat so as to admire her.
"Hello, again, Miss Akuma."
She acknowledged his greeting with a curt mewl and squirmed so that he might let her down to lay in his lap for a short cat-nap of sorts.
This was the same cat Ciel had presented him with prior to their Honeymoon, and he had raised her as if she was his own child (though, none of his own children had ever clawed up a curtain (imported from Spain) before), spoiling her with plenty of cuddles and treats and ribbons and bows. It was no wonder Ciel was noticably jealous of her; on the bright side, Sebastian knew (and a cheeky grin graced his lips each time he thought this) that he could use this as an advantage to get his lover's attention.
Ciel would often quip, "Why do you love cats so damn much? It's simply unnatural! There is nothing speciel about them at all."
Little did he know how very special Sebastian really did consider them to be.
In fact, he had not always liked cats; So arrogant, snobbish, unthankful! Unnerving, annoying, and always...
Always wanting more.
No, he had not always loved cats.
But, once upon a time- the winter of 1885, in London, England- he came to form a contract with a young Earl, frail in appearance, yet strong in spirit. He took up residency with the Earl at his manor. But never before had he even come close to thinking that a solitary month in captivity would erode even the most basic of manners! This child Earl would smack him for even the slightest of gestures, such as attempting to help him up the stairs. Why, he ought to have been thankful, especially when his depth perception was non-existence (hence the eyepatch guarding the Faustian seal etched within his right iris)!
And once upon a time, the butler had stepped out of the house in frustration with his young master, and he happened upon a little black cat. And when it seemed that no one else would so much as care to hear out his frustrations (thought often the cat would regard him with an expression that implied she thought no different) she was there, and she would listen to him- though in truth, she was but waiting for him to feed her.
Cats, Sebastian soon learned, are viciously playful and playfull vicious.They are prone to illogical when they feel frightened or bodily threatened. They are schemers, and tacticians, unashamed of conspiring against you, even as they feed from the very palm of your hand... They require the proper amount of patience, the proper amount of care- But they will never be tamed no matter your will, and that is the beauty of them.
And in those eyes, he never failed to realise a fimiliar sparkle of intelligence; a sadistic delight in the destruction it knows it can cause even with the few assets it has at its disposal.
So fimiliar...
Time did pass, and Sebastian came to better understand Ciel with the help of a certain little whimsical friend.
Still, he does not expect Ciel to understand him; for such are all his precious little secrets to keep hidden beneath lock and key, all for himself; all the mystery of a demon's love.
Keaira Dimitri Faustus
His lips pressed into a straight line and his gaze came to fixate on nothing less, and nothing more, than the ruins of his grandfather's old cottage (in which he had recently come to obtain and take up residence in along with his son and younger brother), marred to musky brown ashes and dull silver cinders and blackened splintered wood. The grizzled body of a burnt wolf lay sprawled beneath the remains of the kitchen table, its flesh oozing unatrually where it had been seared. This was no "whodoneit"; there were only two names that came to mind and the very thought of such an alliance sickened Keaira to an unspeakable extent.
How dare they?
When his brother- Cambion- had come foward and inquired the identity of these people, Keaira insisted that he knew nothing and simply pushed the small boy's quip aside, or, rather, attempted to.
Upon the following day, Keaira came to the discovery that there had been a casualty; Cambion blamed himself, for, he had been the primary target, and he had been missed. And now, someone whom he had regarded so dearly had to pay the ultimate price because he had not been there in her place; Woe was he, in all his childish ignorance.
And perhaps Keaira grieved the same loss, as well, but if he did, he decided not to show it, for such was his responsibility to remain aloof for the sake of his dearly beloved brother and Caru, his sickly son. However, as is a characteristic of Keaira, it did not take long for his emotional strength to bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow...
Certain actions cannot be prevented.
Certain lives cannot be saved.
Certain thoughts cannnot be erased.
What you already know and take heed to cannot be unknown.
And what you plan to do about it is primarily up to you.
Someone must pay.
Gabriel Day Keehl
He lay with his legs wrapped tightly around the lithe body of the older man, his body trembling from the wave of fear that had just washed upon the shore of his very soul. Ah... The fingers... They hurt... It hurt... Every thrust, every tug, every pull, push, every little movement... A-ah...
"Aranis..." Gabriel whimpered constantly, and there would come the soft murmur of a response from Aranis immediately after, a reassurance.
And then Aranis would draw his digits from his dear friend's backside and pull down his own pants and pull Gabriel close so that their flesh would collide and they would become one. Oh! How Gabriel wished to scream, the pain was unbearable! Oh, but it felt so good...
"W-what is this called, Aranis?" he had asked, writhing and grinding his hips against the man's, his dark eyes stretched wide in innocence.
"Sex. Making love. Fucking." said Aranis.
And Gabriel contemplated this.
Aranis had reiterated the same three words to him that day, over and over and over again and again and again. Gabriel thought it only added on to the mystery behind those red eyes- all the lies, all the hurt, all the fear and the pain- for, he knew, they reflected his own spirit. Aranis didn't have to love him, he didn't have to lie; there was nothing to hide, and Gabriel, the angel, in all his ignorance and innocence and disbelief of unscientific things, realised but that, and just that.
Sex. Making love. Fucking.
Unnecessary copulation; They could simply spark, and never have to touch; This love had been perfect even before it was love; it was most certainly meant to be, the most certain thing in all existence. And Gabriel knew it, even if Aranis believed otherwise due to his own paranoia. It was, indeed, a fact.
...We are one, Aranis.
Jazebel Keehl
Her lithe paw drifted away from the child's hand as his mother carried him off, their digits lingering in suspension for what seemed to be four long years, never wanting to let go. But distance did tear them apart in the solitary time of a moment, and the door leading to the outside world that was drowned in all the glorious golden light of the sun was closed, leaving the wolf in her own solitude, alone in the bitter darkness and silence of the old cottage. For minutes, she stood unblinking with her gaze fixated on that closed door, and then she sat on her hindquarters and huffed at the silver door-knob, glistening in such a mocking manner that she felt the urge to become ill.
Only moments ago, Caru lay sleeping in his cherry-wood crib, sound asleep with the softest of snores whistling through his rosy lips; her paw had stretched out to rest upon his clammy little forehead, and she had sighed at the touch of it and came to establish some greatly yearned-for form of relief. His fever had broken, and her job, her every responsibility here, every aspect, facet of it all, was nearing completion, fulfillment, reconcile.
She llay her long neck across the hard wooden edge of Caru's crib and let her head hand, her ghostly pale eyes diligently watching over him and never once shifting astray. Though he was not her child, he was her duty now, and she loved him so dearly. When Keaira returned (he greeted her with a pat to the head) to take him away to visit that horrid Alois, he had awoken and reached out his stout little arm for her, and only her, and she had trotted along after him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.
"Jazz, bye-bye," he had cried. "I love you!"
And now he was gone.
She stood from her post before the door and stalked with protruding shoulder-blades beneath the table, squeezed cozily within the legs of a chair. Her forelimbs laid out in front of her, she laid her lead down on her paws and shut her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
"I won't ever love anyone but Keaira."
"I'll never feel the same way."
"Bad dog, Jazz."
Cambion...
He had been her first friend, and her master, and her one and only love. Only he had understood her. Only he had cared for her. Only he, him, Cambion... No one else. Just him. Alone.
Alone.
Alone now that he had fallen in love with his brother. Alone now that she had given her voice to bring L back how and could not speak. Alone because she meant nothing to anyone now; she was old news, a female, a whore, a thief, a murderer, a liar. A bitch.
How could she let him go? He was her only hope as he had always been. He was all she had now.
But what was there to be had when you felt so alone in this vast world?
Absolutely nothing. Nothing, no one, Jazebel.
This is who she was, if anything. She had tried so hard but got nowhere. She had loved but was not loved in return. She had cared but was disregarded. She did not hate, but she was hated.
And when she came to abandon hope in her very sleep, there was a violent shake of the earth, and her eyes flashed open and saw the red of spider-lillies engulfing her view, and then there was the sound of loud thunder in which was followed by blackness, and then nothing, and she fell dead.
And such is the end of the story of Nothing, if such a thing does even exist; for such things always come so unexpectedly.
A singular set of pristine, vermillion orbs did not dare stray from the furry creature of their utmost fancy; a little tabby cat with lithe paws and a slender coat, and such gorgeous eyes that regarded the orbs with such wit and whim.
Sebastian gracefully cascaded to one knee on the cobblestone pavement that was placed just outside the newly rebuilt manor-house, and took the fimiliar feline in his arms and pressed his nose lightly to her little pink button one. His lips tugged into a soft smile, and he lifted her up into the air somewhat so as to admire her.
"Hello, again, Miss Akuma."
She acknowledged his greeting with a curt mewl and squirmed so that he might let her down to lay in his lap for a short cat-nap of sorts.
This was the same cat Ciel had presented him with prior to their Honeymoon, and he had raised her as if she was his own child (though, none of his own children had ever clawed up a curtain (imported from Spain) before), spoiling her with plenty of cuddles and treats and ribbons and bows. It was no wonder Ciel was noticably jealous of her; on the bright side, Sebastian knew (and a cheeky grin graced his lips each time he thought this) that he could use this as an advantage to get his lover's attention.
Ciel would often quip, "Why do you love cats so damn much? It's simply unnatural! There is nothing speciel about them at all."
Little did he know how very special Sebastian really did consider them to be.
In fact, he had not always liked cats; So arrogant, snobbish, unthankful! Unnerving, annoying, and always...
Always wanting more.
No, he had not always loved cats.
But, once upon a time- the winter of 1885, in London, England- he came to form a contract with a young Earl, frail in appearance, yet strong in spirit. He took up residency with the Earl at his manor. But never before had he even come close to thinking that a solitary month in captivity would erode even the most basic of manners! This child Earl would smack him for even the slightest of gestures, such as attempting to help him up the stairs. Why, he ought to have been thankful, especially when his depth perception was non-existence (hence the eyepatch guarding the Faustian seal etched within his right iris)!
And once upon a time, the butler had stepped out of the house in frustration with his young master, and he happened upon a little black cat. And when it seemed that no one else would so much as care to hear out his frustrations (thought often the cat would regard him with an expression that implied she thought no different) she was there, and she would listen to him- though in truth, she was but waiting for him to feed her.
Cats, Sebastian soon learned, are viciously playful and playfull vicious.They are prone to illogical when they feel frightened or bodily threatened. They are schemers, and tacticians, unashamed of conspiring against you, even as they feed from the very palm of your hand... They require the proper amount of patience, the proper amount of care- But they will never be tamed no matter your will, and that is the beauty of them.
And in those eyes, he never failed to realise a fimiliar sparkle of intelligence; a sadistic delight in the destruction it knows it can cause even with the few assets it has at its disposal.
So fimiliar...
Time did pass, and Sebastian came to better understand Ciel with the help of a certain little whimsical friend.
Still, he does not expect Ciel to understand him; for such are all his precious little secrets to keep hidden beneath lock and key, all for himself; all the mystery of a demon's love.
Keaira Dimitri Faustus
His lips pressed into a straight line and his gaze came to fixate on nothing less, and nothing more, than the ruins of his grandfather's old cottage (in which he had recently come to obtain and take up residence in along with his son and younger brother), marred to musky brown ashes and dull silver cinders and blackened splintered wood. The grizzled body of a burnt wolf lay sprawled beneath the remains of the kitchen table, its flesh oozing unatrually where it had been seared. This was no "whodoneit"; there were only two names that came to mind and the very thought of such an alliance sickened Keaira to an unspeakable extent.
How dare they?
When his brother- Cambion- had come foward and inquired the identity of these people, Keaira insisted that he knew nothing and simply pushed the small boy's quip aside, or, rather, attempted to.
Upon the following day, Keaira came to the discovery that there had been a casualty; Cambion blamed himself, for, he had been the primary target, and he had been missed. And now, someone whom he had regarded so dearly had to pay the ultimate price because he had not been there in her place; Woe was he, in all his childish ignorance.
And perhaps Keaira grieved the same loss, as well, but if he did, he decided not to show it, for such was his responsibility to remain aloof for the sake of his dearly beloved brother and Caru, his sickly son. However, as is a characteristic of Keaira, it did not take long for his emotional strength to bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow...
Certain actions cannot be prevented.
Certain lives cannot be saved.
Certain thoughts cannnot be erased.
What you already know and take heed to cannot be unknown.
And what you plan to do about it is primarily up to you.
Someone must pay.
Gabriel Day Keehl
He lay with his legs wrapped tightly around the lithe body of the older man, his body trembling from the wave of fear that had just washed upon the shore of his very soul. Ah... The fingers... They hurt... It hurt... Every thrust, every tug, every pull, push, every little movement... A-ah...
"Aranis..." Gabriel whimpered constantly, and there would come the soft murmur of a response from Aranis immediately after, a reassurance.
And then Aranis would draw his digits from his dear friend's backside and pull down his own pants and pull Gabriel close so that their flesh would collide and they would become one. Oh! How Gabriel wished to scream, the pain was unbearable! Oh, but it felt so good...
"W-what is this called, Aranis?" he had asked, writhing and grinding his hips against the man's, his dark eyes stretched wide in innocence.
"Sex. Making love. Fucking." said Aranis.
And Gabriel contemplated this.
Aranis had reiterated the same three words to him that day, over and over and over again and again and again. Gabriel thought it only added on to the mystery behind those red eyes- all the lies, all the hurt, all the fear and the pain- for, he knew, they reflected his own spirit. Aranis didn't have to love him, he didn't have to lie; there was nothing to hide, and Gabriel, the angel, in all his ignorance and innocence and disbelief of unscientific things, realised but that, and just that.
Sex. Making love. Fucking.
Unnecessary copulation; They could simply spark, and never have to touch; This love had been perfect even before it was love; it was most certainly meant to be, the most certain thing in all existence. And Gabriel knew it, even if Aranis believed otherwise due to his own paranoia. It was, indeed, a fact.
...We are one, Aranis.
Jazebel Keehl
Her lithe paw drifted away from the child's hand as his mother carried him off, their digits lingering in suspension for what seemed to be four long years, never wanting to let go. But distance did tear them apart in the solitary time of a moment, and the door leading to the outside world that was drowned in all the glorious golden light of the sun was closed, leaving the wolf in her own solitude, alone in the bitter darkness and silence of the old cottage. For minutes, she stood unblinking with her gaze fixated on that closed door, and then she sat on her hindquarters and huffed at the silver door-knob, glistening in such a mocking manner that she felt the urge to become ill.
Only moments ago, Caru lay sleeping in his cherry-wood crib, sound asleep with the softest of snores whistling through his rosy lips; her paw had stretched out to rest upon his clammy little forehead, and she had sighed at the touch of it and came to establish some greatly yearned-for form of relief. His fever had broken, and her job, her every responsibility here, every aspect, facet of it all, was nearing completion, fulfillment, reconcile.
She llay her long neck across the hard wooden edge of Caru's crib and let her head hand, her ghostly pale eyes diligently watching over him and never once shifting astray. Though he was not her child, he was her duty now, and she loved him so dearly. When Keaira returned (he greeted her with a pat to the head) to take him away to visit that horrid Alois, he had awoken and reached out his stout little arm for her, and only her, and she had trotted along after him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.
"Jazz, bye-bye," he had cried. "I love you!"
And now he was gone.
She stood from her post before the door and stalked with protruding shoulder-blades beneath the table, squeezed cozily within the legs of a chair. Her forelimbs laid out in front of her, she laid her lead down on her paws and shut her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
"I won't ever love anyone but Keaira."
"I'll never feel the same way."
"Bad dog, Jazz."
Cambion...
He had been her first friend, and her master, and her one and only love. Only he had understood her. Only he had cared for her. Only he, him, Cambion... No one else. Just him. Alone.
Alone.
Alone now that he had fallen in love with his brother. Alone now that she had given her voice to bring L back how and could not speak. Alone because she meant nothing to anyone now; she was old news, a female, a whore, a thief, a murderer, a liar. A bitch.
How could she let him go? He was her only hope as he had always been. He was all she had now.
But what was there to be had when you felt so alone in this vast world?
Absolutely nothing. Nothing, no one, Jazebel.
This is who she was, if anything. She had tried so hard but got nowhere. She had loved but was not loved in return. She had cared but was disregarded. She did not hate, but she was hated.
And when she came to abandon hope in her very sleep, there was a violent shake of the earth, and her eyes flashed open and saw the red of spider-lillies engulfing her view, and then there was the sound of loud thunder in which was followed by blackness, and then nothing, and she fell dead.
And such is the end of the story of Nothing, if such a thing does even exist; for such things always come so unexpectedly.
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