Chapter 121: 121
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At the offer of my hand and the thin smile that plays of my lips, a bolt of joy rockets through her being.
The girls heart is an unusual one at best, filled with dreams of dancing and dining long into the dark expanse of twilight, decked in fancy clothing and surrounded by figures who sharp teeth glint under the slowly dying light of the moon. It is a dream long formulated in the back of her mind, crystal clear and gleaming with passion. Her dream envisions herself older, perhaps by ten years or so, dancing in a sparkling red dress that floats around her like blood spilling into water as she waltzes her way across the marble flooring of what must be a palace. Alarmingly, it is not another angel she dances with, or even an elf. The person who she is dancing with... I almost take an involuntary step back. Its me.
Just who on earth is this angel?
A little irritably, I dismiss the image of her dream that beats within her heart, withdrawing my talons of power as I draw myself back into focus. Her dream might have just been altered by having me here- perhaps I have just given a face to her previously faceless dancer. But the thought still serves to unnerve me a little. Such a dream should not be held by an angel, and certainly not a dream with me in it.
Nevertheless, I did offer her a dance. Though now I am starting to regret it.
The girl smiles a little at me despite her best attempts to smother it, her heart quickening with excitement, as though my reply has pleased her greatly. At the sight of her smile, the most peculiar notion overcomes me, like a foreign body coursing through me, unusual, bizarre. Feelings.
How disgusting.
I can't deny myself the fact that I would like to taste her blood, to see what sweet flavours would blossom over my tongue as my fangs sink into her neck. And yet some extrinsic part of me does not wish to take her blood by force. The fact slowly dawns on me, as surely as the sun rises in the sky, that I, in fact, do not want to kill her at all.
The notion almost makes me angry. I grit my teeth. How dare she instil such feelings into me, taint my heartless demeanour with that of compassion! But as she takes me hand, the loathing melts away like rain into the ocean, subduing me to a steady calm.
I hate her for that, too.
It seems strange to me, this lack of fear she possesses, so unusual that it does not seem real. But her heart tells no lies, she does not fear me like the rest of the folk. Part of me wonders why. Another part of me ardently protests, wondering why I should be bothered with such fruitless inquires at all.
Maybe it's best I just leave now, forget about this whole situation. Forget about this disgusting thing called 'feeling'.
Sighing, I close my hand, causing the little angel girl to frown at me. Her wings droop in defeat.
"But-" she starts. I shake my head solemnly.
"You shouldn't be dancing with a monster, little dove. You shouldn't be dancing with me." I tell her, looking down at my hands, blood still faintly smeared over the tips of my fingers and golden rings. All at once draining the nymphs last night seems like a thousand years ago, like I was somebody else entirely.
What on earth is wrong with me?
The little girl pouts, her eyes downcast, scuffing her shoes in the mud which is soft with morning dew. Still without meeting my eyes, she pads over, kicking up leaves as she walks, catching little golden bugs in the spread of her tiny, feathery wings. Her foot steps over the line. I back up a little, raising my hands to ward her off, my fangs glinting. Fear rising in my throat, fear at what I might do, fear at what I want to do, and what I don't. Her heartbeat drills into my ears, the soft thump of her pulse on her neck almost too tempting to resist. Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump. I squirm with unease, fighting the hungry want and the sickening feeling of having a conscience. Never in my life have I tried to stay in control of my impulses, yet right now I want nothing more.
Still she keeps walking, plodding forward relentlessly, and still I back up, attempting to keep distance between us. But my efforts are futile.
Her little arms reach round my sides, causing me to stiffen as her head rests upon the soft fabric on my chest. Eyelids fluttering close, she hovers there, her warm breath soaking through my clothes and seeping into my skin. An unknown pang of emotion flickers through me, just once, and then it is gone, swept up with the murmuring breaths of wind that float around us. I frown deeply.
"What are you doing?" I ask her in a strained voice, peering down, my hands splayed awkwardly in the air, not quite sure what to do. The thumping of her heart combined with the soft 'woosh' of her blood against my skin is tantalisingly close, soft and steady, a precious sound. Suddenly, I find myself warming to it, consumed by the odd urge to keep this child safe.
Am I becoming soft? How revolting.
"I'm hugging you, stupid. Do you not hug people in Sezeria?" the little angel mutters faintly, pressing her face further into me. I bite my lip. No, we don't, I think, but do not say.
"Did I not just tell you I am a monster? You shouldn't be hugging a monster, imagine what your little angel friends would say. What about the council? Were you not just lamenting over them catching you five minutes ago?" I sigh instead with frustration, reaching down absently to stroke the ringlets of her brown hair, picking away a few stray leaves that she forgot to pluck out. Her arms tighten around me.
"You are too nice to be a monster. Just shut up and let me hug you, I know you aren't going to kill me, you would have done it already if you were," she whispers, tucking her little sets of wings around me, fists clenching onto my shirt, as if she didn't want to let go. A little laugh escapes my lips, and then I catch myself, quite unsure why I am laughing.
Me? Too nice? That's the most bullshit thing I have ever heard.
Bending down, I take her tiny hands in mine, wrapping my clawed fingers round her wrists, my rings pressing softly into her flesh. The trees whisper around us, watching, waiting.
"Nice? What makes you think I'm nice, little dove?"
"Your eyes," she replies, without a beat. "They are warm." I stop short. My eyes? I think for a moment. It was the most childish thing I had ever heard, yet as she stares at me with such complete earnestness, I find myself struggling to refuse her. I've been called many things in my life, a demon, a murderer, coldblooded, treacherous, wicked, or cruel. But warm was never one of those things. And neither was nice.
I straighten back up, frowning, dropping her hands to her sides, causing the little angel to look up at me with dismay. I pat down my shirt, ironing out the wrinkles with my palm. I shouldn't stay here. Not after this.
"I am leaving," I say, my mind fogged up in thought as I bring a hand to my head to steady myself. I feel strange, almost dizzy, my mind spiralling with odd new notions about myself that I never thought to be true; the idea that someone in this god forsaken world could indeed find me 'nice'. All at once I don't recognize who I am. Confusion washes over me. Confusion and anger.
"You will come back? You still owe me a dance," she calls after me, as I turn my back towards the barrier. My boots creak a little as I walk, stiff, pressing into the soft mud to leave an indent of my existence on the world. The sun gazes down on me, a bright eye, illuminating my face with a pleasant glow that sparkles in my iris'.
"Perhaps," I tell her, waving a hand in the air dismissively. Her heart races at my words, and my step wavers for a moment as I stand, listening to its fearless tune. A sigh escapes my lips. "Forget about me, little dove," I call back to her softly, my voice ringing through the trees. "Forget we ever met,"
"You can't make me!" She cries. "I'm not going to forget you," she says stubbornly from behind me, her voice rising. The leaves in the trees quiver around us, a strange golden aura illuminating their barks, a light that is not from the sun. Hardening my heart, I call back to her, my voice laced with the tones of a glamour.
"Yes, you will,"
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At the offer of my hand and the thin smile that plays of my lips, a bolt of joy rockets through her being.
The girls heart is an unusual one at best, filled with dreams of dancing and dining long into the dark expanse of twilight, decked in fancy clothing and surrounded by figures who sharp teeth glint under the slowly dying light of the moon. It is a dream long formulated in the back of her mind, crystal clear and gleaming with passion. Her dream envisions herself older, perhaps by ten years or so, dancing in a sparkling red dress that floats around her like blood spilling into water as she waltzes her way across the marble flooring of what must be a palace. Alarmingly, it is not another angel she dances with, or even an elf. The person who she is dancing with... I almost take an involuntary step back. Its me.
Just who on earth is this angel?
A little irritably, I dismiss the image of her dream that beats within her heart, withdrawing my talons of power as I draw myself back into focus. Her dream might have just been altered by having me here- perhaps I have just given a face to her previously faceless dancer. But the thought still serves to unnerve me a little. Such a dream should not be held by an angel, and certainly not a dream with me in it.
Nevertheless, I did offer her a dance. Though now I am starting to regret it.
The girl smiles a little at me despite her best attempts to smother it, her heart quickening with excitement, as though my reply has pleased her greatly. At the sight of her smile, the most peculiar notion overcomes me, like a foreign body coursing through me, unusual, bizarre. Feelings.
How disgusting.
I can't deny myself the fact that I would like to taste her blood, to see what sweet flavours would blossom over my tongue as my fangs sink into her neck. And yet some extrinsic part of me does not wish to take her blood by force. The fact slowly dawns on me, as surely as the sun rises in the sky, that I, in fact, do not want to kill her at all.
The notion almost makes me angry. I grit my teeth. How dare she instil such feelings into me, taint my heartless demeanour with that of compassion! But as she takes me hand, the loathing melts away like rain into the ocean, subduing me to a steady calm.
I hate her for that, too.
It seems strange to me, this lack of fear she possesses, so unusual that it does not seem real. But her heart tells no lies, she does not fear me like the rest of the folk. Part of me wonders why. Another part of me ardently protests, wondering why I should be bothered with such fruitless inquires at all.
Maybe it's best I just leave now, forget about this whole situation. Forget about this disgusting thing called 'feeling'.
Sighing, I close my hand, causing the little angel girl to frown at me. Her wings droop in defeat.
"But-" she starts. I shake my head solemnly.
"You shouldn't be dancing with a monster, little dove. You shouldn't be dancing with me." I tell her, looking down at my hands, blood still faintly smeared over the tips of my fingers and golden rings. All at once draining the nymphs last night seems like a thousand years ago, like I was somebody else entirely.
What on earth is wrong with me?
The little girl pouts, her eyes downcast, scuffing her shoes in the mud which is soft with morning dew. Still without meeting my eyes, she pads over, kicking up leaves as she walks, catching little golden bugs in the spread of her tiny, feathery wings. Her foot steps over the line. I back up a little, raising my hands to ward her off, my fangs glinting. Fear rising in my throat, fear at what I might do, fear at what I want to do, and what I don't. Her heartbeat drills into my ears, the soft thump of her pulse on her neck almost too tempting to resist. Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump. I squirm with unease, fighting the hungry want and the sickening feeling of having a conscience. Never in my life have I tried to stay in control of my impulses, yet right now I want nothing more.
Still she keeps walking, plodding forward relentlessly, and still I back up, attempting to keep distance between us. But my efforts are futile.
Her little arms reach round my sides, causing me to stiffen as her head rests upon the soft fabric on my chest. Eyelids fluttering close, she hovers there, her warm breath soaking through my clothes and seeping into my skin. An unknown pang of emotion flickers through me, just once, and then it is gone, swept up with the murmuring breaths of wind that float around us. I frown deeply.
"What are you doing?" I ask her in a strained voice, peering down, my hands splayed awkwardly in the air, not quite sure what to do. The thumping of her heart combined with the soft 'woosh' of her blood against my skin is tantalisingly close, soft and steady, a precious sound. Suddenly, I find myself warming to it, consumed by the odd urge to keep this child safe.
Am I becoming soft? How revolting.
"I'm hugging you, stupid. Do you not hug people in Sezeria?" the little angel mutters faintly, pressing her face further into me. I bite my lip. No, we don't, I think, but do not say.
"Did I not just tell you I am a monster? You shouldn't be hugging a monster, imagine what your little angel friends would say. What about the council? Were you not just lamenting over them catching you five minutes ago?" I sigh instead with frustration, reaching down absently to stroke the ringlets of her brown hair, picking away a few stray leaves that she forgot to pluck out. Her arms tighten around me.
"You are too nice to be a monster. Just shut up and let me hug you, I know you aren't going to kill me, you would have done it already if you were," she whispers, tucking her little sets of wings around me, fists clenching onto my shirt, as if she didn't want to let go. A little laugh escapes my lips, and then I catch myself, quite unsure why I am laughing.
Me? Too nice? That's the most bullshit thing I have ever heard.
Bending down, I take her tiny hands in mine, wrapping my clawed fingers round her wrists, my rings pressing softly into her flesh. The trees whisper around us, watching, waiting.
"Nice? What makes you think I'm nice, little dove?"
"Your eyes," she replies, without a beat. "They are warm." I stop short. My eyes? I think for a moment. It was the most childish thing I had ever heard, yet as she stares at me with such complete earnestness, I find myself struggling to refuse her. I've been called many things in my life, a demon, a murderer, coldblooded, treacherous, wicked, or cruel. But warm was never one of those things. And neither was nice.
I straighten back up, frowning, dropping her hands to her sides, causing the little angel to look up at me with dismay. I pat down my shirt, ironing out the wrinkles with my palm. I shouldn't stay here. Not after this.
"I am leaving," I say, my mind fogged up in thought as I bring a hand to my head to steady myself. I feel strange, almost dizzy, my mind spiralling with odd new notions about myself that I never thought to be true; the idea that someone in this god forsaken world could indeed find me 'nice'. All at once I don't recognize who I am. Confusion washes over me. Confusion and anger.
"You will come back? You still owe me a dance," she calls after me, as I turn my back towards the barrier. My boots creak a little as I walk, stiff, pressing into the soft mud to leave an indent of my existence on the world. The sun gazes down on me, a bright eye, illuminating my face with a pleasant glow that sparkles in my iris'.
"Perhaps," I tell her, waving a hand in the air dismissively. Her heart races at my words, and my step wavers for a moment as I stand, listening to its fearless tune. A sigh escapes my lips. "Forget about me, little dove," I call back to her softly, my voice ringing through the trees. "Forget we ever met,"
"You can't make me!" She cries. "I'm not going to forget you," she says stubbornly from behind me, her voice rising. The leaves in the trees quiver around us, a strange golden aura illuminating their barks, a light that is not from the sun. Hardening my heart, I call back to her, my voice laced with the tones of a glamour.
"Yes, you will,"
At the offer of my hand and the thin smile that plays of my lips, a bolt of joy rockets through her being.The girls heart is an unusual one at best, filled with dreams of dancing and dining long into the dark expanse of twilight, decked in fancy clothing and surrounded by figures who sharp teeth glint under the slowly dying light of the moon. It is a dream long formulated in the back of her mind, crystal clear and gleaming with passion. Her dream envisions herself older, perhaps by ten years or so, dancing in a sparkling red dress that floats around her like blood spilling into water as she waltzes her way across the marble flooring of what must be a palace. Alarmingly, it is not another angel she dances with, or even an elf. The person who she is dancing with... I almost take an involuntary step back. Its me.Just who on earth is this angel?A little irritably, I dismiss the image of her dream that beats within her heart, withdrawing my talons of power as I draw myself back into focus. Her dream might have just been altered by having me here- perhaps I have just given a face to her previously faceless dancer. But the thought still serves to unnerve me a little. Such a dream should not be held by an angel, and certainly not a dream with me in it.Nevertheless, I did offer her a dance. Though now I am starting to regret it.The girl smiles a little at me despite her best attempts to smother it, her heart quickening with excitement, as though my reply has pleased her greatly. At the sight of her smile, the most peculiar notion overcomes me, like a foreign body coursing through me, unusual, bizarre. Feelings. How disgusting.I can't deny myself the fact that I would like to taste her blood, to see what sweet flavours would blossom over my tongue as my fangs sink into her neck. And yet some extrinsic part of me does not wish to take her blood by force. The fact slowly dawns on me, as surely as the sun rises in the sky, that I, in fact, do not want to kill her at all.The notion almost makes me angry. I grit my teeth. How dare she instil such feelings into me, taint my heartless demeanour with that of compassion! But as she takes me hand, the loathing melts away like rain into the ocean, subduing me to a steady calm. I hate her for that, too.It seems strange to me, this lack of fear she possesses, so unusual that it does not seem real. But her heart tells no lies, she does not fear me like the rest of the folk. Part of me wonders why. Another part of me ardently protests, wondering why I should be bothered with such fruitless inquires at all.Maybe it's best I just leave now, forget about this whole situation. Forget about this disgusting thing called 'feeling'.Sighing, I close my hand, causing the little angel girl to frown at me. Her wings droop in defeat."But-" she starts. I shake my head solemnly."You shouldn't be dancing with a monster, little dove. You shouldn't be dancing with me." I tell her, looking down at my hands, blood still faintly smeared over the tips of my fingers and golden rings. All at once draining the nymphs last night seems like a thousand years ago, like I was somebody else entirely.What on earth is wrong with me?The little girl pouts, her eyes downcast, scuffing her shoes in the mud which is soft with morning dew. Still without meeting my eyes, she pads over, kicking up leaves as she walks, catching little golden bugs in the spread of her tiny, feathery wings. Her foot steps over the line. I back up a little, raising my hands to ward her off, my fangs glinting. Fear rising in my throat, fear at what I might do, fear at what I want to do, and what I don't. Her heartbeat drills into my ears, the soft thump of her pulse on her neck almost too tempting to resist. Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump. I squirm with unease, fighting the hungry want and the sickening feeling of having a conscience. Never in my life have I tried to stay in control of my impulses, yet right now I want nothing more.Still she keeps walking, plodding forward relentlessly, and still I back up, attempting to keep distance between us. But my efforts are futile.Her little arms reach round my sides, causing me to stiffen as her head rests upon the soft fabric on my chest. Eyelids fluttering close, she hovers there, her warm breath soaking through my clothes and seeping into my skin. An unknown pang of emotion flickers through me, just once, and then it is gone, swept up with the murmuring breaths of wind that float around us. I frown deeply."What are you doing?" I ask her in a strained voice, peering down, my hands splayed awkwardly in the air, not quite sure what to do. The thumping of her heart combined with the soft 'woosh' of her blood against my skin is tantalisingly close, soft and steady, a precious sound. Suddenly, I find myself warming to it, consumed by the odd urge to keep this child safe.Am I becoming soft? How revolting."I'm hugging you, stupid. Do you not hug people in Sezeria?" the little angel mutters faintly, pressing her face further into me. I bite my lip. No, we don't, I think, but do not say."Did I not just tell you I am a monster? You shouldn't be hugging a monster, imagine what your little angel friends would say. What about the council? Were you not just lamenting over them catching you five minutes ago?" I sigh instead with frustration, reaching down absently to stroke the ringlets of her brown hair, picking away a few stray leaves that she forgot to pluck out. Her arms tighten around me."You are too nice to be a monster. Just shut up and let me hug you, I know you aren't going to kill me, you would have done it already if you were," she whispers, tucking her little sets of wings around me, fists clenching onto my shirt, as if she didn't want to let go. A little laugh escapes my lips, and then I catch myself, quite unsure why I am laughing. Me? Too nice? That's the most bullshit thing I have ever heard.Bending down, I take her tiny hands in mine, wrapping my clawed fingers round her wrists, my rings pressing softly into her flesh. The trees whisper around us, watching, waiting."Nice? What makes you think I'm nice, little dove?""Your eyes," she replies, without a beat. "They are warm." I stop short. My eyes? I think for a moment. It was the most childish thing I had ever heard, yet as she stares at me with such complete earnestness, I find myself struggling to refuse her. I've been called many things in my life, a demon, a murderer, coldblooded, treacherous, wicked, or cruel. But warm was never one of those things. And neither was nice.I straighten back up, frowning, dropping her hands to her sides, causing the little angel to look up at me with dismay. I pat down my shirt, ironing out the wrinkles with my palm. I shouldn't stay here. Not after this."I am leaving," I say, my mind fogged up in thought as I bring a hand to my head to steady myself. I feel strange, almost dizzy, my mind spiralling with odd new notions about myself that I never thought to be true; the idea that someone in this god forsaken world could indeed find me 'nice'. All at once I don't recognize who I am. Confusion washes over me. Confusion and anger."You will come back? You still owe me a dance," she calls after me, as I turn my back towards the barrier. My boots creak a little as I walk, stiff, pressing into the soft mud to leave an indent of my existence on the world. The sun gazes down on me, a bright eye, illuminating my face with a pleasant glow that sparkles in my iris'."Perhaps," I tell her, waving a hand in the air dismissively. Her heart races at my words, and my step wavers for a moment as I stand, listening to its fearless tune. A sigh escapes my lips. "Forget about me, little dove," I call back to her softly, my voice ringing through the trees. "Forget we ever met,""You can't make me!" She cries. "I'm not going to forget you," she says stubbornly from behind me, her voice rising. The leaves in the trees quiver around us, a strange golden aura illuminating their barks, a light that is not from the sun. Hardening my heart, I call back to her, my voice laced with the tones of a glamour."Yes, you will,"
