Demon Stories

Cheol: Fearless, 1731, France

Cheol

Fearless

1731, France

He talks in his dreams at night. I know who he was talking about, and it can not be allowed. This person was never supposed to exist.

When he wakes up in the morning, he pretends he does not remember his dream. But he is lying. But more so, he is lying to himself.

I know he remembers, because he forgets and he calls himself a certain name. 

"Your name is not Beau," I often tell him when he's still got his head on the pillow. But he doesn't remember for a second where he is. He stares at my face, and only sees the face of his beloved still in the dream. What he expects, I don't know, but it can not be allowed.

When I speak to him, he turns over and on to his back. Staring at the ceiling, I know what he is thinking about.

I have never met this lover of his, but it is wrong. The way he is obsessive tells me he did something wrong. 

The Little Flower once told me a secret which greatly disturbed me. A secret which can never be implemented. But I believe Victor has implemented this secret. This secret of demons. 

"Love is a powerful thing," the Little Flower intimated, "it is what can create. Like with humans, it can create something else. When a demon loves, it is most dangerous. The most dangerous thing."

You see, the Little Flower and I are ghosts. We are no longer living. Therefore, our spirits were made into something else, and not living, we don't have to be tied to the human world. However, when a demon falls in love, their judgement is clouded. This is where the trouble begins.

I believe Victor has fallen in love, and he has turned a human who is still living into a demon. To do so is forbidden. He knows it is. And for this, the Black Swallowtail would come after him. Except, he has found out something further. He knows that the only way for the Black Swallowtail to find his lover is through him, so if he is away then the Black Swallowtail can't find his lover. But there is yet more trouble. 

He wants to go back to him. He's so blinded, clouded, by love that he wants to go back.

These days, he lays in bed all the time. I go out, I find things to eat. But he wastes away. His skin is porcelaine, his eyes are becoming smokey of purple. I know he is wasting away without him, but what can be done? 

At night, I am with my own lover. She is a demon, with yellow hair and deeply knowing eyes. We sit out in the garden on the grass every night. Staring at his open window above, I'm not aware of the serious expression on my face. But she knows.

After some months of the same routine, one night just like any other, I learned of something else that was sickening to me. For, out of nowhere, my lover intimated something to me. Something else about what the demon in the bed upstairs had done, and it changed my entire outlook on the world.