The Bloodied Scriptures

Chapter 6: the Confession

I stared at him intently, scratching down words that described him. I couldn't deny that Lilith was an interesting person. One couldn't help being curious.

"The fellow was a mysterious creature, whom no one dared to question. He had a dark aura with a tiny smile spread across his face. He is the one whose looks were angelic and ethereal. The way his soft eyes looked up in the sky, how his dark hair flowed against his pale skin. A demon in an angel's skin, something that seemed innocent at first, but was the opposite really. Something so mysterious and dangerous that it dragged me towards him."

Hm, the last line is wrong. He's supposed to be someone's enemy, the villain of the story, not a character to be interested in. A tiny smirk slowly formed on the creature's face and he was gazing straight into my eyes.

"What are you writing about?" Lilith asked.
"Ah, just an antagonist in my novel. He's...interesting, I guess."

I left out the part that I based a whole character on him. That would be weird to say out loud.

"Hm, I would like to read your novel someday."
"Thank you."

Maybe that was supposed to motivate me. A novel I put my blood, sweat and tears on, to be recognized, by a rare creature itself. 

"What is it about?"
"A society of spirits that hunt down a half-spirit and half-human until they finally kill him."
"Huh, half-half."
"Precisely."
"Maybe I can learn more about your writing." he beamed.
"You can if you want."

He took out a regular sized book and slammed it on the table.

"I got something just like that."

Strange, why was he trying to understand my passion? I never asked about him, nor do I try to be close to him. What did I do to deserve this?

"What is that?"
"It's a book about different styles of writing."

He held it out and closed his eyes.

"Tell me when to stop."

He skimmed through the pages.

"Stop."
"Confession 1: a story that showcases your deepest darkest secret, but it hides it in fiction."

He slowly glanced at my notebook and moved his eyes up at my face.

"I wonder if your novel is one."
"Maybe. We can write confessions without even knowing it."
"Hm. The novel you're writing."
"Yes?"
"Is it about you?"

I looked away and shut my eyes. I shouldn't have told him about my novel.

"I do know, you are different from others."

Worse then them too. I breathed sharply, but he continued on.

"I haven't heard of a literature student working a shift as a maid. Yet, there's only one thing that gets you into this school. Nobility."

I don't know what to answer. My hands trembled and my throat hurt. He pushed the book aside and leaned his head on his hands.

"Does the character die at the end?"
"Yes, he does."

I got up, pushed my chair away, slamming my hands on the table. I glared at him dead in the eye and my shaky voice wavered.

"Why do you want to know?!"