So this is a reality. They are not much, that is true- however, they are a necessity. A reality is not much, anyway- it is nothing more than the present perception of what one sees. Or, rather, what one does not see. It is what one feels, and believes to be real that create a reality, and the sense of living. Such a risqué little vision- what an impossible thing to prove! Ah, the joy of living is such a wonderful little game. The triviality is a stunning example of human life.

Simplicity at its best- the tiny atom is a life-giver, due to the theoretical strings that tie it together. Nevertheless, this miniscule atomic miracle is nothing but pure beauty, a pearl amidst large, bumbling stones. This cannot be bought like a pearl, nor can it cloned, seeing as how no one truly knows or understands the inner workings of these particles.

But, I ramble- the real point is that this is a reality. These walking, breathing, living sacks of flesh and organs who so proudly flaunt their assurance that all is fine are a sort of sinful wonder; no, it does not matter that they think of nothing but themselves, or that they see nothing but what is on the outside. No, these misguided fools are interesting experiments, tiny flecks of life in the most insignificant web that the strangest spider weaves. Is this spider a metaphor for the Christian God, Yahweh, Allah, or the Buddha? No. It is all and none- for I do not bother with such trivial speculations, as it is impossible to prove any of their relevance to reality. Sadly, this story is not about reality, contrary to all that has been written thus far. This is a tragic story of love and life, of dreams destroyed and reborn. This story is composed of all the necessary strings that pull the tapestry of life together, or it can be the strings that attach the sticks to the puppet. Ah, the sad puppet’s march! A dreary trudge, much like the way the average man ventures to his daily job.

This is a story, told by me- a demon masked by flesh and bone, observing life as someone who has lost and won.

The café was just as dull as per usual, the humming streets of Paris gracing its doors with the contagious, flamboyant cheer of the French paradise. I was not French, nor was I ever. This fancy was born out of respect for culture, and Paris is a place rich with it.

A sip of the orange twist alcohol made me smile with a small reverence of what a delicate taste that Paris had given to this drink, of how it seemed to divide itself to spread its wonderful effects throughout every single crevice.

How I adore such details!

Flipping a page, I returned my gaze to the novel of the day- a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s masterpieces. I silently mouthed the title of the next, and began reading it slowly and contentedly.

It was between these bits of reading and drinking that a shadow began to form over the novel, and it took three more minutes to acknowledge it. I gently flipped another page, and met eyes with the stranger.

Or, not a stranger. He wore the usual trench coat and scarf, the mismatched grey hat slightly covering the blue-grey eyes, and the smile lopsided and normally misunderstood as twisted. Despite the appearance, a gentle though arrogant spirit dominated the façade, creating the illusion of someone intelligent and business-like. A sight for sore eyes, surely.

“Why, hello there, Charles.”

He nodded, and sat down roughly, his large shoulders slouched and hands folded on the table. “Good day, Lilith.”

Ah, I have missed that pure British accent for far too long!

Setting aside the novel, I leaned forward and rested my chin upon my upraised palms, enjoying the exotic cologne Charles wore. “As to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? It has been a good three years, my friend!”

“For good reason, I assure you, Lilith. You’ve been cooking up too much trouble, you understand?”

“Of course I do.”

His large head nodded again, and his eyes went to the novel. “I suppose I should get to the point then, right?”

“That might be wise.” My eyes narrowed dangerously- having not received any return form of contact from this man for so long, and then for him to hunt me down for some favour did not lighten the already troubling year. I had worried about this friend- he had many enemies among humans and my kind alike. Angelic ones did not care for him greatly either, though they would not do anything to harm him.

“I understand that you must be terribly angry, but there is a very good reason. I assure you.” His eyes glazed over, as they searched the room blankly, finally resting on the doorway. I felt his unease.

Raising an eyebrow, I cleared my throat impatiently.

“Please, Lilith, that is not to be discussed.”

“Alright then. This conversation should be over.” Grabbing my book, I stood up to leave.

“Don’t be difficult!” His hand went out and tightly grabbed my sleeve.

I watched his eyes, trying to find some proof that I could still trust this man, that he had not sold our secrets nor betrayed our pasts. It was difficult to find, but it was there- that shimmer in his eyes promising trust and companionship. So, I nodded, and sat back down, feeling his unease become mine.

Charles took a deep breath, and my heart skipped a beat in anxiety of what he had come so far to say. “Lilith… I need a favour.”

“Yes, I’ve already accepted that. Now would you care to explain, or shall I do random acts of agreement?”

His eyes glinted a threatening hue, but his composure didn’t change. I blamed the laid back nature of the British. “I need you to write me your story.”

Blinking, I thought over what he was saying. “Charles, I believe I misheard you. What the blazes do you mean?”

He spread his hands out, palms upwards, and raised his eyebrows, showing credibility. “Exactly as I said it, my friend. I want you to write me your story, or- at the very least- dictate it for me. I do believe that the world would love to know how it damned Ad-”

I raised my hand, and- understanding my meaning- he apologized.

“Frankly, Lilith, it would do the world some good to receive some harsh truth, whether or not they believe it.”

“They won’t.”

“Maybe not, but imagine how the others responsible would feel! You wanted to rip their hearts out, right? But, dear Lilith, you can do the same with words and without bloodshed.”

“Charles, we don’t want the world to know that we’re alive.”

“You said it yourself that no one will believe you!”

My eyes went to the window, and I watched the people pass by, oblivious. “It has been three years, Charles… If they find out that we live, another insurrection will occur. It could possibly destroy.”

He followed my gaze, and watched an elderly lady cross the street in a haste, fumbling with her groceries as a group of young men passed, oblivious. “They would not try it again. They have already destroyed too much.”

“These people will never know… Charles, it would be a waste.”

“Nothing written in ink is a waste.” As a desperate act, he grasped my hands with his, and made eye contact. “Trust me with this, Lilith. It is something that could be wonderful.”

“Wonderful? Why?”

“Revolution is not always bad, you know. Here,” a card slid across the table, and I stared at his picture on it, “take this, and come and visit me when you decide. Ask our friends, hunt them down. I don’t mean to be terribly disruptive, but denial for so long is not healthy. Please. Do this for his memory.”

I did not notice him leave, as my eyes never left the card, and his fake smile plastered on his face, marring his honesty. It was brutal.

I went up to the counter, and searched my pocket for the appropriate amount of cash. The sun was slowly setting, cooling the air with a slight breeze that smelt of mountains. It was from the east.

“Combien est-ce je te donne?”

The lady answered with a quick sum, and I handed her the money, leaving her the change with a distant thank you.

The night was young, and I had much to do.

Whether I had actually expected my old friends to be traceable- if they were even still living- was beyond me when I reached my apartment flat. There was a tremor in my throat and a drag in my step, and I felt absolutely uneasy about this whole thing.

I sat at my computer, and stared at the loading screen blankly.

“He is a good friend. Charles has never let me down before. However… However, his love for money does have a nasty tendency to dominate over his better judgement.” It dimly occurred to me that this was foolish, that Charles had refused any form of contact for three years, and then this happens. It seems such a simple thing- write a little story about what happened, sell it to the world.

But what happened could not have been worse.

Eyes closed, I dreamt of meeting with all the old faces. It was awkward, to say the least. To meet with them could bring back all the fears- and for what? To receive permission to dive into our history and make it a public display of what not to do? A fine example!

A paw lightly dabbed my leg, and I smiled at the black furball that was Yin. A five year-old cat of the darkest colour and greenest eyes sat purring, waiting for the inevitable affection.

I gave in, and picked the fluffy sweetheart up, patting and cooing like a dimwitted fool.

Yang followed suite, his almighty whiteness nearly blinding but beautiful with his large aquamarine eyes.

Yin and Yang. Both I had never seen grow up, so I was without many stories about them, but I loved them all the same. My two companions, the only that have deemed it worthwhile to keep contact with a demon of the likes of me.

The others? They did not bother me so much. I truly did not expect them to remain by my side when the escapade was over. I do not think I even wanted them to.

It was a sad curse, the inability to enjoy another’s company who had the same blood. The only others who would ever know the pain one felt, or the utter loneliness- and their very presences were more agitating than any drunkard in a local tavern.

With a deep sigh, I realized that I had meant to visit my old companions for quite some time, and now there was an excuse. It did not matter whether or not the story was written, for I wanted to remind myself of what all this was for, and who did what.

It did not take me long to hunt down my first victim.

The doorbell rang three times at the quaint little redbrick house. The garden was caged in by a white fence, and the moonlight glittered off of the small pool of water inside a birdbath. Blood-red curtains hid the interior from view, but distant figures could be made out, running to the door.

A young woman answered, auburn hair waving down her back and a small, polite smile lighting up her oval face. “Hello. How may I help you?”

“I am looking for a Mr. Anthony McMillan.”

Her smile faltered, but was recovered in such a rush that I hardly noticed. The door opened wider, and a man with thick grey hair stood behind her, his hand clasping the thin shoulder tightly.

“Mira, please allow me to have a talk with this woman. I will be back shortly.” Cold blue eyes watched my own black, not without a trace of deep suspicion, and he slipped past the petite woman as she opened her mouth to protest. The door was shut in her face firmly.

“What did I say?”

I smiled as kindly as I could, though I could tell the affection did not reach my eyes. “You have a lovely wife, Anthony. I hope the last three years have been kind to you.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and with a grunt, he grabbed my upper arm and lead the way out of the yard.

I did not protest, nor pull back as we made our way to his crimson car.

“Get in.”

I nodded, wondering why it was always so easy to be lenient around this man.

We drove quickly and silently to a small lake down the road. The lonely light of the moon highlighted the night and danced on the water playfully, as if inviting someone to join it.

But we sat silently on a bench, both facing the water with a sense of suspicion lingering.

“There must be a very good reason for this, Lilith. I ordered you to stay away from my family.”

His voice was as cold as ice, but mine was just as dry. “I have no intention of doing anything with you or your family. Be rest assured that I have only come after much deliberation.”

He scoffed, and the anger began to pour steadily off him. “That would require thinking, and that is not something that you have ever been fond of. I would appreciate it if you would withhold any form of contact with me from hereon.”

“Charles approached me today, if you would like to know.”

He stopped in his task of standing, and glared down as I continued to lazily watch the water shimmer. I had known he would stop so quickly- his friendship with Charles had ended long before ours had begun.

“Why would I like to know of what that money monger does?”

I shrugged, and finally met his enraged eyes. “You are one who likes to know what their old telepathic brethren are doing, are you not?”

The words were a hiss escaping his clenched teeth as I felt the single spark in the air ignite merely inches away from my ear. “Never say that. That is in the past now, and is buried there along with that white fool and the war spirit.”

Anthony stopped and bit his lip as I glared up at him, and I felt the sudden panic encircle him as realization of his grand mistake hit.

“Anthony.” The word was but a whisper, almost low enough for the slight breeze to whisk away. “I have been very patient with you, but if you ever say such a thing again in your miserable life I shall gladly revoke it. I will do so to your wife, her ex-husband, and even your child if you have such an unfortunate heir to your royal jackass throne. But, until then, I heavily suggest that you try to watch what you are saying.”

His tiny spark of rage did nothing to the sudden heat wave that engulfed our area, making the water slowly bubble in evaporation and a terrible sweat to break out on his face. He knew very well that I could turn this cozy little hideout into a blazing inferno effortlessly.

In a desperate attempt to keep his dignity, Anthony sat back down, only agreeing with a grunt. “It was foolish for me to say that. I suppose that I still do not believe it.”

“And so you will say no more about it.” I closed my eyes, and the night returned to its normal temperate as Anthony visibly relaxed. “Charles wants me to write our story.”

“What?” More sparks as his voice became thick with tension again. “He is ever the imbecile! What a stupid thing to do! You cannot possibly be even considering it, can you?”

His eyes seemed almost as pleading as Charles when he had offered the idea. I remained opaque as I questioned my own sanity for even thinking about the matter further.

“I fear that I am.”

Anthony suddenly became a mask of stone, his eyes closed and face expressionless. This was usually the last thing a person would see in their mortal life. “I cannot stop you, can I? If you decide to do this, none of us can. But why?”

“I’m still wondering that myself. It seems to be the right thing to do.”

“The last time we did the right thing a world was almost pulled into oblivion.” If he had meant any humour, his eyes did not show it, nor did the tense muscles that seemed to want to strangle me than and there.

“But it did good. In the long run, awareness does good.”

“At what cost, Lilith?” Sadness. Waves of uncontrollable sadness emanated from him as he sat there, very much the statue of regret. “We have all lost so much. In order to remain living, we have all done the wrong thing. To this very moment, we are doing the wrong thing, and we are still alive because of it.”

“I am more worried about the revolution.”

“There is always another one in the making. What you would end up doing is speeding it up, making it more clumsy and angry. It is a dangerous game to toy with human pride.”

I brushed my hair back absent-mindedly as the impulse to get up and forget about all this danced in front of me. I wanted nothing more than to say no, to say that I regret not being able to do the little favour and continue living in a deadly denial, waiting for another war to begin.

“Do we wait for it, or do we command it, Anthony? If we can finally create a chaos we can control, we could save this world from itself.”

“And a little book would do this? Lilith, you have lost your mind.” He stood up now, staring straight ahead, and nodded. “We should leave. My wife is waiting for me.”

I smiled a little ruefully at the giant irony of him being the only married one of our group, but followed him to the car anyways.

He did not care for the idea- he had someone to protect. Anthony McMillan had a wife who he had to protect from every danger that was to come. And I was to bring on that danger.

I retired for the night, deciding to indulge in a warm bath before sliding into bed for another pointless sleep. I did not need to sleep every night, but I often enjoyed it. It seemed rather normal now.

Yin toyed at my hand as I lay back, staring at the lavender ceiling of the small bathroom. Lavender walls, lavender ceilings, it was a place dedicated to that colour that I had once ignored.

The water sloshed with every tiny movement as I picked up the same book that I had been enjoying earlier, and attempted to read again. After reading the same paragraph three times, I sighed in exasperation and set the novel back down, gladly ignoring it as it slid to the floor.

Speaking with Anthony again had been tiring, and needlessly tormenting. Neither of us had any patience for the other, him being an old friend of Charles who had refused to enter in the business world with him. My knowledge of their past together wasn’t very accurate, and never seemed to be highly relevant to our own. All that was known was they had worked together in a government sponsored telepathic society whose main goal was to hunt down possible demons and angels. Not the simplest task.

Both Anthony and Charles were talented in their abilities, but one wished for wealth while the other for normalcy. The society collapsed not long after they left, and I had destroyed what was left of it to make sure it would stop bothering me.

I never took kindly to intrusions.

The whole idea that there was a secret organization somewhere with the sole purpose of obliterating creatures like me was laughable- how could they manage to do it? They were only humans, only talented in arts that my kind could use the day we were born. How could they even take on that right? Who were they to decide that it was evil for my kind to wander the earth? Or even for angels to do so- many of both sides have died due to their Operation: Cleanse mockery. What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and destroy them again! What an insane pleasure.

The very names “Demon” and “Angel” were merely idle generalizations: neither were the essence of pure good, neither could claim to be pure evil. Demons were dubbed so due to their supernatural darkness, their talent to manipulate the dead and control the more darker side of life. Before our mortal rebirth is completely forgotten as we wander the earth, and the memory only returned to us after we leave. And then what? I do not know. As for angels, I knew even less: they controlled the light, masters of rebirth and curing the sick and dying. Humans knew nothing, for the meanings associated with the names had completely torn away all true relevance to reality. But these facts were never taught to our kinds: all this knowledge had to be gained through experience and pain, joy and confusion. This is knowledge that I have gained from living my story.

And then there were angels. I had never thought much of them, though they were to be the mortal enemies of my own kind. We had never clashed. Mortals whispered of demons battling angels for the ability to dominate the earth, but it was pure coincidence that one kind would meet the other. Neither wanted dominance- only to roam among mankind while having the chance, before delving back into our darkness. The very thought of a holy war made me laugh! What a fairytale.

True, the first angel I had met I had killed. That was not intended. I had never met another being who emanated something other than the human aura, and feared it to be a sheol in disguise, as they are wont to do. It was then that I learned that demons have black eyes, while angels have lavender.

The oddest of colours, one that I was not even aware had existed until I had killed that angel. He was no better- he swore I was a sheol as well, so both attacks were equally ignorant.

The second angel I passed by on a street with only a slight nod, while the third I met at a café in America one morning. We had sat, drank tea, and talked about the world and its wonders.

The fourth angel had been tortured by the society, and it was my obligation to rid him of his misery. The fifth was dead when I met her, and had refused to return to her proper realm- she lived as a wandering sheol, mingling with human sheols. Her name had been Abby, and she told me of how she had been born in 1634, and had lived the normal amount of years for the supernatural when she died in 1987. This new era of technology replacing morals fascinated her, but had no more time to stay and live. Abby had expired, and I haven’t heard of the only angel sheol since then.

I killed the sixth angel, she being of a demon slayer kind who took to violence easily. I did as well, and enjoyed hunting down anyone who had any form of relationship with her.

The seventh angel…

I opened my eyes and decided to go to bed. It was not my bed- nothing in this little apartment was mine. I had never owned much anyways. This was an angel’s belongings, one that I had met, helped, hated, laughed and fallen in love with. But he would never be back.

Yin and Yang followed me to the bedroom, and I laid down, adoring the tired numbness before sleep actually occurred.

Thinking of Adia would not do well.

The street was deserted at ten as most civilians were working or schooling. My initial plan for the day was to track down Kurt before he realized that I had hacked into his computer, but the idea was put away as the day wore on. I didn’t like the idea of meeting up with another who had left on terrible terms.

Kurt wasn’t dangerous, he had no superhuman abilities- he was just Kurt. A tall, lean man with smiling eyes and a carefree smile, who could destroy any form of technology and rebuild it. A genius in disguise, many would say.

And then there was the option of contacting Murikiko, who would be at home in her beloved land of Japan. She and Kurt had once become partners, but Murikiko had left, claiming the man was immature beyond belief. When she had left for Japan, hints were given that her future held being a priestess at an ancient temple of monks.

Showing up there would not bode well.

I sat at a park bench, and watched a man and his dog jogging down the trails, the only other source of living thing in this entire area. I took this time to reorganize my thoughts.

It was a waste of time to do nothing during the day, but the encounter with Anthony had added another form of greeting into my theory of reunion: regret. Anthony had used that regret to fuel his anger for me, but the others did not feel the same way as he. However, I did not care for the idea of meeting up with other sudden mood changes.

The terms we had all left each other on were terrible. Charles had been the only contact that I had known before the entire ordeal, so we had naturally accepted the fact that every friendship has its rough spots and we carried on. The others I was never so close to: Anthony never forgave me for not saving his sister; Kurt held great spite at everything that I was, being a demon and such; Murikiko hated the utter darkness that I had willingly dragged her into; Jacob was altogether indifferent to this whole mess, but was a hermit for a reason. The terms with Wagner, Knowles, and Marlios weren’t any better.

This whole business was utterly frustrating.

Once more, the option to drop things off at that point seemed very desirable, and I nearly complied- but the thought that Charles had put so much will into his idea that I felt there was something I was not realizing, some deeper meaning to this entire mess that he had figured out and I did not. It was not entirely abnormal for such a thing to occur- I paid very little attention to symbols and metaphors.

That was it, then- I would speak with Charles once more before continuing on my personal quest.

I stared at the business card a long while before dialing the number.