I'd Rather Go Blind

9th December 1958

I have much to tell you, bien-aimé!

We have spent months growing closer, Alastor and I! A lot of it is in my spare diary, but there has been little cause for alarm since my apology. I daresay our relationship has improved since I told the truth, and not for the reason I was afraid of!

Of course, Alastor has asked questions about my family and the extent of our powers — but all of it in the normal way! He is intellectually curious about the realities of being hellborn: what I remember, how my moral compass developed, and the lens through which I view the living world. "I went, very occasionally," I confessed, as we took in a few jazz records on a Friday evening, "on family vacations when I was younger. Of course, we stayed away from people."

Alastor nodded.

"You should visit the family sometime," I offered. "Mother's gone, but you could meet my father, and Throttle and Mavis, if they're still around."

"Your siblings?"

"No, a few of the imps I'm close with," I said. Then Alastor grew quiet. "They're compensated," I said quickly. "We are close, but they- I wouldn't..." Here I had stumbled into another faux-pas — but luckily I knew how to save it. "I'm starved," I said, striding off to the entrance to get my coat, "let's go hunting!"

Hunting always cheers Alastor up. With my help, he is getting better at it, reveling in all its glory. As a rule, he will still fixate on our victims' throats, draining them of blood; and if he has his toolkit on him (un cadeau d'anniversaire de ma part), he will dissect and dress parts of the body, to be cooked and eaten at a later date.

"Take this one," I said one October night, proffering the weakened frame of the sinner I'd caught, even as she struggled in my grasp.

"Oh, better not," he said, hunkered over someone else. "I'm busy with this fellow! You take her!"

"Can you manage?" I asked. "Yours looks fairly strong."

"Help!"

"Quiet!" I scolded, hitting her.

"Thank you, Rosie, I'll be fine!"

He does look beautiful with his face and forearms all slippery with blood. Sometimes the quarry overwhelms him, and I have to help -- it is impossible, I suspect, for him to hunt or hound independently -- but I leave him to it as often as I can.

Now and then, Alastor will let me in on aspects of the human world to which I am ignorant: for example, the particulars of human bodies when they die, compared to demon bodies. I've heard some of it before, but he makes anything sound interesting... not to mention he has a voice that would make even wrought-iron soften and blush.

"My third victim was very fat," Alastor said, wrinkling his nose. "He was a louse: gluttonous, cruel to children, always coughing, which annoyed me... but I almost wish I hadn't killed him. Not worth the effort, and it was such a bother to crack him open, even with my best tools. Everything inside him had greasy yellow muck sticking to it... his breastbone, for God's sake! Say what you will about demons, but most of them are anatomically efficient beings!"

"They are," I noted, looking him up and down, "but do carry on."

"Well, I like my meat on the leaner side, so there wasn't much to salvage. The liver was pâté; the lungs and heart were full of some gross fluid I couldn't possibly name. I imagine he was close to death when I got him! That's why I tried his brain -- that, and whatever flesh I could hack clean."

"And how was it?"

"Fine, I suppose," he said. "Not my favorite. You've tried it?"

"Naturally!" I said -- me, who tries everything! "Eating the brain reminds me of my victims' humanity. Maybe I'm closer to understanding them on some level."