As You Wish

Traitor

{A/N: Allllrigghtttyyyy then. So for this chapter, imma mix things up a little. Since the events in the last few weren't entirely properly explained, that's gonna be fixed right here, albeit maybe not entirely right now. Haha gotta save a bit for the end right? Okay so getting to the point, this is going to be from a different point of view. It's Sebastian's, but part of it is in a letter format, a sort of 'jornal' entry, or 'diary' for American readers, as that term is more used to describe a schedule in Britain, what's like a planner over here, in the clearly superior and more awesome nation. At least that's what I learned in my feebile attempts to remain orderly during my studies in Oxford.  Guess I'm just too...wait for it....FREE. Hahahahaha jk. Kinda. They got freedom too. It just took like 600 years. Anyway, my creative ass wanted to be excessively annoying and unnecessarily hipstery as possible so I did two changes of view, which in hindsight didn't really need to be described here. What I wrote isn't that original as far as P.O.V. to be entirely honest. I mean, Dracula was written the same way and Bram Stoker didn't put a 474858575 word note at the start of each one of his chapters describing what even the slightest of educated readers could glean for themselves. All great art speaks for itself too, ammmirite? Ehhhhhh?? Still, because I already typed out this whole explaination on the company iPad at work which is both hard to write on and if they find out I was writing weeb trash demonic fan fiction on, will be used to furiously beat me before they make me unhirable and blacklist my then-to-be embarrassed, besmirched ass, imma leave it. It's funny at least. Okay, hopefully this section clears up the prior confusion and only raises questions pertaining to the future plot; as I said, this is far from over. Gotta save some mystery for dat grand finale. I mean what's the point of stupid over-explanatory stream of consciousness run on sentences that kind of help shit in a story like this if they don't lead anywhere? Anyway here's Sebastian's point of view:}

Indecision has never been something I've faced, not in a thousand years. Never have I made an error based solely in poor judgement, but there is a first time for everything, so it's been said by those far more mortal than I.

Fear is an emotion I've never experienced, not my ceaseless eternity of immortality, not in all my time on this earth. What frightened me led to my misadventure, the incorrect reaction, the wrong choice, but an inability to properly perform all of my duties therein, that was not the origin of my concern. It was and is, instead my memory. It hasn't been satisfactory. I'm recalling elements of a life that is not mine, or at the very least, I don't believe to be my own. It isn't one I know, or care to remember. I would like to forget, and I do, for a while, but then it comes back.

Sleep is a luxury for me, for my kind, but I've come to understand that term as a misnomer. Demons share an unspoken catharsis, an inherent desire to categorise it as majorly inaccesible to hide what it really means for us. In reality, there is a reason we avoid it. I didn't believe the stories fully, that it is actually that terribly unpleasant, but what causes a demon pleasure other than the suffering of others?

That is another troublesome matter. Suffering is not altogether something I've enjoyed recently. Perhaps it's become boring, or too much to bear in the state I've found it. When I try to rest, even at times before now, in the early hours when my master needs me not, and all the tasks are completed, between the coming of night and the breaking of day, I see only light, blinding and disdaining, as I feel assaulted, cast out. It burns me. Me, to burn! How absurd! Another element prevents me from enjoying this 'luxury.' It feels as though I am falling, my wings not those of a raven, nor those of the subtly different crow, but the ivory wings of an enormous dove, and they rip from my shoulders, alabastrine feathers billowing through rapidly dissipating clouds, rain searing against incarnate flesh, to be eliminated by ash and a blinding crash upon stone ground. White light is all I see as the ringing in my ears wrenches me from my sleep. It is a fruitless endeavor to mimick the human nessecity for rejuvenation. Without it they shall die; without it I shall live. Worsening still, the most pervading, harrowing sensation every time I close my eyes in a vain attempt to relax is the sound of a thousand voices, sobbing, mourning the loss of someone they loved, a brother and a son. I don't know how I know this, but I do know I cannot fully escape it any longer.