• He's come a far way from a little boy stealing glances at happiness, it's more than that now, and she's helped. She's the pastel colours in the skies, the sweet taste in every song and the beauty in every smile. She's the sun reflecting off the ocean, and oh baby he's done with stealing glances, he's going to make her his. He's finished, he isn't planning on watching her out of the corner of his eye, and missing her glances at him when he looks away. He's done dancing. It's a dance to see who waits longer, and who acts first.

    He never possessed the patience for dancing.

    And so her bright beauty, the sparkle in her glittering green eyes, the fire in the gold of her hair, and the sweetness on her breath brings him happiness, the soaring feeling of flying and tumbling in the sky - he's ecstatic. Out of all the many centuries that he's lived, of all the many years he's borne into this wretched existence, it's her human, brief lifetime that brings him the most joy.

    it is not enough.

    He knows that someday she will die. She is going to be gone, because he is a demon, a shadow that existed for many centuries, and more to come. But she is a human girl, small and frail, and even under his fierce protection a slither of sickness will still penetrate his shield and consume her. She will fall to time, and he is helpless to protect her, he can do nothing but watch, and sometimes he idly entertains the thought of killing her himself, as not to watch the stars flow out of her body with every breath she took. But he is not strong enough, not strong enough, not strong enough.

    And then there is the jewel, the glittering, darksome promise of hope that will foreshadow him. But he doesn't care, it is for her.

    He finds himself in a church, the coloured windows are haunted looking, the light of the moon casts evil shadows in the wake of his tall, young, old body. But the dark as never bothered him, not since her. Not since her smile warmed his face, and her fingertips casting fire in his arms, and neck and legs. The dark doesn't bother him.

    "To whom it may concern," he booms in a steady, quiet voice, "be you gods or something else entirely." a small, ironic twist of his lips, along with the stark shadows on his face make him seem almost maniacal, and for once his appearance reflects his soul. "I am not here to confess. I have a great many sins, but I am sure you are aware of them, and there are far too many to list in just one night—or even a year of nights. No. Think of this as merely a courtesy call." his voice gains power, a high keening crescendo in his chest, a burning pressure and he can feel it. It makes him feel invincible, completely dominant, and his lips widen in a frightening leer and exposes his fangs.

    “I have been given an entire lifetime with her,” he says finally, straightening. “Her lifetime. Not mine.” The demon draws a slow, shuddering breath. “Her beautiful, brief lifetime. And I am grateful for it. I am. Out of all my many centuries, all my endless lifetimes, my years with her are the only ones to ever have brought me joy.”

    His now exposed claws click against the benches, each little sound a threat, more loud than an explosion of a bullet. “But I am a selfish man,” he adds in a low voice. “I know I have done nothing to deserve those years. I know, also, that there are many who would say I should take my happy memories and be happy with them. And I do not care.” The crack slices through the empty church like a sharpened blade; the wood splinters beneath his claws.

    “It is not enough.” His claws dig deeper, fingers clenching and gouging. His voice drops to a raw hiss, acidic, caustic and fiery. “It is not enough.”

    His words seem to cut a thread, already rubbed raw by her aging, by his suffering, and where he had been tethered to sanity by that single string, he is now a beast, howling and screaming with the fervor of a dying man, his eyes red with insanity, and the railing collapses beneath the extremity of his strength. In this state, he is more beautiful than he's ever been, like the waking explosion of the sun, as it fights off the darkness. Dawn. He is dawn.

    He has spent years, centuries, innumerable, aching, torturous fiery years, wanting her, missing her smiles and her comfort, and the feeling of standing from something very high, when he was with her. She always kept him on his toes, and no matter how well he thought he knew her, she never ceased to surprise.

    And so the years that passed were spent planning, deciding, waiting for the right moment.

    And here he is.

    "There is another possibility that never occurred to her,” he continues at last. “That I am meant to do this. That this was supposed to happen all along.” He shrugs his shoulders slightly. “But regardless of whether or not I am meant to, I will. As I said before, this is a courtesy call. I am not here to ask permission. I am not here to lay blame, in the way that mortals do. I am merely here to apologize for what I am about to do,” he murmurs idly. His lips turns up in a slow, wry smile. “Though I am not sorry.”

    But I am a fair man. If you do not approve of what is about to happen, I give you the chance now to strike me down. Though I warn you to not be surprised when I strike back. I will take your silence as approval.”

    The empty church is unresponsive, the silence is echoing in his ears, and unlike most silences, this one does not scream in his ears the way it always has when she left. It is an absolute quiet, more than hushed, as it is an absence of sound, and light.

    "Good, I'm glad you see it my way."

    A glittering purple orb slips from his pocket, into his clawed hands, and the jewel is so much like her. Such a small thing, but with immense power and temptation. The same way her soul remained youthful when the rest of her didn't. "My father's greatest achievement was to cheat death," he says to the jewel, "but for her, I shall defeat time." and the jewel pulses, as if in response.

    "It is said that this jewel can only be used to make selfless wishes." a shadow dances across his face as he says this, a dark smile pulls at his lips. "Fortunately, I am not making a wish. I am making a demand." a demented grin pools around his face as the orb glows, and pulses as if rising to the challenge. He struggles with it, his own power rushing it in dominating tides. Bent to his demands, the jewel's glow is stoked into a burning blaze.

    "Time be damned," he snarls, white fangs showing.

    The jewel flares brighter, and brighter, growing hot and sweltering in his fists until he fears he might let go, but like his desperation for her, he clings. The light it emits is so bright, incandescent it is a tiny, pure sun in his hands, and the feeling is almost as good as holding her in his arms again.

    The air begins to shudder, to warp and to curl into itself.


    "She is mine." he says, breathing in the light. "You cannot have her."