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The moon seemed too sorrowful that night. It was darker than usual, the street lights too dim to give Cyril a better view of the road. He was sure there weren’t that much vehicles sliding down the streets that night, feeling the odd silence had made anyone awake to force themselves back to bed. It wasn’t even midnight yet, but strange, he had only seen a few cars and about less than ten passers-by. The path he uses to go back home was a short cut, and he assumed that not many used the dark way to the neighbourhood.

He felt a strange presence following him, still. He had noticed it a few minutes after stepping out of the dance studio, and he felt uneasy upon realizing the entity following him hasn’t stopped trailing after him even this far. Maybe an enemy, maybe an ally. At first he did felt bothered, but later on he felt at ease, as if he had been watched over with care. Something he barely felt since he first existed, something he didn’t know he would feel.

The hair at the back of his neck stood up, somehow. He sensed that the aura was of a powerful being, and he was sure it wasn’t a normal entity. Tapping his nails on his shoulder with his bag hung over it, he glanced behind him only to find nothing. Sure, he was never scared, but if the one behind him was one of the archangels, he’d rather run back home and tell them to get lost. None of their bullshit will be tolerated when he’d already been pissed at one of them barging into his lair once— no, a few many times already.

The demon remembered the years after his fall. The seraph who took care of him had visited him countless of times without caring about the warning of not associating themselves with a being such as him. ”This orphan,” he said once while running his holy fingers over Cyril’s hair, himself declaring him as a filth touched by a flawless angel. ”I missed you, lad.” Cyril realized how far he took himself with his sins and even left the only father figure in his existence to another world, letting him stay behind in sorrow. He felt guilt, but there was no way he could turn back to the Elysium. He was banished and thrown with no ladder to climb back with. He apologized to the seraph, telling him to go before disappearing before his eyes. He wasn’t a being of guilt, he didn’t have to feel sorry. Now he was meant to destroy, to oppose. All the memories flood out of his head as he cringe.

It is unreasonable for her to wish that he’d remember anything about her. Too much to ask for him to recognize her voice or simply the feeling of her presence. Her appearance has been altered too many times to be a proper candidate for recognition either. Therefore, there is nothing to assist the male in recalling and that is almost enough to convince her that this confrontation will only be vain. Most likely, she will walk away from this encounter with her heart heavier than ever before within her chest. Had she not been manipulated into sinful ideas, then this would not be necessary. Fear and wariness would never latch themselves onto her words and actions, ruining every little thought. Had she not been so gullible. Had this, had that. Excuses. It’s her fault, her fault, all her fault. Her mind collapses in on guilt. But she thinks, if not for her mistake, he would not have been born. Thus, she cannot bring herself to regret a single thing because he is truly a lovely gift from God, even if Heaven cast him away and Hell swallowed him whole. He was her son.

Her son. The idea is hard to grasp; quite like attempting to confine minuscule grains of sand within the palm of one’s hand. Each time she thinks of it, disbelief becomes the cracks between her fingers and slowly drags away the notion as quick and fluid as flowing water. But the signs, the similar details are all there. How could a mother ever abandon the memories offered by the happiness of their own child? How could she fail to recall anything when she had kept an eye on him for so long? Still, to be right in front of him is different than lurking far away. She can pinpoint the features that may have been passed down from his father or from herself. This way, she can watch and experience his perplexed gestures when he fails to recognize his own mother. She can witness the fact that she is no longer needed in his life because he’s all grown up now. Had she ever been needed? Unsurprisingly, it’s hard to figure out whether she should be proud or heartbroken.

Everything is lost midst numerous indecipherable emotions that exist merely to wreck what little human-like qualities she contains, or maybe to display how human-like she is capable of being. Even she has weaknesses to expose. It’s not until now, when all comes cycling back to the tormenting question of who, that she deems her own child to be one of them. She is not one to hesitate when she wants something, but cautious is the only thing fueling her actions now. There are a multitude of ways she could have gone about greeting him. But she settles for a small nudge to the back of his head, restraining herself from embracing him for the first time since he was an infant, because it's a gesture of affection she can get away with even if he happens to be unsuccessful in properly identifying her. She can pass it off as mistaking him for someone else if this all goes wrong.

Naeun spends her hours around places like this, observing with a keen eye and drinking her stress away — but she learned so much just by staying quiet and listening to others. Even when she could care less about what occurs during their life.

Speaking of caring about another’s well being — she didn’t know what brought her into caring about this stranger besides her. Normally those who she kept a conversation with during the bar at this hour of the day, they would leave and it’s a one time encounter. A simple disappearance and she’s left with questions that she never had the chance to ask. Creating friendships here is rare, because when she’s asking if they remember anything from the time previous to the present one; all she sees in a blurred memory in the glint of their eyes, a blank expression upon their visage and she’s left there acting like some fool. “Oh you’re welcome. Gotta keep an eye out for some people when it comes to places like this, always trying to get what they want the easy way too.” She would know, she experienced it herself. Just once. Collasping into another’s arms only to find her back pressed against the mattress, wrists chained to the headboard but then again she managed. The grasp was loose, the key and a hairpin was resting on the table not too far and she escaped; with a prized possession and feeling successful from that night of having her hands painted in crimson.

Despite the loud noises hanging around in the background, desires spilling pass stranger’s lips, husky mumbles of cravings escaping their mouths were slipping in her ears but then again. She ignored it all, drawn to the silence that took over her for the meantime whilst her eyes were drifting over to the glass. The liquid was only plastered on the edges, watching the tiny droplet of the substance of grey goose vodka began to fall onto the counter top and the woman’s voice caught a hold of her cautious. Making her snap back into reality and she fixated her attention properly to the attention upon the woman besides her. “I- My apologies for sounding like that then.” She replied back, suddenly feeling bashful for showing no emotion in the way she spoke to her. Sounding as if her company wasn’t enough and how she was bored of her — what was her name again, Gain? Interesting. “Nice to meet you as well, Gain. I’ll make sure to keep it in mind then.”

Intentionally her mood was brought down, slowly it began to rise because of the woman’s presence and company. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t been in the brightest of mood. Was it wrong to feel the need, the desires of having another next to her? Not in the way where their legs would be tangled into the thin sheets upon the bed, the obscene sounds filling up the room like any other but no it was never like that when she wants someone. It was just, hearing someone’s voice besides her own and having to see someone smile at her was something she enjoys. And she sees it now, gazing at it and engraving it in her mind to remember it.

A faint feeling of understanding embraces her, drawn to the realization that much more than boredom and lack of other convenient company or just simple similarity keeps them in their seats. More than just a similar hobby or pastime lets them remain in one another’s company, possibly to seek each other out in the future for the enjoyment of further conversation. The exact details about each of their pasts may be lost in unclear statements, but there’s the presence of wanting to know that seals their fates. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” she inquires, gaze filtering a faint expression of disgust as her eyes do a quick sweep of the entire expanse of the place. “Almost disgusting how they attempt to use the senselessness of intoxication to procure what they want. Pitiful how they sit and patiently wait for the opportunity to arise from anyone at all, not caring about what consequences may tag along because they are in a time of utter desperation. Or perhaps their minds have been defected, corrupted, and obsessed with sin, unbeknownst to anyone because we merely don’t have the time to care.” A sickening smirk lifts her lips as she speaks, silently referring to her own activities as if she did not do the same things; as any hypocrite would. Sliding her fingers against the sleek surface of the bar top, she absentmindedly drums to the distant rhythm of the music before continuing on, “The world is a treacherous, yet humorous place, don’t you think?”

Eyes shining with a suspicious gleam, she carefully watches her companion, eyebrows lifting in a silent challenge to reveal just a little more on her opinion. Even if the secretive female does, Gain knows that the statement will be just as vague as the rest, but that does not stop her. There are small hints buried deep beneath seemingly incomprehensible responses near to being inaudible when weaved into the blaring sounds of music. She hopes to receive an answer as dark, conflicted and wavering as the beating heart she claimed when she’d stolen her vessel. There is still that remaining desire to discover just how twisted this woman’s soul is when not concealed by the need to keep things hidden. She contemplates the option of questioning whether or not the other would like to change locations, perhaps go somewhere quieter. But only because she is selfish and wishes to learn as much as she can without the possibility of anyone listening in; she wants to have the chance of speaking her own secrets.

Put one of the following in my inbox for my muse’s reaction: “Don’t let me die.”

[ ♕ ]   Was it wrong to just stand there, completely frozen; unsure of how to react to such destruction around her. There’s muffled sobs and constant yells coming from left to right and she’s the reason for this all. How did they all catch onto all this, how did they seek her once in for all. Her lips curve into a small smile, weak and so faint it’s barely visible in one’s vision especially with the dim light.

I’m going to die.

[ ✉ ↔ ] Are we seeking for an epilogue to that incident?

[ ✉ ] Your innocent face is so deceiving.