Of course God exists. Heaven exists as well, though you'll forgive me if I haven't visited recently. I'm merely a "wingless demon," after all.

There are many varieties of kakodaimones . . . Forgive me, I've slipped into Ancient Greek again. Though that word is a rather intriguing one— if you applied yourself to your lessons, you'd know "kakos" means "wicked," and it's a prefix for "daimon." A daimon by itself wasn't considered evil . . . Not until Christianity enthralled humans, just a few years back.

Is Christianity accurate? Isn't it a bit late for you to ask? But I'll answer, nonetheless. Christianity, like all human religions, is one manifestation of the Faith. It makes claims about the nature of the world, it asserts there is a true morality. I say the Faith— and all rules— are hollow lies, and so would any demon. So did you, when we first met.

As I was saying, there are many sorts of demons. Spider demons, flower demons, human demons. The spidery ones fight with sticky white threads . . . Ahem. The flower demons are concerned with issues of fertility and reproduction, and they are the only ones who can elevate mortals to deathlessness. The human ones, it appears, exist for the sole purpose of being pathetic . . . Are you flailing about, or did you hit me on purpose? The touch was so gentle I can hardly tell.

Does evil exist? A funny question, seeing that we two are alive and well. But even evil is relative, as you have long suspected. Perhaps I haven't mentioned this to you before, but I was responsible for the European outbreak of the Black Death. Don't gape. One of your predecessors ordered me to end serfdom— the effective enslavement of countless peasants— and the most practical method was to halve the population, forcing the lords to finally acknowledge their workers' value and compete to offer good livelihoods. If I appear remorseful, it is only because of the many cats who died in the process.

What do I know about angels? They believe in morality, but not necessarily in being moral . . .

I'm evading the question? I don't know what you mean . . .

Ah. The feathers revealed me, didn't they? Mine are soft like an angel's, but as black as theirs are white. Indeed, I am a winged, fallen angel, fallen from immorality to amorality, and I have no chance of ever becoming a "risen demon." Christianity's correct in that one respect— once you taste knowledge, you abandon paradise. And no demon is fool enough to take up the Faith once more, not even to reenter heaven.


Tonight, you indulge in the luxury of a decadent sleep, young master— spoiled, even now. You'll question me further tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow . . . And I'm afraid even my rule that I do not lie is a hollow lie. I swore to you I'm under your spell, bound by blood to serve you forever, but you'll remember soon enough how easily I left you in Paris, and you'll wonder how Alois Trancy could die, even while under the "protection" of Claude Faustus. You'll see that even the demon's contract is a hollow lie, bocchan. Yet I'll pretend the rules of your game exist for a little while longer. I can play as your guardian angel . . .

Now, I must prepare our meal for tomorrow. We'll be having an Italian dish— rich, well-dressed, quite lean, and aged to perfection. The main ingredient has been delightfully prepared— simmered at length by a hopeless love affair, seared in the final heartbreak, garnished with self-loathing and, of course, red sauce. You should find it both tender and flavorful, but be sure to eat quickly, young master, for the shinigami may object to my plating.

Enjoy it, young master.