A/N Warnings for suggested gore and dark themes. What can I say? I was experimenting with Montparnasse and he really is very obliging when it comes to being dark…

The Devil Behind My Eyes

The knife slides cleanly between his ribs, my hand over his mouth catching the desperately pathetic cry that he lets out as the brilliant crimson of his blood rushes joyfully from the soft prison of his body. Even before his final wheezing breaths have been released I drop him into the mud, quick experienced fingers scurrying over his pockets in hopeful search of treasure. I snort in disgust at the meagre pickings I find there, furious that I have wasted nearly an hour tracking this particular prey… and all for nothing. I can't even take his clothes now that I have soiled them, as if I would want them anyway; two seasons old and stained with wine. I do have some taste thank you very much.

The squandered time vexes me extremely, and when I am extremely vexed, someone usually ends up extremely dead. The bloodlust in my veins is not yet sated, but it will be forced to wait until tomorrow night for dawn is making its habitual appearance. The drunken student's cadaver is kicked to the side as I leave, secure in the knowledge that no trace of my hunt will remain by morning. The poor that bore silent witness to the killing will descend on his carcass like a pack of starving, filthy carrion birds to clean up the mess left by the carnivorous hunter. The clothes will be sold, the little silver ring on his right hand that wasn't worth my time will be fought over, and his body will be tipped smoothly into the sewers in little less than half an hour.

My knife fits neatly into its hidden sheath at my hip, its dangerous beauty injecting me with a heady dose of unquestionable power. It had not taken me long as a child to understand that it wasn't the biggest people who were in charge, oh no. It was the smartest people who stood atop the stinking shit-pile that I call my kingdom. The people who triumphed weren't the ones who shouted and swore and threw their sweating, lumbering weight around, no, they were the people who whispered words of deadly menace and took lives with their sharp knives with ghostly, chilling smiles. I bare my teeth in a lethal grin and growl briefly at a girl-whore huddled by the side of the alleyway. She whimpers and shrinks away; I laugh. I find it amusing how afraid some girls are of me. And yet, Eponine is not afraid of me; Eponine is afraid of nothing.

Ah, Eponine. My thoughts take a dark downward spiral as I consider my employer's daughter. I don't know why my thoughts are so often consumed with her, she is nothing special. She's skinny and filthy and strange, singing songs to herself and pining away over the too-pretty schoolboy who lives next door. For some odd reason she's utterly convinced that one day he'll see her in a different light, that he'll fall madly in love with her and that they'll live happily ever after.

I snarl silently to myself, sending a tiny filthy child skittering away from me. How can she not see that she will never be noticed by that pathetic ponce! We are different from him, her and me; we're made up of darkness and shadows and bloodshed in the twilight. We are sly and smart and as insubstantial as curling smoke in the wind. We are the children of Paris, the daughter of a wolf and a son of the Devil; we are not made for the light or for goodness. I know I certainly am not.

During my musings I have crossed into the lower parts of Paris, into the hell on earth so far from the gated and guarded mansions that I spend my nights investigating. Yet even here the sun shines, the untouchable gold of dawn dropping over the shacks and ramshackle houses to illuminate the murkiest strata of human society. I feel out of place, uncomfortable with the brightness of the light, my eyes used to stalking prey in the velvety black of the night-time and not the gauzy light of day.

As I move through the nearly deserted streets I wonder what it is that people see when they look at me. Do they merely see what I want them to see? Or do some occasionally see past the pale, unblemished skin, the red lips, the sleekly styled black hair, and see the darkness that resides within me. How many of them see the evil behind the charming smiles? See the bloodied hands hidden beneath the expensive gloves?

Some sense it; I know they do, for they edge past me with suspicious eyes, tense shoulders, the delightful scent of their fear washing over me as they hurry away. I enjoy their fear, just as much as I enjoy their admiration, of which there is plenty. It is the ones who admire me that are the real fools. They are the empty, jangling, gaping jesters fawning at my court.

I enjoy the attention, of course, even going out of my way to secure it, tossing out honeyed words and flirtatious winks to the commuting grisettes that pass me as I lean against a building's corner. One of them smiles back, her dark eyes promising me everything of which I could ever dream. But could she grant me that? Would she be willing to receive pain for my pleasure? Would she be quite so confident if she knew that her terrified whimpers were the sweetest of melodies to my ears? I pull my eyes up and away from the overly forced swing of her hips to meet the eyes of her companion. She is looking over her shoulder, a pretty slip of a thing with a long, slender throat that would fit nicely within my grasp, and golden hair that would look best tangled taut in my fingers as I forced her head back. Her pale eyes are mistrustful, shadowed, and I know she sees it, sees the thing that so few others do, much to their misfortune. She sees the thing that many only gaze upon in their last moments, eyes glazed in horror.

The devil behind my eyes.

A/N Hope you enjoyed this and please review!

Libz