Why am I so foolish?
I gave you so many hints. Little hints, small hints, but this one, it was big. But, of course, you didn't notice it. Sure, you were surprised that I did it, that I let my arm be cut off to try and save you, but, of course, I am a demon, the wound would heal easily, it wouldn't scar, and it probably didn't even hurt me. And, besides, our contract dictates that I protect your life at all costs, so it was only natural that I would risk my arm for your life. Those were probably all your thoughts, weren't they? Well, you're completely wrong, if they were. A wound, even to a demon like myself, from a death scythe, could kill me. And the injury I sustained had a very high possibility to kill me. No demon, even in a contract, which could easily be broken, would risk their very own life to save a meal. Who would? No rational-minded demon. Though, I suppose, when it comes to you, I am everything, except rational-minded. I lose my common sense around you. I forget that I haven't eaten in years, and the soul that I smell from your little body doesn't make me hungry for it, it just makes me wish I could protect it at all costs, cherish it, never let any being - reaper, angel, demon, anything - touch it or get near it. But I have to keep up appearances. After all, I'm a demon, and you're just a meal to me. You're just a contract amongst all my other contracts.
But those small hints I give you, why do you not notice them? Please, notice them. If you don't, I'm going to have to kill you, to take your soul - you're beautiful, beautiful soul - and let you suffer for the rest of eternity. And how I can't stand the thought, much less let it happen, knowing that it was my fault. It would kill me and I would become a shell of what I used to be. But, I guess, you wouldn't care, would you? Even if I told you before it happened, you'd probably scoff, call me an idiot, moron, and just turn away, forgetting I ever told you anything. And you'd probably never even think, much less realize, that I was not joking. That I was being serious. Demons don't have emotions, and I'm just faking mine in front of you and all the other mortals - is what you think, don't you? If only you'd realize that I'm not wearing a mask, that the little pleased and proud smiles and smirks I give you are because I am proud and pleased. But, I guess, you'll never know, and I will end up killing you, and, after a couple weeks, months, years? (Ha, like I'd last that long), myself.
Why was I so foolish as to fall in love with you, Ciel Phantomhive?