Narsi the Devil: A Fic born out of a feeling of perpetual illness. Isaak POV, and I have him as some sort of empathetically inept person. Perhaps he wants to get back to his cellar and cigarillos...
I took little Dietrich out to the lake. He was quite restless and had destroyed a rather fine set of bone china tea cups, and him being such a small child it would have been rather fatal for him had I given him a beating. I never knew how much of a bother a child could be, let alone this one.
Right now he is kneeling next to a rock. I don't think he appreciates how difficult it is to clean the dirt out of his trousers. It's such a delight to see his little mind find interest in this inanimate and ultimately boring rock. After all, it is his whim by which we are dictating our stay here today, us being the boy, myself and Guderian. My Fang is rather incensed at having to mind the boy with me, and I wonder if he will snap today.
It's getting to be quite violet in the sky, and our stay is all but young. Dietrich is a being made for the day, but to live with us he must straddle the divide of sol and luna. And as such, he fits neatly into his own world, the world of the witch. I think he's lost interest in the rock now.
Guderian is being such a dear; I never realized we had a lantern, never mind one that throws out the gentlest of lights, so we can still see the fireflies flickering above our heads. Dietrich has caught one, it seems, and his light chuckle sounds so dear. Though I do feel rather concerned when the wingless body of the poor insect drops to the ground at little Di's feet.
The moon his risen, and all traces of that bastard sun are gone. It is a crisp night, fresh from winter. Guderian seems decidedly alive; when I glance down to his hand I can see his blood vessels are swollen and ready to burst, yet his face remains as closed as ever. Dietrich has gone down to the water's edge.
It appears he has taken an interest in his own reflection. Guderian and I watch him, as he waves his gloved fingers over the water and holding his mouth in awe. I can't help but laugh when he feels his face, perhaps making sure that he indeed is not rippled. Maybe he will grow up to be a fine Narcissus and waste days upon days staring at himself in that glass of truth.
But Guderian and I are both shocked at what he does next. I don't recall him picking it up, but that dagger-edged flint hit the reflection of his face right in the mouth. He has his back turned to us, and all I can make out from his wavering reflection as a mass of disgust and utter hatred. I keep watch on the reflection as it straightens out, while Guderian keeps watch on me. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do?
Where did he go? It seems to have taken years for his absence to register; in truth it has been a mere 12 seconds, but still enough for the boy to be gone out of sight. Guderian just stands diligently, the lantern swinging on its metal handle.
Fortunately I do not have to move when the boy comes into sight again. Unfortunately, he has perched himself upon the rotten bough of an old willow. He is over the water, and again he looks down upon it. Something in me tells me to go up there and get him, but I stay here on the shore. I can't even loose the choking sound in my throat.
He glances toward me, and in those eyes there is a hint of the accusatory. Have I done something wrong? By taking you in, have a violated some form of hidden sanctity? But he does not speak to answer the questions I cannot air, and turns back toward the end of the bough.
Little Di tiptoes towards the tip. Guderian, standing with the ever-present lantern, seems to have moved the corner of his lip. And Dietrich, did he slip? Whatever happened, he went into the drip…
Dietrich tells me a week later that he hates me for making devils. Really, he is such a bother.
This was written out of madness that stems from vivid dreams, loss of appetite and general feeling of being quite ill. I can't even see the screen straight. So, the title...I really hope Narsi doesn't mean anything too suss in another language, because I really couldn't be bothered writing out Narcissus. And I've made Guderian a sort of 'hat-stand' character, like Tres when he's around Caterina. I now begin to wonder if Isaak has a mild form of ADD...By the way, my playlist for the last two hours has been the following four songs: The Weeping Song, The Ship Song (both by Nick Cave), Forgotten Hopes, Parisienne Moonlight (both by Anathema). Or maybe I'm procrastinating over AS...