Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I wasn't Yana Toboso. I'm pretty sure I'm still not. So no suing, okay? :P
AN: Please do not expect an update for this anytime soon. It's an idea for a story that I'd like to go with when 'Pomme de Luxure' is finished. I filed it under 'General' because I can't say where it'll be headed just yet. Ideas, ideas...
He sees only black, white, and red.
Black: soothing damnation, tainted souls, locks lighter than a raven's feathers, a wolf in the rogue sheep's dark wool, nights in which shadows breed betrayal…
White: pristine auras that taunt and temp him, the blinding sun casting hellfire over the earth, an endless void, a heaven above whose gates will never open for him…
Red: the bodies that beg to pile beneath him, the blood that settles between the pavement and engraves the stone with an unheard scream, the glow that sears between their gazes…
The other colors, clear as crystal, do not matter.
He hears everything, and at once, nothing.
The thrilled moan of a pair of indecent lovers hidden in the mist. The cry of a frightened child. Joyous laughter shared between friends. Snarls of disagreement amongst passerby.
Howls of those who will never live to see another day.
The pitch of a pin as it hits the ground; earsplitting. Restless whinnies from the equestrian slaves of human kind. Bullets, air giving way as it is swiftly pierced, a momentary pause as it is muted by collision with flesh and then drowned out in the recesses of a victim.
His silent displeasure. A weakened bond thrumming between them. A silent heart that will never beat again.
He touches nearly everything with care, for fear of laying waste to it.
Skin is only as thick as a flower petal beneath his fingers. Rock is as easily broken as fine china . Metal, cold and coarse, is as hollow and fragile as bone. Everything he touches is at risk of extinction…
Nearly everything.
With him, there is no hesitation. Strength to match and perhaps outdo his own belongs to that body. And so it belongs to him. And so he can clutch it fiercely, never worry, hold tightly enough to warp and snap the frame of a human, tear nerve and tissue, because it will not yield.
He smells sick sweetness and decadent debauchery.
The air is coated with an immeasurable amount of secrets. She smells like rose-water, but her husband's skin is laced with feminine notes of passion that do not belong to her. A little boy has a bon-bon hidden in his pocket. The wheels of the carriage on the street come from an ash tree long forgotten.
Somewhere far away there is the cloying smog of flames. Perhaps it is a home being burned to the ground. Or perhaps it a faint trace of hell seeping through from beneath his feet.
There is his scent. It has no name. No equivalent. No matter. For years, it has been easy to recognize.
He tastes sin, scalding, scorching, on the very tip of his tongue.
Wisps of what he denies himself coil around his throat and stain, beckon, set thirst ablaze. Pastries taste like sand, dirt, piles of ashes. The finest meals have become waste and carnage.
Only one thing can quell him.
"Sebastian," whispers the little demon, a newborn, yet already an insult to its breed. Too many memories conflicting with natural instinct. A human shadow still sits beside that of a beast.
A cursed gift.
An existence filled with misery.
A pair of obedient hands around his waist that would crush him if they could, and they do not, but he knows they would love nothing better, so it stings, torments him, pains him..!
So he wanders in a protective embrace, free from the woe of living, yet still somehow…
Dying.
AN: Hope you enjoyed it? I'm really looking forward to writing more of demon!Ciel in the future ;)