I am chained to him. I have been a servant to each contractor in one way or another. I am like a genie of old Arabesque legend. I grant wishes. Wishes for a price. Within the granting I am held captive to the wants and desires of my master or mistress. Of course, I don't serve anyone I don't desire.
I want him. I wanted him from the moment I saw him. In that pitiful instant when he abandoned heaven and called out for hell to save him; I was imprisoned by him. Without a bond. Without a contract. I was his and he would be mine. I would swallow his soul not in ravenous quickness, but I would savor him, like forgotten heavenly mana and I would be sated for a very, very long time.
My interests were basic. A meal. A tasty meal. And as delightful a morsel as that pathetic, pleading, angry, hateful child would have been I knew he had the potential to become so very much more.
Had I been aware of exactly what he would soon become I may have left him there at the mercy of those animals. If I had known I would have perhaps taken him then and there as small and meek as he was. I would have swallowed him down in a gulp and sought the development of a richer more satisfying meal elsewhere.
My foresight only extends so far. I saw the delicious soul he had the potential to become. What I didn't see I will regret for the rest of my eternity.
The boy thinks he knows pain. He believes he knows humiliation and suffering. He thinks he knows the cold hand of terror and the gut wrenching twist of sorrow, of grief and loss. He is young yet. He could live his whole life through and he would be young yet. Too young too inexperienced. Too innocent to understand.
Loss is standing in the glory of heaven and falling, falling, falling down deep into the bowels of hell. Pain is a burning coal where your heart once lived. Suffering is loving with all your twisted heart something so transient and fleeting as the life of a mortal. Grief is taking the soul of someone who has given you a reason to exist and brought you such pleasure. Sorrow is knowing you have no choice. Terror is the thought of an existence without him.
My fear was very present and real as I slid my hand against his face to remove his eye patch. His eyes opened for me one last time. Carve the pain into my soul indeed. Oh, Master. My perfect master. What shall I do with you? You have trapped me into checkmate and you don't even know how deeply you have destroyed me.
His lips are warm against mine and perhaps it was a mistake to pause to relish the feel of them. If I had not hesitated then his soul would not have been stolen from me. I am unsure if I am anything but angry that someone has dared to try and deprive me of what is mine. Or am I relieved.
His soul still exists. I know as I tend to his still living but silent body. And I miss him. I need him. I am lost without him as I read stories to his empty husk. Time is of the essence and yet I cannot keep myself from tending to him.
Oh beautiful master. My precious Ciel. What have you done to me?