Ever wonder about Claude's past? Well, wonder no more! XD
Aside from that sounding really cheesy, I'm thinking that Nevermore is going to end on a 30th chapter. That's soon, so I've been putting all I can into these last fews chapters. We're almost at the finish line! Yikes. :O
Nevermore
Chapter 28: Anew
Alois/Claude
Alois' POV
He told me that everything had to go,
Even the memories.
We saw Finny and Bard off that morning.
I waved at them, yelling my goodbyes as the tide took them farther and farther away until they were just specks of mixed colors. When they were utterly out of sight, we headed back to the mansion and braced ourselves for extreme cleaning and renovating.
Well, being as Claude was my butler and loyal servant, he didn't want me to lift a finger to do anything. He, of course, wanted to be the one who took care of everything. But myself, being Alois Trancy, couldn't possibly stand for this. Luckily, I got what I wanted.
So there I was, right beside Claude as he got rid of the weeds and unwanted plants that were growing around the mansion's exterior. I observed him, picking them from the dirt with such ease, but when I wrapped my much smaller hands around them and tugged, I ended up falling backwards on my behind.
It caused Claude to laugh, which was so rare that I thought he didn't know how to and was just learning. At the time, I hadn't found it funny at all, and stood there, arms crossed and feet firmly on the ground. After awhile of just watching Claude continue with the picking, I became bored and decided that I would find something else to do.
As I walked into the doorway of the mansion, I ceased, realizing something: If I could get something done successfully, then Claude would be so blown away by me, so impressed, that he would have to commend me. I decided then and there that I'd show him that I wasn't just a bratty heir; I could do the same things that he did everyday and not sweat about it at all.
This (I quickly realized) was easier said than done.
My first attempt to impress Claude was to scrub the kitchen until it was spotless. As soon as I stepped foot into that dreaded area, water bucket in one hand and rag in other, I was speechless because... just because. It was such a mess, and I had to hit myself for not noticing before.
After about an hour of trying to reach the top of the cabinets with the soapy rag, bumping into the bucket and spilling it everywhere, trying to clean the water up with another rag, and ultimately, failing miserably, I gave up. Claude could do it.
My second attempt ended up being even more unfortunate. I was going to dust the whole mansion, so I got to it, beginning in the den. Not even ten minutes into this, I knocked over what I thought to be a vase, but when it landed and shattered loudly on the carpet, there were ashes inside. It was an urn.
I thought about calling Claude inside immediately to tell him about it, but that, being demeaning to me, would be extensively against the plan. So, I started scooping up the ashes into my bare hands and tried to forget that they used to be a living person before. But like my first attempt, it just had to go wrong.
I cut my hand badly on the shards of the broken urn and began bleeding over the ashes that I had dropped and the beautiful carpet that was quickly being ruined by the second. I took a third rag and tied it around the wound to cut off the blood loss. After it had died down for the most part, I went on to something else, leaving my mess right where it had been made, not even trying to clean it up. Claude could do it.
My last attempt was less disastrous than the second, but more grand than the first (in my opinion). I made my way into my bedroom, mighty broom in hand. I was going to sweep. As easy as pie, right? Well, I guess it would've been easier if I had ever picked up a broom before in my life. Come to think of it, I had never dusted, washed, or swept at all until that day.
It started out alright. Back and forth, back and forth. It was so simplistic, so unpretentious. It just wasn't a good day for me, though, because this time, it hadn't even been five minutes before I screwed up again. Not paying much attention to where I was waving the broom, I went off into Dreamland, feeling that everything would be fine.
I was placed between an end table where yet another vase-like object laid and a chifferobe. I moved the broom in my hands, and oh, the table decided to wobble and damn it all, the vase fell. I sighed, bending over very awkwardly to pick up the pieces, setting all my weight on one leg (which wasn't a good idea). I lost balance and fell into the chifferobe behind me... and, of course, it wobbled as well.
I watched in horror as it began to lean forward, slowly falling. In an attempt to redeem myself, I stretched my arms out and tried to catch it even though it was at least three times the size as me. It didn't help, and the chifferobe made the loudest bang when it met the floor.
I knew Claude would hear it and find me and all the messes I made. Grimacing in total obliteration, I sat on the floor, my legs crossed and my head hanging low in renouncement. I was just waiting for Claude to come in and lecture me. Just waiting...
Like the loyal servant he is, he did come, eyes wide as his footsteps inched closer towards me. I didn't look up at him until he was standing right there in front of me. My butler was gazing down at me, a confused and possibly bothered expression painted across his face.
I was so embarrassed, so ashamed of my faults that at first, all I could say to him was, "I made a mess, Claude."
The funny thing is, he took my words and made them into something less serious. I started rambling, saying that I'd help him clean it up in various different ways. Instead of reprimanding me for everything I had done, he smiled and said (very ironically, I might add), "I'll do it."
I couldn't help but laugh at myself as I sat in one of the chairs in the den, legs hanging over the side, and watching as Claude cleaned everything with ease. Not a single thing troubled him. Amazement ran through my body. Claude was seeing to his duties, empathetically flawless all the while, and I was there, never failing to astonish myself.
In an odd, incidental way, I felt like a powerful prince again.
After Claude had cleaned up my messes, he thought I should get some rest (which he always seemed to think now). I didn't feel like refusing, though, which is quite like me at times of bliss, and I let him lead me up to my bedroom.
He changed me into my nightshirt and comfy shorts, and before I knew it, I was tucked into bed, him sitting next to me like he always did. Usually, he would just run his bare fingers through my hair and whisper calming things to me. This night, however, I wanted, no needed, to hear him speak of something other than tranquility.
"Claude, tell me a story."
He removed his glasses and set them on the end table.
"You've never needed a story to fall asleep before."
"My mother used to tell me stories before I went to bed. They were always so magnificent."
He cleared his throat. "What kind of story, little prince?"
"Tell me the story of how you became a demon."
Claude's POV
The year was 1724. I had been given the job of running errands for people around town. At the time, London was strained economically, so most of the time I went unpaid. I had always had a knack for working hard just to work hard either way. I felt such a thing was needed to build character, and being 25 years into my life, character was still a morphing organism that hadn't quite taken form yet.
This one day in particular, I had aquired a letter from Mrs. Alva Rhine, a widowed woman in her thirties. The letter was addressed to her mother, who lived on the other side of London, and to my knowledge, was dying of disease at a fast pace.
My job was to deliver the letter safely and securely to her mother before she would pass away. I had already planned for a carriage to take me there in the span of at least a couple days, but the man who would have been taking it to me was late due to the current snowstorm.
After awhile, I couldn't afford to wait anymore, so I began to travel there on foot, the letter pressed warmly inside my coat.
London was pure white, snow cascading like an avalanche off the rooftops and nearly crushing me. I trudged through the heavy weather, the wind blowing my hair into my eyes and diminishing my line of vision. The only thing I could see were my boots making marks on the snowy ground.
I went on like this until I clumsily bumped into something. Looking up, I saw that it was a someone, and they had dropped their belongings. So, I politely bent down to help them gather their things.
"Sorry, sir." I apoligized, standing upright again and handing him what I had picked up.
The next thing that occurred was so shocking, so unexpected to me that I couldn't even breathe. The man shook the snow off of one of the items he was carrying, a bag, and stuck his hand inside to grab something. Being young and stupid, I watched him like a curious child instead of walking on.
The object he was lifting from the bag was a brownish color and was shaped rather odd to me. When it was out in the open air for me to see, I relaized what it was: a gun.
I had never actually seen a gun so close up before, but I knew of the damage they did, and all the once, I was frozen and fearful.
The man held the gun up, pointing it directly at me, and I wanted to run, but I couldn't move at all for some reason. Perhaps, I was in shock, in disbelief that the situation I was in was simply a figment of my imagination (which was running wild lately).
I heard a bang, and I wasn't quite sure if it had resonated from the gun or from somehwere else. But as soon as I looked down at myself, my stomach to be exact, I saw blood, and the color drained from my face. That's when I knew I had been shot.
I stumbled forward and caught myself on a building. My breathing had hitched, and I was losing blood drastically. I looked around, searching for a face, a body, someone, but there was no one around because who would dare to go out into a snowstorm?
When it hit me that I was alone and turning the snow below and in front of me red, I knew I was going to die.
I couldn't die. I had to deliver the letter to Mrs. Alva Rhine's mother. I had to run errands for people who either had no time to do them or were physically unable to. Most importantly, I couldn't die because I was young, and while I didn't have much to live for at the moment, I hoped to gain some attachment to this world when I grew older.
I couldn't understand no matter how I tried to why some stranger would harm me. I hadn't done anything to him. I had apoligized for not paying attention to where I was walking and bumping into him. Wasn't that enough? Wasn't being a gentleman enough to not get killed?
I supposed not, and I started to think that perhaps I needed a change. Maybe being the nice guy, the errand boy, the good-hearted soul... maybe it just wasn't enough. It must've not been fit for me.
So, I pounded my fist against the building, sliding down into the snow and leaning my torso on the brick, and I had already established in my mind that I was not going to die. I knew that a God couldn't help me... only make me accept my fate. So, I thought, "Who is the opposite of God?"
The Devil.
Without a second thought, I screamed to not the Heavens, but the Underworld, and I demanded that I be saved, and whatever it took to stay alive would be fine. I'd take it not lightly, but whole-heartedly, and I'd embrace it for all it'd be worth.
"Devilish being, I demand you revive me!"
Suddenly, everything was black. All the snow, the pure white, was gone. However, it was still as cold as it was before.
"Devil! Make me one of your own!"
A misshapen figured appeared before me and slowly morphed into more of a human-like figure. I blinked a couple times to make sure that I wasn't seeing things.
"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, man." The figured warned, and I assumed it was the Devil himself.
"I know what I am asking, and I want it!" I retorted.
"Ha, you are a bizzare one. You want this, then I shall recruit you."
"Recruit?" I felt myself breathing my last breaths. I would die soon.
"Yes, man! If you want this, then you shall work in my favor. A demon is what you desire to be, so a demon is what I intend on making you. However, I will not supply you with the sustenance that a demon must have, or he shall go mad."
"I have no more time for talk!" A few coughs escaped my lungs, and I noticed that blood had emerged as well from their crevices.
"Yes, I see this. A demon needs souls to keep his sanity. Since I cannot give you these, you must create contracts or agreements with human beings who are in desperate places like you are now, and you must help these people obtain their goal. Once they are at peace in their minds, you will devour their souls."
"I must be a demon! NOW!"
That was the last thing I remembered before waking up again. I was no longer in the snowy streets of London. I was no longer bleeding, no longer dying for that matter. In fact, I felt alive... more alive than I was before, running errands and attaining odd jobs.
After that first contract I made and that first soul I devoured, I felt renewed in every possible way. There was now a desire that surged through me, and I needed to feed that desire. I wasn't in it for helping anyone anymore; I was only in it for myself. It was exhilarating to be selfish.
I was a wretch, a beast, but most importantly, a monster. Nothing could touch me, nothing could soften my hardened exterior and interior. That is, until I met a blonde slave-boy that was desperate with desire just like I had been.
I'd soon grow accustomed to his voice, his personality, and his mannerisms...
... and the wall I built years earlier to shield myself from the world would be broken down by an heir from the outskirts of London.
