Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII

Hello everyone! I'm back again. Firstly, thank you so much to my two reviewers, Guest and CupofTeaforAliceandHatter - again, thank you for noticing my mistakes and for giving me the push to carry out churning these out every week! I really, really appreciate it.

So without further ado, I present this week's prompt! I hope you all like it - enjoy!

018. Demon

He looked at himself as though he were a demon. So did others, when he would hide away in the corners - so, most of the time. So did I, sometimes.

He had this way of staring you down, with intense scarlet eyes, as though he were examining the way he'd pin you down, finding your weaknesses with every flinch you made. It was unnerving, but it often got him the information he wanted. I think he could've been a mercenary, or an assassin, had he woken up sooner. Of course then our occupations would be almost the same in writing... But we are nothing alike in practice.

He often looks off into the distance, eyes tortured, soul burning a with a desire to sink into hell. At least that's what his wine-coloured eyes and frowning charcoal eyebrows say. Tifa found him doing that once, thinking he was a demon, locking his eyes in the distance.

"I have no place here," he'd said, apparently, in the midst of one of his periods of self-doubt, "I do not belong amongst the un-experimented on. I belong in hell, with the demons in my head." He'd confessed, to an alarmed Tifa. She said she'd assured him the voice would fade with the last of the Chaos Mako, and that he'd never be a demon like them. But she said he'd looked at her with a look that almost wasn't his; fierce and defiant, hardy and tough in the face of her comforting. She placed a hand on his, and said soft things to him, until he too believed he wasn't a demon. Tifa had come close to seeing the demons then, but not as close as I had.

We were just sitting, silently for once, in one of his many rooms at the Shinra Mansion, bathing in the peace, when he spoke. "He misses her more than you." A voice that wasn't quite Vincent's said, with a hiss and a bite lying vaguely under the undisguised surface.

I lifted my head up from the book (that was hiding a magazine) in front of my face and felt the pit of my stomach clench when I saw the eyes, vacant, fierce and malevolent. I knew that look, I knew those eyes. They sometimes leaked out in his purest rage in battle, or in our most intimate moments. I knew the face of his demons, and the look in his eyes that they gave him.

"Who is 'she'?" I asked calmly, and saw Vincent's mouth twitch, the internal fight spilling out.

"You know the one, the one he always loved." The mirthful, hissing voice taunted her, as though it were a scene from a nightmare. Never even to Tifa did I admit the dreams that haunted me of seeing Vincent longing after the crystal-lady when he was with me, but I think she knew anyway. I detested. Lucrecia not for who she was, but for all she did to Vincent, and all the strife she caused.

"No. I know Vincent stopped loving her long ago, demon."

I watched as his face flinched again. The word 'demon' always did have such an affect on him - and all those that lay just under the surface too. How it made his inner selves writhe and squirm, and made his true self question himself.

"Vincent loves only me, and he will always miss me most." I declared defiantly, in the face of the demon glaring at me with bright, red, flatly-evil eyes I've ever seen. I stood up, hearing the magazine flop out of it's book covering, and fall to the floor with a thwunk, add I walked towards his, sitting with his white knuckles pulled taught over his tightly clamped hands caught around the armrest.

"He does not love you."

I walked to him slowly, taking measured steps.

"He thinks you ugly."

I took a few more steps froward

"He thinks you stupid."

I continued regardless.

"He has always loved her."

They couldn't stop me.

"He wished he had given her her child, not the scientist."

It took me a moment to take the next step, as I took a sharp breath in. That was always one of my fears.

"He would rather live back in his coffin."

I winced and felt like my heart had been attacked, before I brushed it off. The demon was lying, it was always lying.

"He may rather live in his coffin, and he may have wanted a child by her; he may have loved her for a while, he may think me stupid and me may think me ugly." I declared, sitting on his lap, purposefully never breaking contact with his flat, dull, red eyes.

"But loves to sleep next to me, and I will give him a child one day, and I am not ugly, and I am not stupid." I leaned in closer to him, arousing both fear and pleasure within the empty eyes.

"Most of all though, he will always, always, love me."

And I kissed him, long and hard with my eyes clamped shut. I watched as I drew back, and in his crimson eyes, there was no flat, fierce, malevolent demon to be seen.

I always wondered how often the demons come out to play and how it affected their relationship. Anyway.

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