Sweet Darkness


I can't remember if I'm nearer to heaven, or one step closer to hell


I can't forget.

He had cursed himself with those words, damned himself to a lifetime of a remembering. And forever was a long time to remember something he had only ever wanted to forget.

But he couldn't, and he had tried, tried desperately, wildly to forget the tiny slip of a girl who should have meant nothing, who did mean nothing. He had watched her leave that day, so long ago. He had watched her jump into that damned well. He'd watched her because he had to make sure, had to know that she was gone.

When he finally moved to be sure she was gone, when he finally looked over the edge and into that well, half afraid that she would still be there, he had found nothing. Nothing but the faint stirrings of old magic and her scent, rapidly fading, diluted by a distance so great not even her memory could overcome.

At least that's what should have happened. But he could still hear her voice in his head, so clear, so curious.

Why?

And he hated that he still didn't understand her, that at the one instant she sat precariously on the lip of the well, half gone from his life already, he had wanted to stop her, if only for a moment, and ask her the same question.

Why?

Unresolved. Her departure had solved nothing, had in fact only heightened his intrigue, and had only served to make the problem worse, her person more frustrating. He was left wondering.

And that was why, five hundred years later he hadn't been surprised to see her standing there, on the steps of an ancestral shrine he might have recognized had he known her name.

It seemed only natural that after centuries of hearing her voice, of wondering why, why she had smiled so softly that day, why she had whispered those sorrowful words of apology, she would suddenly materialize in front of him, solid and real.

Five hundred years later he was just as disgusted, just as darkly fascinated by her being as he had been so long ago.

The sharp click of heels on pavement snapped him out of past induced reverie and brought his attention back to the present.

In the shadows his hand dropped to his side and reflexively grabbed for the hilt of his sword. When his fingers met nothing but air, he curled them tightly into a fist and held them like that, clenched in anger, and frustration.

In the soft moonlight he could vaguely make out the shadowy figure of a person walking, hurriedly down the sidewalk. And then it stopped beneath a streetlamp and even in that harsh yellow light he could see her eyes, he could see that strangely defiant blue that even the unforgiving passage of time couldn't dim. She shouldn't have been out here at this time of night. Sometimes, sometimes, he was shocked by the strength of her naiveté. She of all people should have known the evil that lurked in the darkness, she should have known there would be danger stalking her in the darkness in every world, in every time. He wondered if there were other creatures who noticed the thinly veiled fear that sparkled when she stepped into the light.

When she began walking once again, when her figure could no longer be distinguished from the shadows and the night, he walked away and left her to the dangerous things in the dark, because the alternative was to kill her, to cross that black stretch of space that separated them and snap her neck in one quick, efficient twist of his wrist. And he couldn't do that. Because he knew her death wouldn't make him forget. He was almost sure that she would smile in that one instant before he ended her life. He was sure of it, because she never did what she supposed to do.

It was enough that he was haunted by her eyes, that he still saw her laying a sword down softly in the grass, it was enough that he still saw her walking away. That was enough, he didn't need the picture of her smile to haunt him for the rest of eternity, however long that may be.

And even as he walked away, even as each step he took echoed his anger, his hatred, he knew that tomorrow he would be here, again, following her, like he always did.

Because he still couldn't forget, because he still wanted to know why.


"I gave you the sword, what more do you want?" she asked in exasperation. It was a question born of frustration and confusion. Why. That's all she wanted to know. Why was he still here after all this time? Why?

"To be rid of you" he replied and she knew he meant it.

"Then kill me. Kill me and be rid of me. It will make you forget." She was sure it was what he wanted, she was sure that cold desire in his eyes yearned for her death with a passion that burned. And how he must have hated that.

"It won't" and it probably wouldn't. He wanted to kill her more than he had ever wanted to kill anything before. And that desire, that reckless, animalistic need would never be forgotten by this cold, calculating man.

"There is nothing more certain than death." She said because she believed it. If he killed her she would be gone, her body, her soul, her everything. Gone. Nothing left to invoke memories.

"Remember that, miko, when you cry out that half breed's name in the middle of the night." Still nothing in that voice but cold, calm certainty. But her mind and her heart automatically protested his statement. Because that had been different.

"I loved him" she said. This man here was not capable of love, couldn't understand how love made a person remember. Everything.

"He is dead" he said, reminding her of earlier statement, that there is nothing more certain than death.

"I…I can't forget him" she replied without hesitation, inadvertently proving his point and unknowingly echoing the very sentiment he would later speak aloud. But not yet, it seemed the demon lord wasn't quite ready to utter the words.

"And so he lives still" he stated with a calm finality before he turned away.

Point made.


She caught the glint of his silver hair when she turned the corner and she smiled, comforted by the familiar sight. Really though it shouldn't have made her smile, it shouldn't have made her feel comfortable, safe, right. Even after all this time he still hated her, still desperately yearned for her death, her blood. Eventually he would get it, but she was convinced that her death would not be dealt by his hand.

No. It wouldn't come from him. He could have killed her at any time. She sensed that perhaps this time around, five hundred years into the future, five hundred years away from all that had once bound them together there was something beyond morbid curiosity that drew him to her.

She was a relic from the past, his past, a residual from a time when he had been in power, when he had been a God. Now she figured that in this time, this time where raw strength had been replaced by science, where honor and loyalty had long ago been swayed by the lures of money and temptation, she sensed that he sought her ought as reminder.

A reminder of who he had once been, and could never be again.

And so now she was left to wonder not why but when. When would he finally understand that there was more to her than just her weaknesses? More to her than her humanity, her mortality.

When would he see that there was a sadness, an ache.

For him.


He'd followed her to the well. Not because he had wanted to, but simply because that was where she had gone. She hadn't told him she was leaving. She hadn't told him she was leaving this place, this time. But she sensed that he knew.

She wondered if it made him happy, the thought of her leaving, forever. She smiled. He deserved to be happy, even if happiness was a trait that could never, would never suit this man.

She couldn't be sure what he was thinking as he stood there, quietly and so powerfully stoic in that way he always did. She couldn't know for certain what thoughts those cold, hard eyes held captive. But she thought that maybe, just maybe he was thinking what this world would be like with her gone.

And she was sorry for that, because she was sure that the last thing he wanted to be thinking about was her.

"I'm sorry…for making you remember" were her last words before she jumped over the edge of that wooden well and disappeared forever, from his world at least.


"Why are you here?" She asked, her voice stumbling over the words, her hand fisted against her heart, as if to still its rapid beat. In all the time he had been following her she had never been afraid of him, never feared the damage this cold man could do to her. But then again he had always confined himself to the shadows, to the darkness, to that never ending blackness he could lose himself in.

Right now the sun was shining brightly, streaming in through the door she held open, surrounding him, giving him an other worldly glow. The sun was soft on her face, warm, yet she had never felt so cold in her life, she had never trembled so fiercely. He had come to her home, in the middle of the day, knocked on her door. And she was terrified. Maybe he finally had had too much, maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she hadn't reminded him of the past. Or maybe she did remind him of the man he used to be, the man before her. Maybe he had finally come to fulfill the promise his golden eyes had raged at her so long ago.

The promise of her death. So she closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, the feel of icy fingers around her neck, or would they be hot? Burning with rage? She anticipated pain, blood. Which was why the sound of his voice, tight and rough startled her, shocked her into opening her eyes and facing him.

"Why?" This question again? Her mind worked rapidly to recall the snippets of conversation she could remember from a lifetime ago. Hadn't she already answered this question? It had been his. Not hers. Never hers.

"I told you once why I gave it─"

"No" he said harshly, anticipating the response she had been about to give. He stepped away from the door then. She could see his shoulders tense through the thin cotton of his shirt as he attempted to restrain…something.

She followed him onto the sun bathed porch, shutting the door softly behind her. No longer afraid of what he might do to her, but afraid of what he might ask her.

"Why did you apologize that day?" he asked finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat, as if he had finally given in to something, finally given voice to something that had been eating him up, burning him with curiosity, and always leaving him unsatisfied.

She suddenly wanted to cry for him, weep for this man who couldn't understand compassion and sincerity, she wanted to mourn this man who couldn't see that there were some people who wanted others to be happy, to be free.

"You hated me" she said and he turned suddenly and she noticed there was a dim desperateness in his eyes, as if he wanted there to be something else.

And she was strangely touched that he really wanted to know, really, truly wanted to understand.

"I wanted you to not remember me because…because you hated me, hated everything I was" and she had loved everything about him, and it had hurt her knowing that her memory would always be unwelcome, hated, despised in his mind.

He continued to stand there, waiting, still not satisfied, still waiting for the answer he had waited centuries to get.

"And I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to be free from what you hated because you deserved it" and how sad she had been when, on that first night he appeared in her modern world she had seen, she had known that he had never found what she had so desperately wished he would.

"Deserved what?" he asked, taking a step closer to her, his eyes intently focused on her lips as if the next words were so important that he had to watch them.

"Peace" she said breathlessly, slightly disconcerted by his sudden closeness and intensity. And he deserved peace, this man above all else deserved it if only because he had never known what it was like to walk carelessly through a day.

He took another step closer and she could feel his breath. She didn't flinch when his hand came up slowly to rest on her cheek. She closed her eyes and savored the burning warmth of him and wondered, idly, why she had ever thought him cold. His thumb moved slightly to trace her lips, not seductively, but reverently, as if he wanted to feel the words she had spoken, as if he wanted to physically capture them.

"Peace" he murmured and just like that his hand was gone, leaving a trailing sensation of warmth in its wake. For the rest of her life she knew she would remember the feel of his hand on her skin.

Her eyes flew open as he she heard him walk away, the sound of his steps hitting the cement stairs echoed in her ears until she remembered that he had never answered her question.

"Why did you come here?" she called out stopping him in mid stride his back to her. He turned his head to the side slightly, not fully facing her, but enough so that she could see that his eyes were closed lightly and that his mouth looked soft, languid. From her angle she could almost see the hints of a wistful smile.

"Because I can't forget" and it was like déjà vu, she was suddenly transported back to a time when the air had been crisp and pure and he had been a demon, an enemy.

"You've said that before" she said.

"Yes" he replied, finally turning fully to look at her with those golden eyes, and this time, this time they weren't raging, they were calm, quiet, magnetic.

"What's different about now?" she asked, strangely lulled by the fierce calm of his eyes.

"Now I want to remember" and he walked away and she knew as he walked down the steps and out of her life she would never see him again. She wasn't his lover, she wasn't his friend. She was just someone he had once known.

She smiled, a slow, full smile that was real, and happy. She had been wrong before. She had been wrong when she had thought there was nothing more beautiful than him not forgetting her. Because there was.

Him remembering her. Remembering her not because he couldn't forget her, but remembering her because he never wanted to forget her. There would be no hate, no disgust, no frustration tainting her memory now. There would just be her.

And it was nice to know, strangely fulfilling to think that tomorrow, when an image of her floated through his mind, he would smile.

There was something beautifully poignant about that.


Sometimes it takes the darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn, anyone who brings you alive is not too small for you