Amalgamate

Fawn Divinus

---

I keep on askin' the question
"Can I be saved by confession?"
You see this blood on my hands?
At least they're still reachin' to heaven

---

Fawn could say without doubts that she hated herself. Though so much of it was far beyond her control, everything that the young demon was filled her with an agony that was unlike anything she'd ever felt. The fact that the word "demon" applied to her now did the same. Many sleepless nights, because of course, she would be reborn as the type of demon that held no need for sleep, were spent longing for her death, in hopes of returning to a life much like her previous one. Though she could no longer remember much of it, her former name even lost, Fawn knew who she had been, what she held dear to her heart. Going from a sweet, bubbly human to this... cursed form she found herself in hadn't changed that in the slightest.

Oh, how she wished her new blood would allow her feeble body to give in, to turn into the dust her human body surely was by now. Yet even as her ribs protruded from her pale skin, even as her wrists grew so thin she could wrap her hands fully around them, Fawn lived. Though she didn't thrive like others of her kind, the demon knew she still was stronger than she had ever been as a human. She could run further and for longer, was capable of magic beyond her wildest dreams, was unable to get sick. Many of her former friends, or maybe they were acquaintances, would have killed to be in Fawn's position.

Would they still, she wondered, if they knew what she had to do to keep herself alive, what her own body forced her to do?

Fawn had tried everything to stop it once she was aware. Before she decided to spare the feelings of her new parents, back when she was a young child still growing into her horns, her mother had found her locked away in the bathroom, dark blood dripping from her face and hands. The woman had sobbed, begged to know why her sweet, happy daughter had done such an awful thing. Fawn couldn't remember what she had said in response, or if the words had even left her damaged, disfigured mouth, but she could hardly forget her reasoning. Though she had been young, the small demon girl had already connected the metal blades that emerged from her face to the act she so deeply hated. Her claws had just begun to grow, and Fawn had already seen them as tools to dig the horrible, disgusting blades from her face.

Her self-loathing hadn't faded since that day, either. Instead, she simply buried it away, assuring her parents that it was nothing but a childhood delusion, a nightmare. It was a nightmare, really, only it wasn't over as she had told them. In truth, Fawn felt she was never going to wake. Every morning that her crimson eyes opened and she felt the otherworldly hunger burning through her veins, she cursed every God she had ever known for allowing her to be reborn into this horrendous body. Maybe she would have been able to tolerate this second life if she had any other diet, but it was impossible for her now. When she had to sustain herself with the lives of others, what was there to enjoy about herself? Her very existence in this life was the polar opposite of everything she had ever believed as a human.

Fawn had worked in a coffee shop, or at least that's what she thought. Something involving serving, and she remembered customers never seeming to have a complaint. She'd been a little thing, even then, and the very idea of doing anything to hurt another human being would have sent her to tears. How was it fair for Fawn, then, that she was born as a demon that could only thrive when consuming other demons, that would waste away if not for thick blood flowing down her throat? She loathed it and the part of her body that enjoyed when her instincts forced her to move, forced her to feed.

The young demon at least made it difficult for herself. Every piercer she had gone to gave her strange looks as if questioning her sanity, yet they still obliged her request of adding to the metal lining her snake-like tongue, endings affixed with bits of metal just sharp enough to scrape the inside of her mouth when she tried to eat, or when she... fed. Her tongue never was comfortable, but did such a horrid being like herself deserve comfort, to begin with? She didn't think she did.

She would never think she did.