What Once Was

Chapter 15.5- Role

-Alastor POV-

A somber feeling lingered in the air when I closed the diary shut. It seemed to burn within my hands the more I held. Not physically, but the guilt, and regret that built inside me made it seem that way. I placed it back in the secret spot. Until next time. Tonight has been enough.

I collapsed on the bed, letting go off my staff which almost rolled down to the floor before I managed to catch it.

"Watch it buddy!" The staff retorted angrily as it opened it eye and the radio static made it sound like it was hissing at me like a cat.

"My apologies, now go back to sleep." I told the lousy staff, not wanting to trouble him more and so that he could leave me alone. Alone so that I could analyze what happened a lifetime ago.

Making sure he closed his eye, I returned to look at the ceiling. I doze off, and remembered my version of the events that she experienced but in my shoes. My side of the story.

She was exploring a new forbidden world her parents impeded for her to go, yet she broke the rules. I had a faced of a rising popular radio host, keeping New Orleans updated about the news. Yet at night, I applied justice to those who did the innocent wrong. Lurking in the shadows, witnessing their misdemeanors, awaiting the right moment to strike. Entertaining to say the least.

She met lovely humans, resisting the urge every time to stop because she knew it was the right choice. I was the opposite of those lovely people she met and became terrorized by the civilians, because for me, between the right and incorrect choice, there was no boundary. There was no guilt behind those murders.

Our paths crossed one another. She didn't know that the charming man who met her at that party, a meeting straight out of a book, would be the one to kill her. She didn't know that the man would have the urge to slaughter her because he was so obsessed.. no it was his inner darker self he couldn't control. The man could not tell the difference between wanting to slaughter her or love her with the unhealthy obsession...

It was tragic really, because the mortal self of him.. of me.. loved her. Killing her would contradict my beliefs of killing those who did wrong and deserved it. She was a bliss of innocence, in the world of corpses that laid around me.

100 years had happened since that day. There's no day I didn't think about the only choice that changed my life. The last bit of humanity I had on those remaining human years were used on nothing but immense regret. Regret kept building up more, and faster as years went by, and by now it was too heavy to carry. Specially because I now saw her, and talked to her like nothing ever happened.

Then my mind wondered. If I hadn't killed her. Would she have been honest about herself? Things between us were serious, popping up the question for her hand on marriage could have been a possibility. She would reject, because she could possibly not keep up her double life. But maybe she would, because she went after things she wanted, without hesitation.

I raised my hands up to my face, and despite their change of appearance I could still vision my mortal hands, stained with fresh and dried blood. The intriguing shades of red would never be able to fully cleaned out, they would always be there to taunt me.

I was nothing more, than a sinner who killed for the thrill of taunting others. That was my role. A part of my story.

I get up and rub the sleep off my eyes, and decide I need to breathe some fresh air, or I'll go more insane if I kept having that cycle of thought. I walk down the elegantly decorated hallways. My Dear did great job in decorating the hallways in a way that made one feel relaxed and not have their head spiraling around.

I open the door that led to the roof, and a gust of wind greeted me as I could see the neon lights emanating from down below, far. I head to the front of the building, overseeing everything.

I see the effeminate fellow walking into the hotel, exhausted I presume as he seems tired, and loos like he is about to give up of exhaustion every step he takes. I wonder what his story was.

We all had a story after all, and played a role in someone else's.

I see the limo pull up to the hotel, and see Charlie and Vagatha come out, giggling, and holding hands lovingly. It would have been lovingly... except for the fact that Vagatha is playing a role in Charlie's story. Not as her lover.. perhaps something more menacing.

Says the one who 'killed her'.

I see Charlie telling Vagatha to go ahead and head inside since she goes back to the limo to retrieve something. Razzle and Dazzle then go to her aid, and leave to the hotel, closing the car, and carrying a basket.

Then Charlie turns to look straight up. At me. She smiles, and waves her hand excitedly, with the other she holds a white square. Perhaps a book?

But her smile. That loving smile that brought me nothing more than happiness. I waved back at her, with a sincere smile. She then ran inside to the hotel. Was she coming to see me?

I then remembered the promise we made. It was natural of her to think of others, perhaps placing herself last.

She was just...a being of light and positivity.

Her story, from what I knew was tragic.. killed by a sinner because her curiosity got the best of her. She lived a restricted life as well.

Guilt was once again rising inside me, boiling inside me, along with the resentment of not keeping myself and Him in check. I could feel my eternal smile starting to falter away as my emotions were nothing more than a mess of guilt and resentment.

I then heard the door open, and the sounds of heels echoing. I gained back my composure, and saw My Beloved, changed back to her work clothes, holding the white squared item under her arm, and two cups of what I assumed to be black tea.

She stood in front of me, innocently and trusting. If she remembered, she wouldn't be here. Her black orbs bored into mine, consuming me into her blindly. Her eyes still had that effect upon me, just like the first time we met.

So when the day comes, and she remembers. What will be her reaction? Will we still talk? Will she kill me? Will she still hold the same love she had to me all those years ago?

Every person I killed had their story. I made sure to devour each aspect of them, consuming them so that they would be engraved into my mind as I slaughtered them, and have those memories be buried with them. I was obsessed with them. Because their stories were their scripts to the stage of life.

I also knew others, but I didn't consume them the say way. Husker's. Niffty's Charlie's was still yet to be unfolded, and I wanted to read this one by taking my time. But mine?

Ha!

I can't really describe it into one word, like I could with others. Pathetic. Pitiful. Sorrow. Joyful. Agonizing. Beautiful. Terrorizing. Maybe I'm biased. But my roles in others? Too many too count.

"Hello My Charming Demon Belle!" I greet her as I bow to her. She giggles and walks closer to me, still holding her stare on me.

Maybe her forgetting wasn't such a burden.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of You visiting me at this time?" I ask her, smiling down at her. I admired her beauty, and her ways. No matter how long it had been, I was, without a doubt in love with her. With everything about her.

I then see something black swirling around us both, wrapping around us like wrapping paper. I notice the red orbs twirling along with the black thing, and a small smirk tugs in his lips.

"You are not the beloved Princess's lover... you are nothing more than the cruel, wicked, selfish villain that killed her for your own sake."