Ardent Hope II. Chainsaw Man x Male Reader Insert.

11. Never Meant To Belong.

The sole remembrance of the past was a gift, bound to be turned into a curse by the melancholic mind.

The Blood Devil always desired to hunt, she loved to play with her food, just like a cat would do, trapping a poor mouse between her claws and enjoying the sudden brink of their rushing heart, the squeals of pain and terror, the moment they exhaled their last breath as the light fade away from their eyes. The intricate of Tokyo's streets allowed her to stalk this way, lurk in the shadows and pursuit her prey, it allowed her to slowly drive them insane. Sometimes, she would do this for a couple of hours only, scare them off for a moment, season their flesh with a pinch of their own despair, but sometimes, whenever she felt like it, she would do this for several days and even weeks, slowly crawling around, making them see things on the corner of their eyes, allowing them to see her just for a single moment on the reflections made by a puddle of water, on a mirror, or even stalking them far away. She was not a pleasant sight, she knew that very well, it was first revealed in the way everyone screamed and covered their eyes whenever she allowed herself to be seen for the first time, carefully confirmed and resented in the way she stared at her reflection on the pools of blood left by the bodies of her victims, seeing herself on them, pale skin of burned texture, it almost felt like a sort of rubber, an open ribcage where her bosom should be, exposing her protruding intestines, and her face, a horrid construction of polished bones tinted by a charred by fire black, portrayed a pair of mischievous golden eyes tainted with a red cross as pupils. Even though she didn't care in the slightest at that moment, she was a very young devil, although she couldn't even recall what her previous life were, she only had a couple of memories in this world, and the only thing she ever knew about herself, repeating itself over and over through the countless cycles of life and death she found herself trapped on, was that she was a very young devil, and something as mundane as her ugliness would never matter to her in the slightest, as she found everyone else not to be a pleasant sight either. But, if there was something she didn't want to remember now, after so many moons of the happenings of this memory, it was the way she looked like back then.

Because she met a pleasant sight once, a woman who had just turned twenty years old, although she didn't come to learn this much after she saw her for the first time. It was as if she was carried by the wind, a face almost sculpted in marble, long yet unkempt hair of a beautiful shade of strawberry blonde. The first time the Blood Devil saw her, she seemed preoccupied as she talked into a payphone at the other side of the street as the devil lurked, obscured in the shadows from an alley. The devil couldn't help but stare at her in awe, even though she didn't know why, but at that very moment, she decided that this woman, of beautiful brown eyes, would be her next victim.

That very night, the Blood Devil stalked her home, following her every step, and by just watching on the outside of an apartment building, she found out this woman lived on the third floor, an apartment of windows facing west, right into an alleyway from where she could stalk her, watch her do her every day, as the window faced straight into a desk on where she would sit for hours and hours, scribbling on paper with nothing but a pencil that seemed to never wear out, and the first thing the devil noticed, on her hate filled mind, was that she was deeply alone. The way she would much later come to describe to (Y/N) the feeling of hate was an awfully correct one, and it was that devils hated humans was no more than just a second nature of them all, a distinct trait of their existence as a whole, and it would be no different for other things they did as something as natural to breath. Even so, the first time this woman sent a few freshly written pieces of papers flying off of her window for the wind to carry them into the unknown, the Blood Devil couldn't help but feel, for the first time in her life, curious about her whereabouts, and she was unable to bring herself to kill her even after the first week passed on with no food. These pieces of paper, ripped in bits from a notebook, were the only remnant of her words for everyone to see, as the Blood Devil came to realize after a couple of days, she didn't talk to anyone about anything, aside from her teachers every once in a while. Humans were inherently disgusting for her, so wouldn't this woman repulse her all that much? Why was it that she felt this way, whenever the eyes of this strange woman, a beautiful shade of brown, absentmindedly stared into the night sky while her mind rambled about something she never understood? And she felt this way too as the torn pieces of paper flew her way, down the alleyway from where she stalked her, even as the blood on her malformed fingers tainted them with blood, and her eyes watched over countless drawings of misleading nature inscribed there. Countless things were always written on the handful of papers she threw away every night, but the Blood Devil never learnt how to read, and so, aside from the usual drawing accompanying them, her words became nothing but a burning memory that she never could recall, and never understood. Growing eager from time to time, the Blood Devil reached for her window on the very late of the night, only to see her sleeping on a futon next to her desk, it was the only time her eyes didn't seem troubled, like her mind was putting her through something no one could see, it was the first time her face seemed at peace.