Infinite

Chapter 1

The leaves began to change in September, and I did too. And as I began to fall further, so did those hues of orange, green, yellow and red. Our hidden trysts always seemed to start in a fluid and languid way; gentle kisses upstairs in the midst of a ball, when I'd caught him running the wine trolly down... lips seeming to connect naturally mere minutes after Elizabeth had left the manor, or those unexpected touches in the carriage on the way home from brunch with the queen. But every time, Sebastian left me lonelier and more starving than the last. He kept me wanting him within the hours when he remained strictly my butler. There were times when he was my demon, and times when he was my lover. But I wasn't sure if I felt loved. And I wasn't sure if it mattered, either.

I hadn't had a nightmare since that first night in April, when the spring showers had been more like storms and the sun was no longer shining, but rusted with clouds. And every time his lips left mine my hunger for him grew and turned into an insatiable need. It was hell. He was hell. But I wanted nothing less than to feel like I was suffocating in darkness. I needed my skin to keep flaming so he could forever soothe my burns with his fingertips and tongue. I felt desired... lusted after. I felt that he loved me in every way that he could. But love had never been part of the agenda.

I loved him and craved him with everything I had, for he was, in fact, everything I had. But for the first time since my parent's death, I'd begun to feel the seeds of regret plant themselves deep within my lungs; and with every breath I took into his warm, soft skin, they grew into thorns and ripped at my self control. I should've been afraid of him. I should've ran from his dark, brooding silence the moment I noticed it lurking in the corner. But my young, weak mind was far too afraid to distinguish the monsters that were human from the one who was not. Because the devil doesn't come dressed in little, pointed horns and a red cape; he comes dressed as everything you've ever wanted, and everything you need. And in that moment I needed nothing but my hand to be clenched deeply within his.

It wasn't my infatuation with him that frightened me. It was the way in which my eyes began to only see his... and when I started to think the letters from the queen could wait until I figured this all out, or when I started to realize that I didn't want our contract to end. I logically knew that a deal was a deal. I didn't have to write a novel to understand that when I said he could have my soul, he would indefinitely have it. But I also knew that I was greedy and prideful. And though a contracted demon wants but one thing: the contractor's soul, he can also be impulsive. And I could feel Sebastian's impulse to play with his food.

These thoughts plagued me as they always did, as I sat with my back to the window; reading an old book I'd plucked from the dusty shelves of the library. It was 'A Winter's Tale' by Shakespeare. Though I loved the way his words twisted around the tongue of the reader, it was true that his works were made to be performed, not reformed. Though I was reading the words upon the yellowing pages, they weren't etching themselves into my consciousness like books should. They hadn't in a while. Sometimes I could lose myself in those ink-stained pages... and sometimes I could not. It seemed, today, that the latter option was the operative one.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I deftly shut the hard cover of the book. The dust swirled around like snow in the golden rays of evening. It would be time time for supper, soon... and after that, the mask I wore would fall right off my face and land in the pile of ashes that I still continued to make. I stood, turning to gaze out the glassy pane of the spotless window. The trees outside were speckled with the shades of Autumn, and piles of leaves were already growing on the cobblestone. My work for the day was done, and I was only waiting for the daylight to close. I sighed again, and turned away.

I walked with a lazy stride to the front of the library, pale hands running along shelves and fingers tangling into page after page as I skimmed the leather covers. The ring on my finger gleamed with an unparalleled wonder; the sun hitting the cut stone like a beacon. It seemed as if I was staring at it from a boat lost at sea. It was my lighthouse; the only thing reminding me that the land was still there as I rocked endlessly on stormy waves of black ink. The air outside my lungs was peaceful and still... quiet as a mouse. But with every breath I took I felt myself drawing further back into that abyss. There was a pinprick of a hole forming in the hull of my ship... and I did not know how long it would take it to sink.