Something about the way Mephiles was talking to Ruby gave him an unsettling feeling. He couldn’t explain why, for indeed he really had said nearly all the same things before. He had had various victims… Why should it bother him to see it happening without his involvement? Wasn’t his own life’s purpose merely to be a burden? Agonize? Terrorize?
He would never be anything more. No matter how he smiled. No matter how superior he painted himself, it would never be enough to rule out the fact that he was hell bound. He was destined, against his will, to suffer.
…This never seemed to bother the other demons, and yet those same ‘brothers and sisters’ were tied to the same fate. They didn’t pay it mind. They lied and manipulated without a second thought, encouraging the mortals to kill and destroy. He tried to be like them. He tried to act–to think like them. But although his efforts were far from sub-par and his heart had become twisted and corrupt like theirs…
Misery coiled around his soul as he glanced down at Poet, nestled in his arms.
There was no one like him, was there?
