Disclaimer: This, in case you couldn't figure it out, is a poem. It's done in blank verse non-rhyming. Well, for the most part, anyway. And the stanzas probably won't be all equal, and parts probably won't make sense, etc, etc. For all intents and purposes, let's just say I'm not Willy the Shake. And these chars don't belong to me, and probably never will. Although it'd be damn interesting to see what I'd do to... I mean, WITH them, neh? ^_~
plain I know I couldn't have been more than twelve,
when one day I happened across a book in my father's library,
it was bound all in rough leather, probably the skin of a demon,
and told a story of a war a thousand years ago.
I asked my father what this was,
and about a particular story of a strange young demon
who laid waste to many of our people,
and if the fugitive was still stalking the night.
He took the book away from me and closed it,
placing it back onto its shelf, something very much like dread
in his aged eyes. "That demon was a beastmaster, a terror
that still roams our troubled world."
I looked at my father, determination set into my face,
Then one day I shall hunt him down,
and see him pay for his sins,
for his crimes against our kind.
My father patted me on the head,
condescending, as if it were only a child's fancy,
"My little daughter, I would rather have you as a live
priestess than a martyred hero."
"If you ever see that demon, do not
speak to him - he will bewitch you.
His powers are deadly, something more than even we
dragons possess - he will kill you."
But even then I knew,
That I had to meet you.
During lessons at the temple,
teaching us to be well-educated priests and priestesses,
I was always happiest when it came time
for history.
We would study the war, and then more than ever,
I'd lose my thoughts in a daydream
of me as a holy warrior
slaying the foul demon Beast Master.
In all my books, the pictures were the same
of a man with an evil grin dressed all
in black as befitting one of his station
in life, straight black hair blowing in the wind.
In my mind, the foul creature stood no chance
against the holy might of the dragon priestess,
for she alone would free the world of his
wretched tyranny, rid them of his presence.
I was always snapped from my daydreams
by the striking of a heavy metal pointer
against my table, scattering my papers
and slamming my books shut.
"Miss Filia, are you daydreaming again?" my angry
teacher asked, "I told you to keep such
wayward thoughts out of your head
at least until you are done with class."
What the teacher could not understand,
Was that I knew
I had to meet you.
As a grown priestess, serving everyday in my
temple, I awaited prophecies and the like,
scrying into a fire, or reading ancient text,
secretly awaiting the day he would return.
I knew if that happened, I would stop him,
slay him, take penance for the souls of my
people which were so gleefully butchered,
until one day the prophecy came.
It told of looming destruction, and a struggle
between light and dark, and I knew then what
I'd known all along, only given a spark and I would
burn him to ashes, the dark Beast Master, I knew it was him.
So I set out to find companions, secretly
wanting to take the battle alone, but knowing
somewhere that Father was right
after all, but I still believed perhaps I could go alone.
Because somewhere deep inside, I knew
I had to meet you.
The day came at last, when I felt your
presence, dark and looming behind me in
that town, when the others ran out ahead
to the wasteland to find you.
How could they bring you into my sight?
A creature like you, a being of unimaginable
evil, yet they didn't seem to mind. And there you
sat across from me, smiling carelessly.
There you sat, Beast Master, slayer of dragons,
slayer of my people, nothing cruel or heartless
about you, and if I didn't know what you were,
I'd have mistaken you for a normal man.
A cheerful voice and playful eyes that never opened,
which only made me wonder, if given the
opportunity, would you be able to look me in the
eye, even after everything you've done?
Still the same straight hair from the books,
but not the sinister raven-wing black, rather
a deep shade of violet, further masking your
violent nature with kittenish looks.
How can you still smile at me, knowing
everything you've done, how a thousand or
more slaughtered dragons still cry out beyond
the grave for your blood, Beast Master?
And now more than ever, that's why
I had to meet you.
It's been thirty days since you first began
traveling with our party, through the desert,
then to my temple and beyond, setting out
on a fantastic journey, across this vast world.
You love to tease me, especially when it's
inappropriate, all the while, hiding behind
that disarming smile and cheerful voice,
trying to tempt me to pointless violence.
I have to stay calm, even when you say
horrible things to me, or betray your
comrades to the enemy, because I know
how you love to see me lose my temper.
You make me angry so often, that it can
sometimes cloud my judgement, especially
when nothing seems to bother you or make
you unhappy in the very least anytime.
And all this time I've wondered,
Why don't you just kill me? That's
what your kind does, isn't it? Demons
were made to kill us dragons, right?
But it doesn't seem to interest you in
the least, to butcher me, like so many
others. All you seem to care about
is following your orders, your mission.
Nothing else matters to you, does it? So
what if it's not what's right, or what makes
sense, just as long as you follow orders,
which are a mystery, wrapped in enigma.
How can I defeat you, Beast Master, when
you will make no move against me? Are
you just playing with me, when you tease
and pick at me and won't fight?
Sometimes I find myself trying to remember
what it was that I wanted to find you for,
now that I see you face to face, I wonder
if I ever really stood a chance at all.
But even now, I try to tell myself that
I had to meet you.
After the horrible battle, no Father, no other
dragons left in this world but me. All alone
now, my friends have moved on, and so has
he, the terrible demon Beast Master.
Even though it fights what I've seen in him,
the books were all right, such a cruel person
at times, but I still wonder if he noticed the
few times I blushed when he called my name.
It doesn't really matter now, does it? I'll never
see him again in my long life, nor any more of
my kind, and to think: the opportunity to slay
the beast in my hands and I didn't take it.
Why not? I pause to ask myself this almost
everyday when I awake from a fever dream
or when I get dressed in the morning, Why did
I not even try to avenge my people and kill him?
Was it because I feared him, or what he'd do
to me? Because I knew his power was horrible
and I'd fall, too? That's not the way a holy
warrior should act at all, is it?
Or maybe it's for an entirely different reason,
one that I'm too scared to admit even to myself,
because I'm afraid of what I feel sometimes, and
that I guess I got used to him after a while.
It pains me to think that maybe that was why
I had to meet you.
Even years later, now with an adopted infant
son, sometimes I feel my thoughts turning
back in time once again to him, and I begin
wondering what he's doing now.
Bringing pain and violence wherever he goes
now, I'm sure, having not changed in the least
from his time with me, and probably never
bothering to think on me, as I do him.
I wonder what my son will say when he's
older, a young man with wild green hair?
What will he say to his mother, who even as
a holy priestess befriended a monster?
And what would I say, if tomorrow that same
monster came knocking on our humble door,
smiling benignly to ask for the life of me or
my only son, even then would I deny him?
I hold my young child close and close my
eyes, smiling gently and realize that I would
never do that to him, and hope the day never
comes that he will face that demon.
But even now I am lonely and sometimes regret
that I had to meet you.
Several hundred years later, my son has grown
and left to live his own life now, and even so, I
do not age or grow old, for I am still far too
young for the sort of decay that plagues humans.
I interact with the people, everyday, talking with
the baker, arguing with the seamstress just down
the street, doing everyday things in the little town
that has sprung up around our old temple.
They have never thought it odd that I don't
grow old or age like they do, for I mostly keep to
myself, running my little pottery shop, closing at
night and locking the doors on them.
Even now, I look at the centuries old books from
my Father's library that I had saved long ago,
stopping occasionally to run my fingers over the
ink black hair in those pictures of the war.
Now at night more than ever, I look at a dark
velvet sky and it reminds me of a cloak that I
have not seen for several hundred years, and of
the face that belonged to its owner, still smiling.
I lay awake in bed, wondering if sometimes he
stops and thinks of me like I think of him, all
the while missing his eyes or the soft dark
sensation of his touch.
I don't know if it's only the solitude, isolation
driving me to miss such an awful demon, or if
I've always felt that way, and truly, I don't know
if I'd like the answer to that question.
And sometimes during the long nights, I wonder
why I had to meet you.
A thousand years gone by, and the humans technology
has advanced so fast, far beyond any of the Gods
or Demons magics that he or I used to practice,
not that they still believe in them anyway.
I know that I and my son still live on, and sometimes I
stop to wonder if he could still be out there,
stalking the night, the terrifying slayer of dragons,
the foul creature of darkness, the Beast Master.
Having abandoned the pottery shop years ago,
I now work in the ruins of the temple I once served
faithfully, only now as a simple tour guide, by day
I show the children on their school trips my old home.
At night I drive my small car to my small
apartment, perhaps to await a call from my son
or to read one of Father's ancient books and
recall the demon I tell stories of at the temple.
The children all seem so fascinated by his tale,
but I know their parents tell them it's make believe
when they're out of my sight, because sometimes
they act like what I tell them could never happen.
I wonder how many of those same children
when it's time for bed at night see a dark
shadow move across their room or under their
beds and cry to their mothers that he's there?
But sometimes, like today, it's important to
listen to those children, because one little girl in
particular seemed to like my stories of the
ancient war that I reveled in as a child.
The girl looked up at me with her huge blue
eyes, hope filling them, and clenched her fists,
"When I grow up, Miss Filia, I want to fight that
demon! I want to be the one who slays him!"
I smiled at her fondly, remembering the promise
I made my Father a thousand years ago, and patted
her blonde head, Now, little girl, you don't know
that demon, or how he acts either, do you?
He's about six feet tall, slender, with short dark
violet hair, and while he loves to hurt and destroy,
he also loves to laugh and smile, never opening
his eyes to see what he's done.
The girl looked up at me, puzzled for just a second,
"I met a man like that just three days ago, and he
was nice to me, too. He gave me a piece of candy
and a pet frog to take home with me."
I tried not to let the child see the emotion in my
eyes, because even then, I was not sure what I
was feeling, whether it was hatred or joy to know
that the demon was alive and in this town.
It was then I knew, just one more time,
I had to meet you.
So I went out late that night, wearing my favorite
white blouse and pink skirt, looking like nothing
more than a common twenty year old, hoping
that he'd be where I'd look.
For some reason, I decided to stop in at a pathetic,
run down excuse for a tavern, but I think these days
the humans call them 'bars', and they're nothing like
the ones I used to stop at with Lina and the others.
I went straight to the bar, hoping the burly men playing
billiards wouldn't notice me, or that the one who
looked like he'd perhaps had too much to drink was
involved with something else and would look past me.
The bartender was unkempt, but my eyes were focused
on the young man at the end of the bar with the familiar
dark violet hair that had his face turned away from me,
clad inconspicuously in a dark business suit.
I saw the familiar staff leaning against the bar and
almost laughed, disbelieving he still carried it in
this day and age, how out of place it looked, especially
in such a low-class establishment as this.
It didn't take long for the other patrons of the bar to pick
up on his odd looks or habits, either, as one came up to
him, giving him a light shove and almost knocking him
from his position on the bar stool.
Some humans just can't understand things that are
different, and this one was no exception, as he accused
him of being everything from a Communist (whatever
that is) to a Satanist, not guessing the real truth.
This warranted a small chuckle as he opened one eye and
looked at the surly man and his friends, the poor fools,
not knowing the suffering of my people, or the
rightful respect and fear that he deserved.
I was too busy watching this pitiful spectacle to
notice that one of the patrons had sidled up next
to me, perhaps hoping for a pretty date for the
evening, not realizing that I wasn't here for that.
Poor pitiful human drunkard, too bad he tried to lay
his grease stained hands on my body, and he must
have had regrets as I sent him flying into a wall
on the other side of the billiard tables.
Too bad for me as well, because now all the barflies
turned to look at me, the other horribly out of place
creature, who now had a red face and a golden,
pink bowed tail poking out from under her skirt.
This got his attention, too, as I watched him turn slowly
to face me from his stool, amidst the frightened and
angry chatter of the drunkards and barflies, as he opened
one slitted violet eye and surveyed me with it.
I saw him take the staff in his hand, ignoring all
the other drinkers who were now yelling at me
angrily, until I saw one out of the corner of my
eye, make a quick blow for my stomach.
I hit the filthy floor, listening to them chatter,
reasoning that it was alright to hit a woman if
she was a demon, like I surely was, but I looked over
to the now empty barstool where he'd sat moments ago.
I should have known he'd leave, and as I felt them
hit me over and over, the tears welled up in my eyes,
until I closed them, shutting out the horrid yells and
blows until both stopped abruptly.
I warily opened my eyes to see several scattered men
on the floor and one violet haired demon standing
triumphant over all of them, staff in hand, one eye
open, chuckling softly as he looked at me on the floor.
"All these years and you still can't take any better
care of yourself, can you?", he said mockingly, just
like he used to, all those centuries ago, before finally
offering a hand to me to help me off the floor.
I'd have to say then that I was definitely glad
that I had to meet you.
I drove you to my home, through the dark, empty
late night streets, knowing that if you wanted to,
you could kill me without a second thought right
now and no one would be the wiser.
But to be honest, I really didn't feel any fear then,
more like happiness to finally be reunited with
someone I'd known long ago, someone I'd
traveled and braved death itself with.
Even though it was impossibly late, I still
bothered to offer you tea, which you accepted with
all the grace of one in your station in life, sipping
delicately and still watching me from over the cup.
Revealing nothing on why you were here or when
you would leave, I offered you a place to stay for
the night, even though I'm sure your kind never
sleeps or needs to at any rate.
Smiling all the while, you accepted and claimed
the couch, even though it was something that would
definitely be beneath you, and promised that we
could talk more about "old times" in the morning.
So I changed into my nightshirt and came back out
to the living room to tell you goodnight, and of course
you laughed at my bedclothes and at the pink-bowed
golden tail that popped out from underneath them.
I sighed and went back to my own room, noting that
some things just never change and marveling at the
fact that the man I swore to kill as a child was now
laying on the couch, a welcome guest in my home.
As I pulled the covers up to my shoulders and
settled into my bed, I felt something warm and
dark slip around my shoulders and behind my
back, almost cradling me in its embrace.
I smiled and leaned back, remembering how
much I'd missed this touch, or your voice, no
matter how annoying it got to be, or how many
times I let you get away with insulting me.
And finally, I think I understand why
I had to meet you.
What need is there anymore for those like me,
In a world that's often so miserable to see?
There's not much pain left for me to bring,
humans do it themselves, the poor silly things,
They scurry about living their short little lives,
giving a demon everything he needs to survive,
Pain they cause themselves, hate, fear and anger,
with all the work they do, I needn't lift a finger.
So you can see, dear lady, I have time on my hands,
with nothing to do, so I travel distant lands.
In all the world, your pain is the most exquisite, dear,
I came partly to feel it, and so I came here.
Since I came, I thought that your pain would end,
but apparently, it's been replaced by an odd sort of kin.
You're no longer alone, so it no longer hurts you,
but just the same, you're afraid that I'll leave, too.
And partly I came because I too am lonely,
after so many years, you feel like you're the only
one left of your kind and that no one knows you,
but it's nice to have kin or a home to come back to.
I see your wide eyes, even in the dark, shining blue
and I see your lips move, smiling, too.
You lay a soft hand on my face to make sure I'm here
And suddenly I sense that you have no more fear.
"Why did you come back?", you softly ask,
"Why now, I thought you'd forgotten the past?"
I smile and move in closer to you,
whispering into your ear,
"Sore wa himitsu desu."
But the truth is,
I had to meet you, too.