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There's a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.

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ft. : nicholas peters
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Date d'inscription : 03/09/2016
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Orias
the demon who got tired
Dim 4 Sep - 22:10


Demons run
'cause one day you get tired.  One day you want something more.



There is a place and a time for everything.  There is a place and a time for everyone - and mine was done.

I never thought I could get tired of my life, really. Hell felt like a nice and warm place to me, at least for a very long time... I guess maybe too long.  Killing felt first like passion and then like something I needed to do.  A rush through my heart, traveling through my veins, numbing my brain and slowly killing the person I once was.

Who was I anyway... was I different before?  Was I a nice and normal human guy who cared about others?  Who knows... I can't remember now, I guess that "no soul" storie of mine is not helping my case.  

I guess I don't want to know.

The fact is, I was enjoying the simplicity of my life.  Get up, don't think, kill, get souls, drink and enjoy the women... who would complain? (and between you and me, that was far better than being in a cage in hell, body and souls ripped appart for-freaking-ever. No questions asked there)

hundreds and hundreds of years... I lived the same life.  The simple life of a demon.  No question no problem, an obstacle somewhere? Well I just had to detroy it.

And then one day, everything changed.

My hand holding her beating heart.  My eyes attached to the one of my victim, and around us, the serenity of the forest, on top of a mountain.  

The sun was slowy rising and a new day was starting.  At this precise moment, strangely, the look of that poor young scotts prey affected me more than it was supposed to. I was her and she was me. Her pupils dilated, her heartbeat quis rising before slowly dying into my hand while a single tear was flowing on her cheak.

She died and she took something with her.  In that strange moment, in that buzzling instant I was different, I felt different... and yet she died.  In that moment I felt the pain of the lost, the torture of the spirit, the remorse of the killer.

It will sounds stupid, even for me, but that morning, while I was killing her in the body of her really scottish boyfriend, her death changed me.  I don't even know if it's possible, but I have this feeling, like if a part of her soul got stock in me.

Since that that I can't kill.

Since that day I can't be a demon.

Since that day, I'm fishing like a idiot, standing on the shore in this scotsman skins, waiting for something to happen, thinking about absolution, thinking about the second chance I have to live the rest of my eternity.

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ft. : Yumi Lambert
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Zeodiel
The reaper who couldn't kill
Lun 5 Sep - 21:21
Miam bô pêcheur qu'a pas de poisson dans son lac :drool:

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I can still hear them. The prayers. The supplications. The tormented souls imploring for their pain and sorrow to come to an end, and all I can do is hear them, everywhere I go— utterly powerless.▵
I am an angel of Death. I do not judge.
I do not get involved.
I do not care.
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ft. : nicholas peters
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Date d'inscription : 03/09/2016
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Orias
the demon who got tired
Lun 5 Sep - 21:25
Viens Zeo, viens être mon petit poisson miam miam
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