Sometimes I end up in situations where the poetic irony of it all is just too
much; it overtakes me, utterly and completely. This is one of those moments.

I'm lurking in the shadows, which is all my life has become recently. Nothing
but shadows and ash, and the occasional gleam of blood on my hands, which I had
stopped trying to wash off. After you kill your first brother in cold blood,
there's not much left for you. It doesn't matter that the only two people in
the entire Basin that know you did it is yourself, and the corpse at your feet.
After that, the blood never goes away. No one else can see it, but it's always
there, glittering like a ruby moon after a thunderstorm. It gets under your
nails and into the lines on your fingertips, and you begin to wonder why no one
can see all the evidence you must have left behind.

However, we must get back to the situation at hand...the blood always tends to
distract me. I'm lurking in the shadows on the outskirts of the southern gates
of Magnagora. The moon is hanging low in the sky, and its light casts heavy
shadows that help remove me from sight. I pull my cloak closer around me, and
disappear altogether.

I'm hiding here, draped in darkness, because I'm waiting on a woman. That's the
poetry part of my situation, because I can't help but to chuckle when I consider
all the men who have done this before me. There has to be legions of them, all
standing on a doorstep, clutching a handful of flowers that they picked
themselves, no doubt. A few of them are in love, and a few more are hoping for
something else.

The irony of the situation is that I am in love with her, but the "something
else" I'm hoping for is that my hands do not falter when I move them to kill
her, that my real demons will be able to overpower my inner demons, the ones
that are telling me that what I'm about to do is horribly wrong, in some
perverse way.

The night is eerily quiet, with no sound but the faint breeze rolling in off
the Sea of Despair. Then I hear a voice, a quick sharp one that feels more like
a tap on the shoulder than a sound. I am so paralyzed by fear that my throat
locks up, and I topple over, nothing but a whimper escaping my mouth. And for a
few moments I feel more like a baby than the righteous taint-killer I'm supposed
to be. I scramble up to my knees and look around frantically, searching for the
source, before it speaks again, "...Murderer...," and this time I spot what is
speaking; the outline of a black demon is sketched upon the ground, long and
slender, and elegant in the most evil of ways.

I'm not actually surprised to see this particular demon, we have known each
other for my entire life. I was even afraid of him when I was a child...but I
soon learned I would never be rid of him. Yet another poetic irony in my life;
I was born, raised, and taught in Celest, the city of Light, yet my own
personal demon can only exist when light is present, and the brighter the
light, the darker my demon.

I try to maintain my composure as I say to the Demon, "This is not murder, my
friend. It is justice. I do not love this tainted woman, I pity her. I do her a
great favour by releasing her soul from its dark bonds."

The demon hovers inside the ground for a few moments more. Finally it says, "I
never mentioned Love, my friend, but I can see that's what's on your mind."

In that moment I want to peel the Demon off the ground and strangle it. It's
voice is a torturous noise to my mind, it warbles like the bending and
unbending of thin metal, but it still continues to speak, "I know the doubt
that lurks in your heart, Krillian Rhamtuul. I can see it festering in your
eyes like rotting maggots. It bleeds brighter than the blood on your hands," at
this point I stuff them deep into my cloak, and out of sight, "But still you
stand there, in self-righteous, hypocritical glory. I suppose you celebrated
when you were first assigned the job? The Prince of Celest came before you
himself, did he not? That must bring great honor to your family. I remember his
words like they were spoken yesterday...he told you of the rip in the aether
that is linked to mortal spirits, of how this rip had rendered the ability to
sense deaths useless. Anyone is free to kill anyone, and no one would be the
wiser."

"But he had a motive in telling you all of this, didn't he? Because...this tear
in the fabric of life, other than preventing the sensing of deaths...has also
removed the ability for a mortals soul to reach the Fates. If they can't hear
your prayers...death is as good as permanent, is it not?"

"So he sends you here, draped in shadows, to take on the powers of your worst
enemies. To join the Nihilist, to pray with them, eat with them, and in some
cases sleep with them, and when their backs are turned, rip out their hearts.
'The ends justify the means,' isn't that what he said?"

At this point I launch myself at the ground, unable to stand his infernal
talking, and I rip at the grass and stone, trying to remove him. But he just
keeps talking, his voice slower now, like autumn leaves rolling over razor
blades, "You never suspected what things would be like on the other side, did
you? You had always seen the taint as no more than animals. Worse than animals,
actually. Then you arrive here and break bread with them, and you see how they
can, albeit twisted, love one another. You witness joy, no different than any
other mortals. You help train their novices, whispering words of encouragement,
dripping in vindictive lies."

"You began to question your allegiance, did you not? How, you thought to
yourself, could you bring yourself to exterminate those you had come to love?
Yet you refused to believe that, didn't you? So, just to prove to yourself how
righteous you really are, you ripped one of their hearts out. However, that
didn't bring you joy either, did it? You felt nothing."

The Demon's voice was fast and buzzing now, like it could barely contain what
it was trying to say.

"And you loved her," the Demon's voice slowed back to it's original warbling,
"You loved her most of all. You held her at night and whispered romance into
her ear, sweet as honey poured over lightning. You laid with her. You kissed
her forehead every morning, all the time wondering how you were going to kill
her. The only question left is...will you do it? 'Of course!' your mind
screams, while 'Never!' your heart screams. So, Krillian, I leave you with one
option: choose your poison, either way you're going to drown in it."

At his last words, the vibrant moon slid behind a smoky cloud, and with the
light gone my demon disappeared at last. Then, as though working on a clockwork
gear, she appeared outside the gates. Her hair resembling a blast of moonlight,
her skin pale as pearls, beautiful but for the purple veins running underneath,
and somehow I knew that she could see me, despite my cloak, so I shrugged it
off.

I curled my hand into a fist, and felt it begin to fill with cosmic fire. It
was a comforting feeling, cold and hot against my flesh. Not so different from
her.

In that moment the irony of my life struck me again, and I realized that I no
longer knew the difference between hot and cold, just as I no longer knew the
difference between wrong and right. What was tainted and what was pure. She
just looked at me expectantly, her eyes full of emeralds, and I knew that she
knew who I really was, just as she knew I was hiding behind my cloak. She knew
who I was before she came here. She knew who I was before she made me fall in
love with her, and now she was putting everything down to me.

The fire in my hands flickered in and out of reality as I took another step
towards her, and made my decision.