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Chapter 2 - Apello

You must find the idea of me raising a child somehow difficult to comprehend. Believe it or not, I took that child into my care as her mother gave her last breath, and I could have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on her mother as she passed. I looked at the baby--her eyes looked like they were tightly sewn together, and her mouth down-turned into a pout.
I named her (Y/N), and with the surname (L/N). The mother didn't tell me her child's name, or perhaps never named her from the start. Nevertheless, a name popped in my mind. It was perpetual.

I pocketed her mother's soul as the babe cooed, and I twirled the orb of memories between my finger and thumb.

I like to look at the bad memories first.

Her parents' death, the war, her experience of rape, the grueling sensation of childbirth.

The rest? There were not many others that stood out, specifically the delightful memories.

Here is what I saw:

A woman lying in bed, twitching and wailing with unadulterated agony.
She ripped herself open. The nurses couldn't arrive fast enough.
I watched the woman pull the baby out with her own hands.
Everything was draped with wet scarlet.

I have seen many deaths. I have caused an abundance. I have felt pain, I have been the sole purpose of anguish.
But nothing can compare to childbirth.
It's repulsive and fascinating all at once.

I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm sorry, I truly am.
Allow me to continue.

"I suppose your mother might have liked the name I've given you." the demon said partly to himself. He peeked over the trees and bushes. He would have thought the mother's pleas and sobs would have awoken and brought others to her clamor in the pitch darkness of the night. She claimed that she had others searching for her, chasing her, but he simply thought they gave up.
She would have died either way.

A homestead was a heavy amount of miles away, rich with vegetation, coin, and food.
An ample amount of food, he was sure of.
His horns sunk back inside him, and his eyes shone blue in color.
Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he gaited.

The demon banged on the door when he arrived, (Y/N) stifling cries on his chest. An elderly woman opened the door, beady eyes wider than saucers at the odd sight.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" the owner mumbled. The demon feigned sorrow.

"Madame, s'il vous plait, let us stay for the night! We are cold, hungry, and I'm sure she has not been fed in quite some time! I beg of you! One night is all I ask."

She was easy to charm. He crawled under her skin and lied through his teeth with a grin that would be mistaken for charisma.
The elderly woman, Madame Mariette, placed a hand on her cheek and moaned. "Mon dieu, come in! Bianca, apportes deux chaises!" The woman, short in stature with thin, wiry hair spun on her head and emeralds for eyes. Bianca, her maid, toddled in, dragging two chairs and seating them near the loft.

(Y/N) began to whine in his arms.
Oh no, he thought. Don't start now. Don't cry.

"What a precious little thing she is!" Madame Mariette praised the babe. A smile adorned her withered visage, and she extended her arms. "May I?"

"Bien sûr."

He handed the child in the woman's arms and beamed at the girl. "Elle est magnifique! She will grow up to be a very fine young lady, I'm sure of it. If only I would be here long enough to witness it."

"Merci, madame."

"Where did you find her?"

He stopped to think, making his eyes dart down to his lap in counterfeit sorrow. "I found her mother on the street--dead. Her child was bundled up next to her. I took her," he eyed the child, who extended her arms and to try to grab a hold of Madame Mariette's hair. "and tried to find a suitable place where her and I will remain. Surely it is befitting for me to take her in rather than leaving the infant to die, isn't it?"

Heartache etched on her features. "Quel dommage... Tell me, monsieur, do you intend on raising her as your own?"

"I haven't given it much thought, really." the demon lied. Of course he wouldn't raise her as if she were his own flesh and blood. It was a deal; he took the child under his care, and in return he took the mother's soul and carried it like a sack. At best, he would be her mentor, a teacher of sorts. He would teach her anything and everything she wished to learn, as long as religion was out of the question.
The child would grow up without a mother, without a father, without siblings. She may not receive the proper love.
But he refused to fault himself for feeling pity to the little one.

"What a tragedy..." the woman sympathized. He liked how she gobbled up his story. Madame Mariette darted her head and looked at her maid. "Bianca, prepare the guest room and supper. Monsieur," her hues were glowing. "you and the child may stay here for as long as you'd like. It must be hindering not to find such hospitality as these days spill over like water, must it?"

He grinned sickeningly. "Certainly, madame."

"Now, tell me," she leaned forward. "What is your name?"

The demon cracked a wider smile. "Erwin Smith."

How barbaric it must be, you might think, to fool an old woman close to her death. Don't fret, nearly no harm was done. She saw me as a son, which I found unabashedly hilarious.
As Madame Mariette said, days continued to spill over like water. She fed both (Y/N) and I, and although human food is not satisfactory for me, I ate it without gripe. It was only later I realized that her maid, Bianca, lost her child during her pregnancy, and still contained milk in her breasts. I stumbled into her feeding the child, saying that she will continue to feed her until she was old enough, or at least until Madame Mariette passed. She had tears in her eyes, and a sad smile.

The old woman much later confined in bed, her fever and heart preventing her from leaving the house. She would eat breakfast in her bed, read alone, cough, wheeze, and ponder about (Y/N). Bianca tended to her needs with washing and cleaning, and had (Y/N) latch onto her breast for food.

She died the same day she inherited her estate to him. Her lawyer handed the demon the papers, and he signed wherever he needed to for the plantation. They carried her body inside a wooden casket with wildflowers, and buried her in the backyard. Bianca left that very day, a handkerchief dabbing and wiping her muddy brown eyes.

(Y/N) was a five years old by then, waddling and clutching onto the legs of her caretaker. Why such compassion would be shown from the demon towards a meddlesome child?

It was a subject he did not like to touch on.

"Erwin," her tiny, diminutive voice shook, following by a thick French accent. "Why is she leaving us?"

He carried the soul on his back.
So desolate, so perished with pain.
Her memories were bracing.

The demon floundered a smile to the girl below him. "You will see her again someday, mon petit lapin."

"When?"

He bent down to lift the girl and carry her in his arms. "That I cannot answer, (Y/N)."

The demon smelled her soul in her hair.
She rested her head on his shoulder.

Description

Chapter 2 - Apello

You must find the idea of me raising a child somehow difficult to comprehend. Believe it or not, I took that child into my care as her mother gave her last breath, and I could have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on her mother as she passed. I looked at the baby--her eyes looked like they were tightly sewn together, and her mouth down-turned into a pout.
I named her (Y/N), and with the surname (L/N). The mother didn't tell me her child's name, or perhaps never named her from the start. Nevertheless, a name popped in my mind. It was perpetual.

I pocketed her mother's soul as the babe cooed, and I twirled the orb of memories between my finger and thumb.

I like to look at the bad memories first.

Her parents' death, the war, her experience of rape, the grueling sensation of childbirth.

The rest? There were not many others that stood out, specifically the delightful memories.

Here is what I saw:

A woman lying in bed, twitching and wailing with unadulterated agony.
She ripped herself open. The nurses couldn't arrive fast enough.
I watched the woman pull the baby out with her own hands.
Everything was draped with wet scarlet.

I have seen many deaths. I have caused an abundance. I have felt pain, I have been the sole purpose of anguish.
But nothing can compare to childbirth.
It's repulsive and fascinating all at once.

I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm sorry, I truly am.
Allow me to continue.

"I suppose your mother might have liked the name I've given you." the demon said partly to himself. He peeked over the trees and bushes. He would have thought the mother's pleas and sobs would have awoken and brought others to her clamor in the pitch darkness of the night. She claimed that she had others searching for her, chasing her, but he simply thought they gave up.
She would have died either way.

A homestead was a heavy amount of miles away, rich with vegetation, coin, and food.
An ample amount of food, he was sure of.
His horns sunk back inside him, and his eyes shone blue in color.
Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he gaited.

The demon banged on the door when he arrived, (Y/N) stifling cries on his chest. An elderly woman opened the door, beady eyes wider than saucers at the odd sight.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" the owner mumbled. The demon feigned sorrow.

"Madame, s'il vous plait, let us stay for the night! We are cold, hungry, and I'm sure she has not been fed in quite some time! I beg of you! One night is all I ask."

She was easy to charm. He crawled under her skin and lied through his teeth with a grin that would be mistaken for charisma.
The elderly woman, Madame Mariette, placed a hand on her cheek and moaned. "Mon dieu, come in! Bianca, apportes deux chaises!" The woman, short in stature with thin, wiry hair spun on her head and emeralds for eyes. Bianca, her maid, toddled in, dragging two chairs and seating them near the loft.

(Y/N) began to whine in his arms.
Oh no, he thought. Don't start now. Don't cry.

"What a precious little thing she is!" Madame Mariette praised the babe. A smile adorned her withered visage, and she extended her arms. "May I?"

"Bien sûr."

He handed the child in the woman's arms and beamed at the girl. "Elle est magnifique! She will grow up to be a very fine young lady, I'm sure of it. If only I would be here long enough to witness it."

"Merci, madame."

"Where did you find her?"

He stopped to think, making his eyes dart down to his lap in counterfeit sorrow. "I found her mother on the street--dead. Her child was bundled up next to her. I took her," he eyed the child, who extended her arms and to try to grab a hold of Madame Mariette's hair. "and tried to find a suitable place where her and I will remain. Surely it is befitting for me to take her in rather than leaving the infant to die, isn't it?"

Heartache etched on her features. "Quel dommage... Tell me, monsieur, do you intend on raising her as your own?"

"I haven't given it much thought, really." the demon lied. Of course he wouldn't raise her as if she were his own flesh and blood. It was a deal; he took the child under his care, and in return he took the mother's soul and carried it like a sack. At best, he would be her mentor, a teacher of sorts. He would teach her anything and everything she wished to learn, as long as religion was out of the question.
The child would grow up without a mother, without a father, without siblings. She may not receive the proper love.
But he refused to fault himself for feeling pity to the little one.

"What a tragedy..." the woman sympathized. He liked how she gobbled up his story. Madame Mariette darted her head and looked at her maid. "Bianca, prepare the guest room and supper. Monsieur," her hues were glowing. "you and the child may stay here for as long as you'd like. It must be hindering not to find such hospitality as these days spill over like water, must it?"

He grinned sickeningly. "Certainly, madame."

"Now, tell me," she leaned forward. "What is your name?"

The demon cracked a wider smile. "Erwin Smith."

How barbaric it must be, you might think, to fool an old woman close to her death. Don't fret, nearly no harm was done. She saw me as a son, which I found unabashedly hilarious.
As Madame Mariette said, days continued to spill over like water. She fed both (Y/N) and I, and although human food is not satisfactory for me, I ate it without gripe. It was only later I realized that her maid, Bianca, lost her child during her pregnancy, and still contained milk in her breasts. I stumbled into her feeding the child, saying that she will continue to feed her until she was old enough, or at least until Madame Mariette passed. She had tears in her eyes, and a sad smile.

The old woman much later confined in bed, her fever and heart preventing her from leaving the house. She would eat breakfast in her bed, read alone, cough, wheeze, and ponder about (Y/N). Bianca tended to her needs with washing and cleaning, and had (Y/N) latch onto her breast for food.

She died the same day she inherited her estate to him. Her lawyer handed the demon the papers, and he signed wherever he needed to for the plantation. They carried her body inside a wooden casket with wildflowers, and buried her in the backyard. Bianca left that very day, a handkerchief dabbing and wiping her muddy brown eyes.

(Y/N) was a five years old by then, waddling and clutching onto the legs of her caretaker. Why such compassion would be shown from the demon towards a meddlesome child?

It was a subject he did not like to touch on.

"Erwin," her tiny, diminutive voice shook, following by a thick French accent. "Why is she leaving us?"

He carried the soul on his back.
So desolate, so perished with pain.
Her memories were bracing.

The demon floundered a smile to the girl below him. "You will see her again someday, mon petit lapin."

"When?"

He bent down to lift the girl and carry her in his arms. "That I cannot answer, (Y/N)."

The demon smelled her soul in her hair.
She rested her head on his shoulder.