Candlelight

By: Hikaze Hinoteya


A group of merry farmers gather around a table, laughing as they downed mug after mug of ale in the cheery inn. A lone bartender wipes a glass with a rag, humming an old folksong in tune to the rhythm of the pouring rain outside. Candles burn merrily, dancing to the sound of the laughter and chatter in the room. All is happy and well this cozy Friday night.

Suddenly, the wooden door jolts open disturbing the warm atmosphere. The tavern is silent as a wet, ragged stranger walks in, his heavy boots resounding on the wooden floor as he strides up to the counter. He leaves a path of water behind him, but the barmaid, petrified, dares not to wipe it until the stranger is out of sight.

The innkeeper looks up and plasters on a fake smile, ignoring the hushed silence around him.
"How may we help you today, sir?"
"A room, for tonight, quickly." A voice rasps out from under the heavy, black scarves that cover the stranger's face.
Taking a key with him, the innkeeper ushers the stranger into a hallway. Eyes follow the pair as they disappear down the dark corridor.
Once they are out of sight, the bar is noisy once more.

"Eh? Strange fella, huh?"
"Did ya see 'is eyes? I swear they be blood red!"
"What 'cha think he all wrapped up like that for?"

The barmaid, fully recovered, began to wipe up the soggy mess left on the floor.

"Well, anyhoo, I tell ya, that stranger ain't up to anything good..."
There was a solemn agreement as all in the tavern nodded.

The innkeeper returned from the hallway, looking slightly spooked.
Walking by the bar, he muttered to the bartender,
"Keep a eye on that 'un..."

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Sabin scanned his temporary lodgings, crimson eyes narrowed.
It was a humble room with plain furniture, but clean and well-kept. It would have to do.
Nodding, Sabin dropped his only luggage, a worn sack, by the bed and began to unwrap his face.

Layer after layer of scarf fell to the floor, revealing a rather handsome young man, with shockingly red eyes, long white hair and slightly pointed ears.
He yawned, sharp canines glinting off the candlelight reflection.
Finally, taking off his coat, Sabin made his way over to the sturdy wooden desk and chair.
Sitting down, he retrieved a small green book from his breastpocket along with a quill and a bottle of ink and began to write.

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I fear I will not be sane long enough to write this, for he is anxious to come out and have his way. I've tried all I could, but I can no longer hold him back. Of the two of us, it's rather obvious who is the stronger, so I will quickly take this time to write out my confession. I may or may not return to write more, for I myself know not of this creature I harbor within myself.

There, I stood above her claw racked body, her bloody streaked body, her disfigured, DEAD body, I felt something sick within me, something sick I couldn't control, something almost happy she was dead, my own mother. I presently did not control my body, for it was he who did, but even then, as I watched myself through the metal bars of my own mind, I felt almost happy. Happy that all this trouble of hiding, and being controlled by her was over. No longer did I have to worry about those nagging colored herbs hanging above my window and door, no longer did I have to hide my OWN selfish interests. Take heed, reader, this was not even he who said such things, it was I, Sabin Duvert.

Only when I was chased by my own father with an axe, did I finally feel the pangs of sorrow and remourse; did I realize the consequences of my own weakness. My own fear of being controlled was my weakness, was my cross to bear, was my downfall in the end. For had I not harnessed the same weakness he controlled, perhaps he would not have shown such an interest in me. Perhaps, if I had not been so eager to disobey my mother, (who I thought foolish and cowardly) she would not be dead by my own hands. Perhaps, had I not feared being controlled by those herbs hung outside my door, I would never have been posessed by an Anju.

I should start at the beginning, as all documentaries do. I was born to a woodsman, and a herbalist, in the forests of south France. It was natural that I would develop a strong liking to the woods, they were my home. But ever since I was small, I would hear voices, beautiful voices, whispering all sorts of marvelous secrets in my ear. Secrets of life, and happiness, and secrets of fear and pain... They were so beautiful, but so terrible. I could feel it in my mind. Though I remembered not a single one, the strength of that aura is still embedded within me. Soon, I developed a burning interest in legends, and secrets, beautiful and terrible things... Monsters...

My father also encouraged my curiosity, he told me stories at bedtime about monsters, sprites, ghosts, demons and all sorts of creatures. I believed all of them, and I still do, for now I am one, myself.

My mother, on the contrary, forbade such "nonsense" as she called it, and countered these stories with fables of mischievous children who were eaten by goblins and the like. They had the opposite effect on me, however. I did not fear such goblins, and instead I dreamed of meeting them and living amongst them.

As I grew older, the voices I heard began to be more and more realistic. I found myself hearing them whether I was awake or dreaming, but they were loudest when I dreamt. I found myself waking up, and wishing to return to sleep, to hear those beautiful voices once more. Here, my mother tried to control me again, and she began to hang herbs and counterspells against the voices outside my window. I often took the herbs down when I slept, or I simply left the house and wander the woods. I didn't fear the woods, for the voices always protected me.

One night, I dreamt that I could control the shadows, that I could touch them, and bend them and play with them. When I awoke, I felt so excited, so invigorated. Almost mockingly, I tried to touch the shadow of the candle in my room. To my utter horror and surprise, I touched it, just as I had in my dream. Every night, I began to practice. Soon, I could control the shadows and the air as easily as I breathed. I should have stopped there, but I was young and curious, and eager to break free of my mother's rules and restraints. No one could hold me down. I should I seen it coming.

On the day I turned eighteen, I went for a walk in the woods, the voices guiding me along, and suddenly, I felt something so wicked, so... terrible inside me. I blacked out. When I awoke, I found myself lying on the forest ground, but I was no longer myself, I did not control my body, nor my mind. Sabin had been locked away, and something else was controlling me. I found myself running toward my home, breaking in and...

The creature's hold on my body began to weaken when I was done with my mother, and it fled from my father. I was returned my body and conciousness sometime later in the woods. I vomited, disgusted not at the creature who was half of me, but the monster I had become myself. The monster that was not the Anju, the one that was Sabin.

Perhaps it is the monster's fault I'm becoming less and less human by the minute, perhaps it is his fault of my mother's death. But I can never forgive myself for the weakness I kept all along. I can never forgive myself for allowing myself to become the sick, twisted, disgusting, filthy, barely-human Sabin I am now.

My hand shivers and I can see the claws beginning to grow. I must stop now, for if this diary is lost, I fear that even the last traces of old Sabin maybe gone. Let this diary forever be a rememberance, that at one time, Sabin was human, at one time, long, long ago...