Author's Beginning Note Thingy: So from the moment I was first traumatized by all the Vin/Seph rape fics, I wanted to write one between them where it wasn't a violent relationship, the love was mutual, and everything turned out right… but as you can probably see, that's not exactly how things turned out… XD Oh well, I'll try again next time. Today I blame math class, not the usual Latin.

My mind's been backed up on stories, and I'm really busy with this novel-writing contest, so that's been my only creative outlet (besides roleplay), and all my fanfics are being neglected. I'm still here, guys! And expect an absolute explosion of updates in/around Christmas/all of December. But enough for now. Read on!


You poor thing…

…you poor little lover of mine.

All the world hates you. I don't understand it, why the will of the planet seeks out every little opportunity to trip you up, just to watch you fall. I would think it would be more readily willing to wreak its revenge on this sin-winged god who so many times had tried to destroy it, rather than one of its many valorous saviors, a demon though he may be.

Still, though, it often casts your broken body aside to rest in my arms. I can't help but hate it. I can't help but want to destroy it, and stop all the pain for you. You and I are higher beings, an angel and a devil entwined in the musky shadow of night, or the infantile breaths of misty dawn. Silver and raven, the crow and the dove, but to tell which is which…?

Perhaps that is why dear Gaia thus persecutes you. She gets us confused, the dear old thing. So easy to manipulate, so feeble, so old.

And yet that such a thing can stir within me so great a rage! I want to kill it! I want to burn it, I want to feel its warm green spirit on my lips as I devour those souls which have wronged you…

…but being who you are, you do not let me… And I know it's wrong, and I know this is wrong too, but I can't control it. The rage must find its way out, lest I go mad again… and I know that's not what either of us wants.

Instead of the guilty, you are condemned to feel the heavy weight of my hands battering and grappling your flesh. You writhe and scream in agony as I press you to your limits, carry you to the break… You must endure this endless torment which is a life with me. The cold bite of my razor steel, the rough way I pull and throw you about… and I become just like one of them. Like those sadistic fools who so more often are the source of your tears, and I hate that…

But you still remain… because you know that after my fits of rage, and depressions of guilt and self-loathing, I will desperately try, with every fiber of my being, with every inch of my power, to soothe the aches, and ease that pain away. I will warm your cold and shaking form, whisper sweet, calming phrases in your trembling ear, and dry those horrible salt-drops from off your pallid face. Scraping fingernails and gnashing teeth will be replaced by gentle tongues and soft caresses. You stay because you must take some sort of sick, twisted pleasure in it. Or maybe, just maybe… because you love me.

Because there is a difference between them and I, those heartless fiends which constantly seek to destroy you. It seems their only motive. No, I am not like them, no matter what I do. You and I have some silent understanding of this… It's because you do love me, and I've no doubt of that now. It's that overwhelming trust. The trust that you can keep me sane, that when the madness subsides, the real person within will return, and that glorious emotion that comes from you fills so fast within me, that I just know…

What sets me apart from the masses is that I alone am worthy of hurting you.

…and that you like it.