Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan-fiction. All used characters don’t belong to me and I just borrowed them. The only profit I hope to achieve with this story is the pure pleasure of the reader.
Feedback: All feedback, comments or anything else you might want to share is welcome and can be sent to LadySet@gmx.net
Author’s notes: What if one's soul would not ascend to heaven once the body dies but remains trapped, held prisoner? When it has to watch helplessly how someone else does things that it cannot understand or comprehend. But it is truly always somebody else to blame for them?
Two Souls
by Belladonna
“Two souls, alas, are housed within my breast.”
Goethe, Faust
Part One
Angelus – Broken
For my whole life I have found pleasure in causing other people pain, in torturing them as long as I can remember. I have reveled in their pain and enjoyed to confuse their thoughts, cloud them with false hopes and crush their all too fragile souls under the soles of my feet o within my bare hands to please and fulfill my own desires. I found immense joy and triumph to watch their sane consciousness shrivel, to watch them crawling closer towards madness, closer until it would embrace them and finally devour them wholly.
All my knowledge and power, all my finest skills have I used to never become again that pitiful and pathetic creature I had been during life and all I’ve done, I did to let them suffer, to let all those puny humans suffer for how my own life had treated me. I have learned real quick, just what I had to do, to shape those weak minds to my own imagination, to influence them and to finally bring them down on their knees.
And what a real fast learner I had been; a bright student in the art of creating such immense dark beauty, so that I soon surpassed my own teacher and became the master myself.
Oh, and how easy had it always been for me, humans are so simple in their minds, their thoughts; it is so easy to lead them towards the abyss, the depths of their own souls, to shove them down inside with such little effort and let them dangle over the threshold, only to let them fall finally down into the darkness with a smile, waving after them as they go down.
Who would have thought that a human would be so easy to be broken? In fact, you don’t even have to add much to it, not much to do to cause them to break. It does not take more than a little push that causes them to stagger towards that threshold, where they finally stumble and go down. Who would have thought it to be that simple?
Humans are so small and weak, the sight of death scares them but what is even sweeter to watch are their own faces when they look into death’s own.
When they come back into their homes, smiling happily and filled with joy and contentment, because they have everything they ever wished for and smell the sweet scent of roses, standing on the table and soaked in the perfume of their lover or simply in thee rose’s own natural beauty, they don’t know what will await them, yet. They don’t have the slightest touch of what will await them further, because they are still in their own houses, their homes and they know who will await them upstairs, waiting for them.
But can they be always so sure?
Those poor pathetic creatures don’t know that death already had entered their sacred homes to dance on their tables, because in the bedroom she waits for them, and she does it with a smile on her lips; like only sleep had taken away those who had been so close to their hearts. And as always, when they come closer, I can smell their expectations, their joy but also their confusion, which slowly but steadily mingles with a little fear. Because for sleepers, they beloved ones are a little too pale and completely too motionless. Only when man comes even closer he realizes, though it is already too late, that death had collected all those that were close to him and that meant so much; when he holds the dead and bloodless bodies in his arms, cradling them to his chest as if he could bring them back to life that way.
A futile effort he does not realize at first.
In all his sorrow, desperation and anger, as his bitter suspicions are confirmed with the even harsher realization crashing down on him, he screams out all his pain, screaming all his loss and fury towards heaven but those screams will fade away unheard. Nobody besides me will hear them and it is the loveliest music I have ever heard; smiling at the sight that unfolds before me. I smile of pleasure, joy and triumph, pure ecstasy rushing through me because I please myself in having created another piece of art, another true masterpiece that seeks its equal.
I am still smiling, now that I hold them above the abyss and see their pain within their eyes, but also their hatred and it pleases me even more. But it is not them, what arouses me the most is the faint smell of fear they emanate and that grows to the sweetest scent I have ever tasted, now that they finally and truly look death in the eyes, their death. I can feel how madness stretches out its tendrils, grasping towards them with its cold black hands and my arousal grows stronger than I could be able to describe. I bathe myself in their pain, feast on their fury and gloat over their tortures before in the end I let them go, looking after them how they fall.
It is much simpler than one would think to bring one that far, bring man to reach that abyss and watch him be crushed, his whole being and soul slowly being crushed at the sight of his dead families; how at looking at his murdered children, who look so peaceful in death, almost like they would only be sleeping, his sane mind stumbles towards the threshold of madness. Ah, yes, the children, the sweet and lovely children. Such eternal peace in which they lay down in their beds, as if they truly would be sleeping with their eyes closed; but would you open them, so could you see the terror lying within them, that had been the last thing they should ever see and felt in those moments that were the last ones of their little lives before I took it away from them. They’ve tasted the sweetest, they always do. But those pathetic creatures that call themselves mankind will never see that, at least not at first. Otherwise they would shatter too soon and wrench the pleasure out of my hands to show them this wonderful artwork myself, that I created especially for them and to be the one who gives their delicate souls the last push, the one that lets them crumble down and shatter in thousand little pieces, like glass falling down on the floor. So silent but yet so melodic in its sound.
It would rob me of that fulfilling joy to truly taste this to its full extent if they would realize it too early.
It is really easy to break a human, break man for his soul is so delicate, such a fragile thing; so easy to bring them so far over the borderline deep into madness before ending it…or not.
I would have never thought it possible. But the same time I would have never thought it possible to be brought to my knees myself, by the one thing I had never considered a threat to me or to which I would have never shed a single tear if I’d lost it forever. The one thing I always thought too weak to accomplish anything but endless entertainment for me in using and abusing it. The one thing, I have kept for my own personal entertainment, to please me for eternity. It should have been my final masterpiece, the one true masterpiece I would ever create, so small and unimportant, like glass shattering in my hand if I’d applied too much pressure to it.
But yet it was this seemingly unimportant and fragile thing that had managed it all.
I had been a master in breaking other people, crushing their minds and breaking them body and soul; to cause their souls to shatter in a million pieces to never be healed again. Now it had been exactly that very thing that managed to do to me what thousands before had tried and failed.
I was forced onto my knees, brought down and broken so that I now am only a mere shadow of myself, of what I used to be. And I cannot understand it, cannot manage to grasp what happened and why it had happened the way it did. And still, as easy as it had been for me to break others, to break those all too fragile humans, that easy had it been to break me in the end. Broken by the one thing I have always considered too fragile and delicate to do any harm, the human soul.
My own soul.