Demon Stories

Diana: Rain, 1833, England

Diana

Rain

1833, England

Beau is out in the rain and he won't come inside. I'm sitting here drinking my tea, it is early morning. The clouds are very overcast. Violette is still sleeping, a sleeping doll. Beau is still. He's standing out on the moor, looking straight ahead. He's not moved for hours. There is a certain elegance in the way he stands, mysteriously long and lean, looking taller than he really is. He looks like the ghost of himself, not Beau at all. He is the Beau I first met: sad and lonely, nothing but raw, powerful emotion. Nothing of human about him but shell.

I stand in the doorway, seeing the hard rain violently hit the imported tile of the deck. Its raining so awfully. Beau is drenched to his bones, his long black curls almost straight with the weight of the water, he's been out there so long.

I can't begin to know what he thinks of. I can't begin to fathom what would so consume a being like him. Some past hurt, maybe. Maybe some past love or lie. Can he still feel lies? I don't dare to go out to him. It wouldn't matter anyway. He's past noticing anything. 

Its so sudden that I jump. In a flash, his black wings are fully spread, and he leaps into the air, straight up into the clouds. There's absolutely no wind involved with his flight. Almost as if his wings are merely a visual formality at this point. 

He is gone. We will see him again, that is certain. I wonder where he goes, but I dare not follow. Beau is a mystery of mysteries. Happy and dumb one moment, maybe even vulnerable and puppy-like, then someone else entirely: a viciously beautiful silent figure. It is this last one that I dare never question. 

The rain flows upwards for a few seconds in his absence, as if abandoned and missing him, then continues to fall again. I stare upwards for a few moments, then go back inside.