After School

2.37 Wilson

September 3, 1946: Homeroom

To my mother, the Witch:

Where have you gone? Where has the Devil taken you?

You have died today. I do feel incredible remorse. You were my mother after all, and my heart yearns for you with every passing second. I realize how I have wronged you, my dearest mother. I am currently writing this with quivering hands and my tears drops have splattered all over the ink. I am sitting at my desk, the gray world is eerily quiet, and beside me are your empty clothes.

I should be saying that your death is unfortunate. Truly, it was the most fortunate thing that had ever happened to you, was it not? You are free now, wherever Death or the Devil has taken you. May you rest in peace, alongside Nature and Her deities.

I am unable to describe my grief with just pen and paper, but do know this happy thing. I am incredibly excited for this special year you have given me.

At first, I was furious that you had ruined my chances of completing my lifelong mission. Do not hold it against me, for finding out that you had passed your powers down to a random boy with the strange name, Yuta, was quite disheartening. However, as you explained the situation to me in-depth, I realized something.

It is because of the decisions you made that I am special. I am more special than the men before me who upheld this 'special' duty. I am even more special than King William the First. That is because I have a choice, that none of them were permitted to make.

I have the choice to either end the curse forever or continue it for an eternity.

And that is what makes it exciting, mother. I realize that my dream since childhood was not simply fulfilling my tasks and receiving a son, it was to be the greatest man who ever existed.

Because of this newfound specialness, I am much greater than all of my father and grandfathers. I am the greatest man alive. I am greater than the Devil. I am greater than God.

Tell me, mother, before I end my first journal entry: how shall your name be revealed to me in some time, as you said? You are gone now, and I regret not knowing your true name-

"Um... excuse me?"

Wilson Stevenson looked up from his dusty green journal and locked eyes with a student who approached his desk. Wilson blinked away his tears and forced a friendly smile on his face, after setting aside his quill pen.

The boy that stood in front of him was quite different from the rest of his students. It dawned on Wilson that he had never taught or seen this student during his one-hundred and eighty years of teaching.

The black-haired boy was as tall as Wilson, only it appeared that he was uncomfortable with his height. Upon further inspection, that boy was uncomfortable with everything about himself, from the way he fumbled with the sleeves of his black sweater to the way he shifted nervously. His windswept locks were matted and dull, and his thin lips were pressed into a resting frown. His skin was so pale it had a waxy appearance and at first, Wilson thought he was dead.

His black eyes caught Wilson's attention immediately. They were sullen and cast a downward gaze upon the black rose that rested beside Wilson's arm. They were almond-shaped, and within those wind-stirred orbs, it seemed he was shattered inside. Those eyes that peered at him were wide with helplessness, yet underneath the pool of darkness were unseeable violet hues glinting with fierce power.

He looked a lot like the Witch, Wilson could not help but realize.

"Oh hello, lad. My name is Mr. Stevenson," he greeted, smiling up at the boy. Could he be one of my marked? Perhaps, but that damn Devil hasn't told me who they are yet.