Chaos' Love for Ajalu

The title is roughly translated into; CHAOS' LOVE FOR TRAGEDY Unable to love, to feel, or to touch Chaos was a ghostly figment of one's imagination. That of course is what they want you to think. Chaos is very much a physical embodiment. The twin of Death; Chaos is very powerful...keen to keep is emotions severed Chaos laughs at the face of love; and then Love curses him with a heart. This is the story of how the Angel of Chaos fell in love with a very human, yet very special girl. This is a short story. Very short.

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1. Hello, my name is...

 

 

 

Hello. You do not know me. You can not see me. But I am there. My name is Karcas. Twin of Death himself. I venture in and out of realities; yes there is more than one. Making my home in one murderer's mind and then another. I am the Angel or rather demon of Chaos.

 

I am old, millennium old. I was one of the favorites next to Death but without me, where would death be?

 

I cannot love, nor feel anything at all. I couldn't feel the burn of lava as it peeled nonexistent flesh from my body. Hence why you cannot see me. The years have muddled together. The many nights behind bars have tamed me; why you ask, did I not just escape the body in which I possessed? To put it simply for your muddy human brains; it isn't that easy. I would have to have a body ready to possess. Because of this, my tameness I have decreased in favoritism of the Dark One. No, not your foolish creation of an all powerful dark warlock, the Dark One, the One Who Fell; the One Who Loved Too Much. But I planned to stop my rapid decent into the shadows of the Dark One's affections. I have possessed a killer, that has not been caught in thirty five years. Mark White has been killing young boys since he was a young boy himself, and he has never stopped. I know how he thinks, what he feels; although I couldn't feel it for myself, and how he kills; would you like me to share that grisly information with you? Its gloriously morbid...even for me. No? Mind you this is my story, and any story I find worth the trouble to retell, much less manuscript by hand will not stop due to your lack of testicles, and skirmish tendencies. Mark White, lures the children to a secluded area of the house; yes he kills the children inside the home; he slices them slowly; enough to make them bleed; and then he rubs the wounds with salt before finally slicing their throats all the way around. If that was morbid and glorious enough; he paints a beautiful landscape; in blood of where to find the body of the child. He's a criminal genius if I do say so myself and not to be caught in thirty five years is quite the accomplishment. 

 

Although my dear cousin Death blended in with society, he had no social skills; well neither did I. Hence why I consumed the mind of murderers and not pre-Madonna's. Although neither would be the perfect choice for, how do you say, 'fitting in'. This is the story of the impossible becoming possible. This is the story of how I fell in love, but Karcas, you can't love, remember? That dear friend was before I pissed off the Angel of Love.

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