<span style="font-style: italic">Reflections in the mirror...<br/>You admire mine, I can see your eyes sliding across it, and they grow red with lust. Don't lie to me, Kai. You're not as good a liar as you'd like to think... Or I know you far too well.<br/>But you don't have one for my eyes to cling onto. Sad, is it not?</span><br/><br/>His eyes opened. Drawing a sharp breath into his lungs and releasing it back into the cold air of the room, feeling the muscles on his well-built chest stretch and compress his ribcage slowly, Kai's gaze wandered across the ceiling, devoid of any cobwebs or dust, for a mere moment, before locking on the glimmering glass of the chandelier, hanging from the middle. He focused on breathing, slowly and regularly - a luxury to draw his conscience off the dream, a sensation only accessible to him in this bag of flesh, blood and bone. And the memories slowly faded, from vivid brights into a faded black-and-white reflection of their true form.<br/><br/>Stupidities. He scoffed, rolling over and pushing himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face. The black curtain of silk it would have resembled, had he brushed it, sled to the side, parting in the middle, and quivered in his breath. Dammit, had he slept any longer, he would have been late, he thought as he slowly made his way out of his bed. His hands have undone the remaining buttons on the stained white shirt, and tossed it onto the floor, revealing the vest underneath that tightly hugged his form, just a bit paler than his skin. This was an important day, and he could in no way afford to be late! It was also the perfect time to dust off one of his best suits. As a man of wealth and prominent social standing, he was<span style="font-style: italic">expected</span>to be at Hotel Schiffmeister this evening. It would not only be a faux pas to not appear, but many could possibly begin to doubt him. He could not afford that. Their trust was compulsory to keep the funds flowing into his greedy pockets, which seemed to have no bottom at all.<br/><br/>Kai wanted it all. He wanted money, he wanted prestige, he wanted power and he wanted fame. He wanted women and cars, he wanted mansions and jewels, silver and gold, armies and firearms, maids and butlers... He laughed silently as he buttoned the dark silken shirt's buttons on his chest, and softly stacked its edges into his pants. His greed knew no bounds, just like his heretic personality knew no borders at committing atrocities. He wanted it all and he wanted to blow it all up.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">You're a madman. Why do you chase after material things so frantically?<br/>Won't you rather stay with me? I'm material in a sense, too.<br/>But I won't accept you if all you need me for is my body. You're as shallow as your sort gets, Kai.</span><br/><br/>He shook his head, running a brush through his smooth black hair, and shut his eyes tightly. Lena was a past matter, and he was acting like a fool to be tricked and fall head-to-heels for a witch. But he was young when that happened, and the young often make mistakes. Now, he was old. Almost ancient, he reminded himself, hands sliding over and under the dark burgundy tie in his hands, slithering through his fingers like a snake, a venomous serpent with a deceitful tongue. Pierced. He stuck a silver pin into it, adorned by a large black gem, set in a piece of unrefined, but beautiful silver, and for the last time he smoothed the tie with his hands, pressing it onto his chest before the black vest of his luxurious suit closed on it. So soft, softer than the crisp white petals of a rose, blooming in early spring. The white thread was yet to bind his hair, shortly before he'd slide his jacket, a deep black, on, and hide it with a long blazer and a dark red scarf, in colors matching to his tie. And to the little guise he allowed himself for today, the armband adorned by a black swastika.<br/><br/>Fooling mortals was so simple. At the very thought, his thin lips curled into a cruel smile. You put on a simple mask, and they fall for it before you'd say 'hell'. It was second nature for him to put on a socially positive mask to hide the black void beneath. The void that was his true nature, all-consuming in avarice.<br/><br/>And she was laughing at him from the mirror, the mirror in which the reflection of his face was missing - just a suit stood there, a perfectly tailored suit on a rather well-kept body, but it wasn't within the board of glass and a thin metal foil to reflect his form. She was laughing at him like crazy.<br/><br/>What on him was so ridiculous? He was an example citizen.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"> You crazy bastard. You're getting completely ridiculous. Playing house, eh? You have to resort to really desperate methods if someone doesn't allow you to rip people apart with your bare hands.</span><br/><br/>The voice, till now sweet, became biting and sharp. His smug smile shifted into a scowl of rage.<br/><br/>Lena. He would have done better if he let that woman burn on the stake, just like the usual practice in the dark ages was, instead of protecting her. He was acting stupid that he trusted her, even if only by a little bit. He thought he's gonna have fun, and there he was, a good few centuries later with an imprint of her presence on his mind, and eating away on his sanity. He saw her in every mirror and her voice was resonating in his mind. But that also meant that she was still alive...<br/>Damned witch. Were they truly immortal?<br/><br/>Yet, he found joy in having a part of her bound to him. He was never alone this way, even though her company was rotten and pitch black, and never, ever very pleasant. She was a woman without a heart.<br/>Was he becoming masochistic?<br/><br/>Chasing that sort of thoughts away, he put his black hat onto the top of his head, smoothing the scarf and flipping one of its ends over the other one, and he closed two out of four buttons on his long black coat, lined with the fur of a silver fox, as soft as feathers. Time to go. The hotel and the leader wouldn't wait for a single advocate.<br/><br/>The Heinkel's tires screeched on the snow as the car parked in front of the premises. He was the owner of this peculiar, yet luxurious vehicle - it wasn't a usual sight, since the company didn't focus on making cars, after all. And once again a smile was set on his face as he opened the door, holding a thin black walking cane in his leather-gloved hand. One would say he was too young for something like that - his face, without a single wrinkle, blemish, or imperfection, looked no older than thirty, even though in truth he was many times that age - but it only added him on class and appearance. With pitch black hair and eyes, he didn't look very Aryan, or even German at all, but he pulled off a believable act with his perfect accent and a made-up lineage that was flawless even in today's system's eyes.<br/><br/>He did greet the men by the door, for a moment taking off his hat, but the moment he entered the room, he grew pale in face, and his stomach was all of a sudden tied in a knot. He felt sick. The sensation was just that much stronger that he was in the form of a human, a form with senses and sensations so strong they could knock one off their feet were they unprepared. A presence that was outright torturing to him was filling all of the premise. A holy being, that much was clear to him, and a strong one at that. Strong enough to wipe the floor even with one at his level, which was far from ordinary - even restricted by his human form, he was formidable - and get rid of him for all eternity.<br/><br/>But then, upon walking through the crowd for a moment, he passed an eerily familiar face, a strangely familiar presence. Someone he knew he met before, hiding under the guise of a tall blonde with icy blue eyes. His lips twisted into a smirk once again - he recognized the dark aura, oozing from the demon's form, though concealed.<br/><br/>How many centuries have passed since they last met?<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">How long has it been, Asmodei?</span>The voice, silk-like, but with a sharp undertone like that of a snake's slither, would hear only he, the demon. Just like only he could see the crimson of his eyes, looking straight at him through the crowd from a few meters away. He slowly took off his hat and nonchalantly waved to Erlind with his hand.