The intoxicating smell of the epitemy of beauty; bloodred roses.
The high strung chime of the violin.
And the gentle hum of the man, taking his way to the front of the church.

Surpirisingly, though, this demon's skin did not burn nor bleed.

The cross set around his neck provided as protection, salvation, even. Yes. Harataiki was going to turn his ways. His desperate wish?
Death.
The immortal fool wanted eternal rest.

As he fell upon his knees, his forehead touched the ground in a bow; a prayer.
And nobody knew exactly what the man was saying.
He was alone in this church, in this abandoned, rundown church.

As he whispered his last Amen, he could feel as though menacing eyes had been set upon him.

Hara could feel the heat coming from his reddened eyes; the sadness and life pouring out of him.

The memories were coming back to him; the great loss and the misery filled him. His pride and sense of greatness was burning, and he felt it hard to even walk.

He saw the flashbacks; he felt the flashbacks.
He was standing there, cold, freezing rain.
His arm stuck through the one he had loved...
Then a laugh.
A fall.
A cry.

Then, nothing.

He remembered Alexial and Azrael. The king of hell himself, the satanist whom had caused this misery in the first place.

No.
It wasn't the devil.

It was he himself.
----

Hara looked down in a miserable way; he looked as if he were about to pass out; eyes red, skin pale, hair stuck to his forehead from the cold and brisk rain that had began earlier that day.

Freya...

"So... selfish." He muttered to himself in merely more than a whisper. "All of... th..em."

"Not selfish, just har headed, you damned idiot!"

Hara stood, his walking ceasing and breathing quiet. Memories, decisions...

To the old life? Or staw anew.
To the old life? Or staw anew.
To the old life? Or staw anew.
To the old life? Or staw anew.
To the old life? Or staw anew.

Hah. He scoffed.
Pointless rambling.

It was time.