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You will not admit to fearing him but you may admit to feeling something close. When you see him there, at night, just outside the window with the white curtains, you start to wonder, you start to make assumptions and you feel the anxiety rise. He, with the one eye that relays nothing but apathy and the covered eye that will always be a mystery, outside your window –no – your host's window; with that one eye; and that covered eye; the covered eye with the secrets, you start to wonder.

You have the power to destroy him with one swipe. But you don't because your mind becomes a slave to your curiosity every time he stands there, outside the window with the white curtains, the white curtains that are so thin and transparent; they are like ghosts guarding your host while he sleeps.

He usually arrives well past your host's bedtime, when your host is in his deepest sleep. Why? And how does he know? And yet you're relieved he does so because your host has little respect for you enough as it is.

But wait, you don't care, right? Your host, no matter how vile, serves a purpose and you don't care as long as your belly is full in the end. You represent everything that's not humanity. You don't do emotions; don't indulge; your patience is endless.

And yet, something stirs when he is out there; watching you; with that one unreadable eye and the other, covered eye. He does not convey lust, greed or envy like your host but –quite literally – nothing.

But why do you care? Why do you care? Why do you care? What is he to you that you should care? But you care. You care because your power is being underminded. You are a demon that eats souls; a demon that feels souls; taste them; swallow them; lets them sink within you so that, eventually, they become part of what you are. But this soul you can't even get within the very, very tips of your fingers.

Because you can't read it? That is pathetic. Why need to read it first? It's a soul just like any other souls and all you want is your belly filled.

You keep referring back to your host. How he is so damn transparent it's almost too easy. You skim, interpret, dissect, flip his soul upside down and downside up in your mind and he is completely and utterly transparent. Sometimes your host is just a fucking waste of time.

You never stop wondering where his demon is when he comes for these nightly visits. Washis demon cowering elsewhere while he watches you with the dead eye and that covered eye through the window with the white curtains? Did his demon join in with the taunting? Was it taunting? You refuse to call it that. You refuse to acknowledge the tremor in the depths of your belly.

So then why is it that you do nothing but stare back every single time? He is a child, even with that unblinking eye and that covered eye that stares and stares and stares.

You stay at your host's side. Protecting him? Putting him between you and the child that stares? Trying to read him before making a move? But you have yet to make a move. After all this time, after all this time.

His hand is braced on the side of the window. His feet are both firmly planted. There is no fear because his demon is there (of course his demon is there!). He can do what he does to you through that window with the white curtains while you're in here with your host who knows nothing.

But again, you refuse to acknowledge that he is doing anything to you. He is not! You grit your teeth, you stand up straight, you calmly adjust your glasses, you narrow your demon eyes and you stare back.

And so he stares and you stare and he continues to stare. Your eyes are angry (or is it annoyance? Challenging? Dismissive?). His is dead.

And he knows what you're telling him. Or at least, you think he knows. You'd rather it not be the case. Again, why do you care?

How is it possible that a human can go so long without blinking? You're just wondering that, you are just wondering.

If you closed the window, you can still see him through those thin, white curtains.

You have no time for this.

You move to leave.

You want to leave.

You grit your teeth, you stand up straight, you calmly adjust your glasses, you narrow your demon eyes. And you can't remember what you were going to do.

And then, through the window as the white curtain waves across his face, there is a –

- faint smile.

The smile becomes a grin, mischief flashes in that once dead eye and he lets himself fall backwards. A shadow is seen zipping across the window right after.

The game is done and you lose. Again. The Phantomhive child had his fun for the night. He will come back. You will lose again. And you hate to admit that you love it.