Disclaimer: This, in case you couldn't figure it out, is a poem. It's done in blank verse *non-rhyming*. Well, for the most part, anyway. And the stanzas probably won't be all equal, and parts probably won't make sense, etc, etc. For all intents and purposes, let's just say I'm not Willy the Shake. And these chars don't belong to me, and probably never will. Although it'd be damn interesting to see what I'd do to... I mean, WITH them, neh? ^_~



To Meet You



I know I couldn't have been more than twelve,

when one day I happened across a book in my father's library,

it was bound all in rough leather, probably the skin of a demon,

and told a story of a war a thousand years ago.

I asked my father what this was,

and about a particular story of a strange young demon

who laid waste to many of our people,

and if the fugitive was still stalking the night.

He took the book away from me and closed it,

placing it back onto its shelf, something very much like dread

in his aged eyes. "That demon was a beastmaster, a terror

that still roams our troubled world."

I looked at my father, determination set into my face,

Then one day I shall hunt him down,

and see him pay for his sins,

for his crimes against our kind.

My father patted me on the head,

condescending, as if it were only a child's fancy,

"My little daughter, I would rather have you as a live

priestess than a martyred hero."

"If you ever see that demon, do not

speak to him - he will bewitch you.

His powers are deadly, something more than even we

dragons possess - he will kill you."

But even then I knew,

That I had to meet you.



During lessons at the temple,

teaching us to be well-educated priests and priestesses,

I was always happiest when it came time

for history.

We would study the war, and then more than ever,

I'd lose my thoughts in a daydream

of me as a holy warrior

slaying the foul demon Beast Master.

In all my books, the pictures were the same

of a man with an evil grin dressed all

in black as befitting one of his station

in life, straight black hair blowing in the wind.

In my mind, the foul creature stood no chance

against the holy might of the dragon priestess,

for she alone would free the world of his

wretched tyranny, rid them of his presence.

I was always snapped from my daydreams

by the striking of a heavy metal pointer

against my table, scattering my papers

and slamming my books shut.

"Miss Filia, are you daydreaming again?" my angry

teacher asked, "I told you to keep such

wayward thoughts out of your head

at least until you are done with class."

What the teacher could not understand,

Was that I knew

I had to meet you.



As a grown priestess, serving everyday in my

temple, I awaited prophecies and the like,

scrying into a fire, or reading ancient text,

secretly awaiting the day he would return.

I knew if that happened, I would stop him,

slay him, take penance for the souls of my

people which were so gleefully butchered,

until one day the prophecy came.

It told of looming destruction, and a struggle

between light and dark, and I knew then what

I'd known all along, only given a spark and I would

burn him to ashes, the dark Beast Master, I knew it was him.

So I set out to find companions, secretly

wanting to take the battle alone, but knowing

somewhere that Father was right

after all, but I still believed perhaps I could go alone.

Because somewhere deep inside, I knew

I had to meet you.



The day came at last, when I felt your

presence, dark and looming behind me in

that town, when the others ran out ahead

to the wasteland to find you.

How could they bring you into my sight?

A creature like you, a being of unimaginable

evil, yet they didn't seem to mind. And there you

sat across from me, smiling carelessly.

There you sat, Beast Master, slayer of dragons,

slayer of my people, nothing cruel or heartless

about you, and if I didn't know what you were,

I'd have mistaken you for a normal man.

A cheerful voice and playful eyes that never opened,

which only made me wonder, if given the

opportunity, would you be able to look me in the

eye, even after everything you've done?

Still the same straight hair from the books,

but not the sinister raven-wing black, rather

a deep shade of violet, further masking your

violent nature with kittenish looks.

How can you still smile at me, knowing

everything you've done, how a thousand or

more slaughtered dragons still cry out beyond

the grave for your blood, Beast Master?

And now more than ever, that's why

I had to meet you.



It's been thirty days since you first began

traveling with our party, through the desert,

then to my temple and beyond, setting out

on a fantastic journey, across this vast world.

You love to tease me, especially when it's

inappropriate, all the while, hiding behind

that disarming smile and cheerful voice,

trying to tempt me to pointless violence.

I have to stay calm, even when you say

horrible things to me, or betray your

comrades to the enemy, because I know

how you love to see me lose my temper.

You make me angry so often, that it can

sometimes cloud my judgement, especially

when nothing seems to bother you or make

you unhappy in the very least anytime.

And all this time I've wondered,

Why don't you just kill me? That's

what your kind does, isn't it? Demons

were made to kill us dragons, right?

But it doesn't seem to interest you in

the least, to butcher me, like so many

others. All you seem to care about

is following your orders, your mission.

Nothing else matters to you, does it? So

what if it's not what's right, or what makes

sense, just as long as you follow orders,

which are a mystery, wrapped in enigma.

How can I defeat you, Beast Master, when

you will make no move against me? Are

you just playing with me, when you tease

and pick at me and won't fight?

Sometimes I find myself trying to remember

what it was that I wanted to find you for,

now that I see you face to face, I wonder

if I ever really stood a chance at all.

But even now, I try to tell myself that

I had to meet you.





After the horrible battle, no Father, no other

dragons left in this world but me. All alone

now, my friends have moved on, and so has

he, the terrible demon Beast Master.

Even though it fights what I've seen in him,

the books were all right, such a cruel person

at times, but I still wonder if he noticed the

few times I blushed when he called my name.

It doesn't really matter now, does it? I'll never

see him again in my long life, nor any more of

my kind, and to think: the opportunity to slay

the beast in my hands and I didn't take it.

Why not? I pause to ask myself this almost

everyday when I awake from a fever dream

or when I get dressed in the morning, Why did

I not even try to avenge my people and kill him?

Was it because I feared him, or what he'd do

to me? Because I knew his power was horrible

and I'd fall, too? That's not the way a holy

warrior should act at all, is it?

Or maybe it's for an entirely different reason,

one that I'm too scared to admit even to myself,

because I'm afraid of what I feel sometimes, and

that I guess I got used to him after a while.

It pains me to think that maybe that was why

I had to meet you.



Even years later, now with an adopted infant

son, sometimes I feel my thoughts turning

back in time once again to him, and I begin

wondering what he's doing now.

Bringing pain and violence wherever he goes

now, I'm sure, having not changed in the least

from his time with me, and probably never

bothering to think on me, as I do him.

I wonder what my son will say when he's

older, a young man with wild green hair?

What will he say to his mother, who even as

a holy priestess befriended a monster?

And what would I say, if tomorrow that same

monster came knocking on our humble door,

smiling benignly to ask for the life of me or

my only son, even then would I deny him?

I hold my young child close and close my

eyes, smiling gently and realize that I would

never do that to him, and hope the day never

comes that he will face that demon.

But even now I am lonely and sometimes regret

that I had to meet you.



Several hundred years later, my son has grown

and left to live his own life now, and even so, I

do not age or grow old, for I am still far too

young for the sort of decay that plagues humans.

I interact with the people, everyday, talking with

the baker, arguing with the seamstress just down

the street, doing everyday things in the little town

that has sprung up around our old temple.

They have never thought it odd that I don't

grow old or age like they do, for I mostly keep to

myself, running my little pottery shop, closing at

night and locking the doors on them.

Even now, I look at the centuries old books from

my Father's library that I had saved long ago,

stopping occasionally to run my fingers over the

ink black hair in those pictures of the war.

Now at night more than ever, I look at a dark

velvet sky and it reminds me of a cloak that I

have not seen for several hundred years, and of

the face that belonged to its owner, still smiling.

I lay awake in bed, wondering if sometimes he

stops and thinks of me like I think of him, all

the while missing his eyes or the soft dark

sensation of his touch.

I don't know if it's only the solitude, isolation

driving me to miss such an awful demon, or if

I've always felt that way, and truly, I don't know

if I'd like the answer to that question.

And sometimes during the long nights, I wonder

why I had to meet you.



A thousand years gone by, and the humans technology

has advanced so fast, far beyond any of the Gods

or Demons magics that he or I used to practice,

not that they still believe in them anyway.

I know that I and my son still live on, and sometimes I

stop to wonder if he could still be out there,

stalking the night, the terrifying slayer of dragons,

the foul creature of darkness, the Beast Master.

Having abandoned the pottery shop years ago,

I now work in the ruins of the temple I once served

faithfully, only now as a simple tour guide, by day

I show the children on their school trips my old home.

At night I drive my small car to my small

apartment, perhaps to await a call from my son

or to read one of Father's ancient books and

recall the demon I tell stories of at the temple.

The children all seem so fascinated by his tale,

but I know their parents tell them it's make believe

when they're out of my sight, because sometimes

they act like what I tell them could never happen.

I wonder how many of those same children

when it's time for bed at night see a dark

shadow move across their room or under their

beds and cry to their mothers that he's there?

But sometimes, like today, it's important to

listen to those children, because one little girl in

particular seemed to like my stories of the

ancient war that I reveled in as a child.

The girl looked up at me with her huge blue

eyes, hope filling them, and clenched her fists,

"When I grow up, Miss Filia, I want to fight that

demon! I want to be the one who slays him!"

I smiled at her fondly, remembering the promise

I made my Father a thousand years ago, and patted

her blonde head, Now, little girl, you don't know

that demon, or how he acts either, do you?

He's about six feet tall, slender, with short dark

violet hair, and while he loves to hurt and destroy,

he also loves to laugh and smile, never opening

his eyes to see what he's done.

The girl looked up at me, puzzled for just a second,

"I met a man like that just three days ago, and he

was nice to me, too. He gave me a piece of candy

and a pet frog to take home with me."

I tried not to let the child see the emotion in my

eyes, because even then, I was not sure what I

was feeling, whether it was hatred or joy to know

that the demon was alive and in this town.

It was then I knew, just one more time,

I had to meet you.



So I went out late that night, wearing my favorite

white blouse and pink skirt, looking like nothing

more than a common twenty year old, hoping

that he'd be where I'd look.

For some reason, I decided to stop in at a pathetic,

run down excuse for a tavern, but I think these days

the humans call them 'bars', and they're nothing like

the ones I used to stop at with Lina and the others.

I went straight to the bar, hoping the burly men playing

billiards wouldn't notice me, or that the one who

looked like he'd perhaps had too much to drink was

involved with something else and would look past me.

The bartender was unkempt, but my eyes were focused

on the young man at the end of the bar with the familiar

dark violet hair that had his face turned away from me,

clad inconspicuously in a dark business suit.

I saw the familiar staff leaning against the bar and

almost laughed, disbelieving he still carried it in

this day and age, how out of place it looked, especially

in such a low-class establishment as this.

It didn't take long for the other patrons of the bar to pick

up on his odd looks or habits, either, as one came up to

him, giving him a light shove and almost knocking him

from his position on the bar stool.

Some humans just can't understand things that are

different, and this one was no exception, as he accused

him of being everything from a Communist (whatever

that is) to a Satanist, not guessing the real truth.

This warranted a small chuckle as he opened one eye and

looked at the surly man and his friends, the poor fools,

not knowing the suffering of my people, or the

rightful respect and fear that he deserved.

I was too busy watching this pitiful spectacle to

notice that one of the patrons had sidled up next

to me, perhaps hoping for a pretty date for the

evening, not realizing that I wasn't here for that.

Poor pitiful human drunkard, too bad he tried to lay

his grease stained hands on my body, and he must

have had regrets as I sent him flying into a wall

on the other side of the billiard tables.

Too bad for me as well, because now all the barflies

turned to look at me, the other horribly out of place

creature, who now had a red face and a golden,

pink bowed tail poking out from under her skirt.

This got his attention, too, as I watched him turn slowly

to face me from his stool, amidst the frightened and

angry chatter of the drunkards and barflies, as he opened

one slitted violet eye and surveyed me with it.

I saw him take the staff in his hand, ignoring all

the other drinkers who were now yelling at me

angrily, until I saw one out of the corner of my

eye, make a quick blow for my stomach.

I hit the filthy floor, listening to them chatter,

reasoning that it was alright to hit a woman if

she was a demon, like I surely was, but I looked over

to the now empty barstool where he'd sat moments ago.

I should have known he'd leave, and as I felt them

hit me over and over, the tears welled up in my eyes,

until I closed them, shutting out the horrid yells and

blows until both stopped abruptly.

I warily opened my eyes to see several scattered men

on the floor and one violet haired demon standing

triumphant over all of them, staff in hand, one eye

open, chuckling softly as he looked at me on the floor.

"All these years and you still can't take any better

care of yourself, can you?", he said mockingly, just

like he used to, all those centuries ago, before finally

offering a hand to me to help me off the floor.

I'd have to say then that I was definitely glad

that I had to meet you.





I drove you to my home, through the dark, empty

late night streets, knowing that if you wanted to,

you could kill me without a second thought right

now and no one would be the wiser.

But to be honest, I really didn't feel any fear then,

more like happiness to finally be reunited with

someone I'd known long ago, someone I'd

traveled and braved death itself with.

Even though it was impossibly late, I still

bothered to offer you tea, which you accepted with

all the grace of one in your station in life, sipping

delicately and still watching me from over the cup.

Revealing nothing on why you were here or when

you would leave, I offered you a place to stay for

the night, even though I'm sure your kind never

sleeps or needs to at any rate.

Smiling all the while, you accepted and claimed

the couch, even though it was something that would

definitely be beneath you, and promised that we

could talk more about "old times" in the morning.

So I changed into my nightshirt and came back out

to the living room to tell you goodnight, and of course

you laughed at my bedclothes and at the pink-bowed

golden tail that popped out from underneath them.

I sighed and went back to my own room, noting that

some things just never change and marveling at the

fact that the man I swore to kill as a child was now

laying on the couch, a welcome guest in my home.

As I pulled the covers up to my shoulders and

settled into my bed, I felt something warm and

dark slip around my shoulders and behind my

back, almost cradling me in its embrace.

I smiled and leaned back, remembering how

much I'd missed this touch, or your voice, no

matter how annoying it got to be, or how many

times I let you get away with insulting me.

And finally, I think I understand why

I had to meet you.



What need is there anymore for those like me,

In a world that's often so miserable to see?

There's not much pain left for me to bring,

humans do it themselves, the poor silly things,

They scurry about living their short little lives,

giving a demon everything he needs to survive,

Pain they cause themselves, hate, fear and anger,

with all the work they do, I needn't lift a finger.

So you can see, dear lady, I have time on my hands,

with nothing to do, so I travel distant lands.

In all the world, your pain is the most exquisite, dear,

I came partly to feel it, and so I came here.

Since I came, I thought that your pain would end,

but apparently, it's been replaced by an odd sort of kin.

You're no longer alone, so it no longer hurts you,

but just the same, you're afraid that I'll leave, too.

And partly I came because I too am lonely,

after so many years, you feel like you're the only

one left of your kind and that no one knows you,

but it's nice to have kin or a home to come back to.

I see your wide eyes, even in the dark, shining blue

and I see your lips move, smiling, too.

You lay a soft hand on my face to make sure I'm here

And suddenly I sense that you have no more fear.

"Why did you come back?", you softly ask,

"Why now, I thought you'd forgotten the past?"

I smile and move in closer to you,

whispering into your ear,

"Sore wa himitsu desu."

But the truth is,

I had to meet you, too.


Feedback: Sure, glad you asked! SailorN1@aol.com You'll be glad you did.