Hello again, my needy mortals,
It feels as though we have just spoken. Far be it from me to deny you the information you clearly so desperately hunger for. While I was told that this would be an advice column, it seems you are all far more keen on knowing personal details about yours truly. But, as I am never one to ever pass up the opportunity to bask in the glory of my own enormous ego, I shall soldier on and do as I can to answer your charmingly innocent, if prying, inquiries.
Dear Aon, will you describe what your world was like before it started to die? –Dominique
A fascinating question to ask, and one of a limitless breadth of scope. How would you describe Earth to me, should I ask? Where would you begin? Would you start with the topography, the culture, the animals, the skies themselves? It would take me volumes—and volumes have been written—to detail the nature of Under.
But, I believe I understand that which you are truly asking; how did it differ than
I will begin, then, by discussing that which has changed.
Weather. We have no weather. You have no concept of how disconcerting this can be. Once, storms raged our world. We suffered hurricanes, tornadoes, thunderstorms that you could not fathom. Oh, how I miss the thunderstorms. Oft, I would stand in awe in my estate and watch the lightning arc bright overhead, heedless of the rain that soaked me. But we had lost the mountains and oceans with which to generate such things. Now, the sky is empty. Devoid of clouds, of wind, of storms…of stars.
Our world has been without the stars, my dear Dominique. Once, they blazed overhead. Hours I could lose within my shattered mind, gazing up into their multitude. Their absence brings me a pain that I do not think you can understand.
The world is also now gone silent. Gone of chirping creatures, of the rustle of animals in the undergrowth. We have only now only our shattered beast-kin to keep us company. They do not make up for the rest.
I suppose, if I were to summarize, our world was once full. Full of souls, of horrors, of creatures. It was always moving. Death by the void is a slow, stagnant, emaciated thing. We have wasted away, these fifteen hundred years, to a world that is a sallow, pale, atrophied reflection of the glory that we once were.
I miss it dearly.
Dear Aon, what color are your eyes? –Nicola
Would you believe that I had to set down my pen, and go to the mirror to remove my mask to discover the answer to your question? I sat here at my desk for some good fifteen minutes, thinking I knew the answer, only to second-guess myself several times before going to the bathroom to confirm it.
The face I wear in flesh is foreign to me. I rarely see it.
They are a deep brown, my dear Nicola. So much so that you might think them black.
I suppose no one is surprised by this.
Dear Aon, what does the inside of your mask look like? –Nicola
Such a curious one we are, Nicola.
This answer is far less interesting than perhaps you think it will be.
It looks very much like the front, only concave, and in reverse.
I wish I had something in the way of a more clever retort than that, yet, sadly, I do not.
Dear Aon, what does it feel like to finally find someone you love? –Lauren
I feel terror the likes of which I cannot quite compare to any other that I have felt before. Terror for her and for what this may mean. It is a kind of pain that burns at me like one of the acids I have devised to remove flesh. It makes me agitated and I cannot sleep.
When I do finally drift away, my dreams are filled with nightmares of what may come of her. Of what she will do when another comes forward to steal her away from me. When she is tempted by a love that is kind, gentle, and practiced. Anyone who remains a far cry from the gargoyle who pens this letter to you now.
I worry for the wellness of another. I have never experienced this once before in my thousands of years.
Yet I find I feel more full, more at peace, than I have ever been.
I do think this may be what happiness is.
Dear Aon, if you could have any animal as a pet (from Earth), what would it be and what would you name it? –Layla
I have taken Earthen pets before. (And no, as amusing as it may be for you to imagine, they were not humans.) Your creatures are shockingly short-lived and are rather tragic in their brevity. But, for that reason, they make wonderful diversions. They are certainly less needy and far more companionable than the servants or masked creatures in my own house. And unfathomably preferable to those in any other.
I think perhaps I take them to stave off the press of the void, in my own small way. That their presence, in the absence of the creatures born by the Dreamers, may do some part to fill the silence. It, as I have said, does not last.
I had a cat, most recently. (Once more, this shall not come as a surprise to anyone.) I prefer felines above all others. They are relatively quiet, self-sustaining, unobtrusive, and I must admit I enjoy their haughty, spurious behavior. Even if they do have a pension for knocking my experiments off any smooth surface.
Dear Aon, you seem like the poster child for abusive partners—physically damaging, controlling, isolating…Have you ever considered therapy or a break from the day to day in order to learn some self-love? –Lara
I do think you have very much missed the “point,” my dear Lara. I am what I am, and what I shall ever be.
Partners I have taken in the past rarely last for more than one night. They seek me out in search of power, political favor, or most crudely, perhaps, to fulfill their need to boast. How am I to blame for teaching them the folly in their ways? I do not keep them by force. I do not take them by force.
Those who submit to me, do so of their own accord.
And once the lesson is learned, I release them.
It is that simple.
Do not blame me for their lessons hard-earned.
Perhaps you speak of Lydia when you accuse me of such controlling, isolating ways? Allow me to speak to that for a moment, if I may; she was a mortal girl. Creatures in Under are cruel and unkind, and she was a joyful, shining, delicious bauble to all. Shining in the dark waters of the deepest ocean like a minnow to every predator within a thousand miles.
All would have come to taste her flesh.
I did not wish to keep her as my ward for the sake of it. My proclivities are well known—if I wished to keep her as a pet, chained to my bedpost, I would have. But to do such a thing to a creature such as she would diminish her fire. She was too strong-willed, too fiery to withstand such a thing. (Although it would have been great fun while it lasted.)
You have learned what happened to her the moment I let her stray but for a moment, and I was by her side when they attacked.
As for taking a “break” and seeking some time for “self-love?” Unless you are making insinuations, I remind you, that is the strict purpose of our extended sleep within our crypt. But I think the damage to which you are referring is far, far beyond repair.
Dear Aon, I accidentally got blood on my favorite shirt. Any tips on removing it? –Keyo
Finally! Somewhere my expertise may be of some use.
I despise when this occurs. You would think it would not trouble me much, as I wear all black. But the sheen in the fabric becomes mottled, and the stain is still visible from my angle as it reflects the light differently. Others may not know the stain is there—but I do—ere go it is troublesome.
I do not generally perform the task of washing my own laundry, but I have heard that vinegar, when poured directly onto the offense, does wonders. I fear though that once it has dried, there is little to do to salvage it.
The House of Words once developed a chemical to help remove such things, but I fear it was still in testing. While it did remove the stain, it burned the fabric along with it putting a rather sizable hole in my favorite button-down.
C’est la vie.
I wish you all the best of luck and know that I hope it was not yours.
Dear Aon, when you punish/torture others, do you feel you’re subconsciously punishing yourself for your past poor choices? –Debra
As charming as that might be to envision, I do not believe so. I believe you are attempting to soften your mental envisioning of my acts by making them somewhat more sympathetic. I assure you that is not the case. Now, I am a madman, so perhaps there is some weight to the argument that I cannot see my actions for what they are. But when I torture, I do it for my own gratification or for the furtherance of my research.
Or, most rarely, for the gratification of the recipient. Ah, what a moment to savor, that is. Although those gems are few and far between…
I digress.
Dear Aon, What would you do if we threw you a humongous birthday party? Would you go? Even though we all don’t know how old you are or what day you were born we can still do it. What type of party would you want? Who would you invite? –Amy
I am oddly flattered.
I mean that truthfully.
You mortal women must be terribly bored and hard-pressed to find proper and suitable mates that you would spend such thought and attention on a creature such as I, trapped a world away from you.
Would I attend the party? Of course. I do love a good extravaganza thrown in my honor. Although the fact that we are trapped apart in other worlds would make it terribly difficult for me to attend. It is, as always, the thought that counts.
But in this theoretical party, what would I want? Something grand, of course. With music, and dancing. I do love to dance, though it is rare for me to indulge.
As for who I would invite? The House of Blood, and of Words, for I do not find them utterly repulsive. Just mostly so.
And all of you, of course.
Dear Aon, so far, what is your favorite way to torture someone? –Breezy
I am skilled at breaking a mind. More so than any who have ever lived. It is my most deft talent. My most practiced art.
I am so very pleased you asked. I suppose I have many methods I prefer.
Torture is often viewed and judged by its grandiose methods. The cages put about a man’s head filled with starved, diseased rats. The Rack. The Iron Maiden. The Brazen Bull is my favorite, most horrifying method of torture. But these are so…melodramatic. Meant to scare others more than they are to bring pain to the recipient. They are not meant to break. They are meant to terrify.
Therefore, they are lovely set pieces. They set the mood quite nicely, but I do not use them often. I prefer to keep things smaller. More personal. More painful.
Needles, fed underneath the skin in the right places, will bring more pain to a subject than any fiery poker may do. Poison, acids, put in the blood in the right doses, will inspire agony beyond what you could even dream.
But you must know what your subject fears, to truly destroy them. If fire terrifies them, hold them to the flame. If it is water, soak a rag over their face and pour water upon it to drown them upon dry land. If it is insects, let them lay eggs underneath their skin.
But above all, patience is required. Observation. A keen empathy for their suffering. Go too fast, and the mind will shut down. Too slow, and they will build a tolerance. Tempo, tempo, tempo.
I think, though, my favorite ploy, is to stitch their mouths shut. So that their very screams bring upon them more agony. It is debasing, it removes from them their ability to beg and plead. Nothing makes a soul feel more helpless than to be left mute and unable to even cry for help.
I suppose Amy no longer wishes to throw me that birthday party, hm?
Dear Aon, when was the last time you spent on Earth and is there anything you miss from there? –Becky
I was last on Earth I believe somewhere around the mid-1940s by your count. You were all engaged in a nasty war with each other at the time. Ugly business. I have caused my own incidents of such mayhem. Genocide is not unique to the human condition. I do not know if that will come as a comfort or a horror to you.
It was about then that I witnessed one of your moving pictures. Quite fantastical—I adored them. Maverick was quick to steal what he could to replicate the technology, and while we were successful, we lack the imagination inherent in your species to create anything quite as outlandish as your feature films.
How mortified Lyon was to see his kind portrayed as Dracula and Nosferatu. He was so very embarrassed, I could not stop laughing! Now, when the worlds align, I command Maverick to fetch every last piece of trite vampiric fiction that he can, merely to taunt the Priest. It is a glorious pastime, I must admit.
Mostly, though, I miss your food. While I must enjoy it in private, I admit I horde it for as long as I can before it goes to waste. Ice cream remains to date your single most amazing invention.
Dear Aon, could I ever convince you to drop Lydia and take me as your evil queen? I promise we are well matched. (Lol I can’t help myself.) –Mandy
Oh, my dear, wonderful, sinful Mandy…you truly are a wicked thing.
I love it.
Were there not a world between us, you would come to fear the shadows. For I would come for you, and we would find out precisely which of us would win this contest of wits and wills. Or, perhaps that is not quite accurate, for I think you would charge into the darkness headlong.
How utterly, utterly charming.
I pray for whatever mortal mate you decide to wreak your havoc upon.
Our world is sorely lacking for your presence. Perhaps the next time our worlds align, the Ancients will see fit to take someone of your clearly suitable…qualities.
I will say this:
Should you ever wake to find a black glass rose upon your pillowcase, I do advise you sincerely to run.
Dear Aon, if Lyd was in love with someone else, would you let her go? –Paislee
As much as it would pain me. As much as I would rail and sit in solitude for hundreds of years in my grief? Yes.
She is not my prisoner. She is not my slave, or my pet. She is not, as such things are outlawed in my world, even my bride.
I love her, more than the world itself.
If she would leave me for another…that is her right.
Indeed, it is how I foresee this all ending between us. For I was all she had known of our world. Despite my best intentions, she was my mortal ward. She knew only of me, of my limited version of kindness, and my infatuation with her. I seduced her, for I desired her, and knew she did the same.
But I am an unkind man. I am a monster, in the end. Someone wiser, more gentle, kinder, more skilled in the art of love, will steal her away from me. It is only a matter of time.
And when that day comes, I will let her go, if she wishes it.
I may just burn the world down instead.
And so, once more, my charmingly naïve mortals, I must say goodbye. I am sure this is not the last we shall speak. Until then, auf wiedersehen, darlings.
