SOMETHING ALWAYS BRINGS ME BACK TO YOU, IT'S ALMOST LIKE GRAVITY | P, SPECTRE

[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=none; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; width: 370px;font-size:8pt;line-height: 130%;][justify]Nighttales could be found by his piano, fore-paws briefly brushing each ivory key, drawing a tender tune from the instrument. His heterochromatic orbs briefly graced each music sheet, examining the manuscript from time to time. Sinking into the sound of the piano alone always came with relative ease to the Commander, given that it was perhaps one of the only elements of his childhood, that had ultimately remained the same. Despite, what he would have expected to have resented, was something that he had immediately welcomed and kept in his life: the piano. The instrument that he had forced himself to play as a child. The instrument that had been a source of comfort, after it all; after the chaos. Yet, despite something that would have otherwise served as a grim reminder, Nighttales found himself entirely at peace, when he played.

[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=none; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; width: 370px;font-size:8pt;line-height: 130%;][justify]'Ni.' A familiar voice resounded with his name: his nickname. The one given to him, precisely, by Spectre. His fiancee. The voice having belonged to the individual he was getting married to. He had heard her voice time and time again, as most couples would, and still hadn't found himself tired of it. They weren't an old married couple, even if Nighttales.. actually, for once, somewhat looked forward to the prospect of a lengthy future.

The future. That concept alone was harrowing to think of, now and then. Nighttales was intending to last. He wasn't planning on giving way, anytime soon. He wasn't planning on allowing for Demios to eventually unravel, entwine herself around him, and drag him in the abyss' depths. That wasn't happening anytime soon, if he could help it, but exchanging mental blows with the chain became troublesome at times - what had happened on the docks that day, the blood which had skimmed his parted jaws and scattered against wooden planks, had been the result of one of the battles that he had won.

Losing wasn't an option, after all. Losing meant complete defeat. Losing equated to the abyss. Nighttales wasn't going to lose.

"Hm?" The Commander blinked, gaze shifting towards the femme, as he retracted his fore-paws from the piano. He'd pause, shuffling aside, and eventually placing himself upon the ground, having descended from the stool he had been seated upon. "What is it, Spec?" He paused for a moment, before eventually realising that now.. He probably couldn't avoid the question. He probably couldn't continue to hide things from her. He knew that much. Were she simply approaching for the sake of a usual question, then she likely would have left him to finish. Instead, she seemed gravely serious. "I guess you want to talk now, then, right?"

[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=none; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; width: 370px;font-size:8pt;line-height: 130%;][justify]Spec was oblivious, for the most-part. Nighttales had been pretty sure that she couldn't have possibly picked up on his.. issues. He wouldn't go as far as calling them issues - it wasn't really a problem. Not one that he couldn't handle with ease, anyhow. He could handle it. He could handle it. He could, definitely, handle it. However, Spectre was becoming worried. He hadn't realised it - perhaps, he had been the oblivious one, this time around: but it had gradually eaten away at her, hadn't it? His deceptive demeanour. It wasn't going to change. Not for most, anyhow. Though.. For Spectre. For his fiancee, he could drop the act, once in a while.

As she asked him as to whether he was sick, he'd reassure her with a small smile, before continuing with a rather airy sigh. "I'm not sick." He'd return, again. "It isn't.. like that." He'd pause for a moment or so, contemplating whether or not to continue, before finally deciding that he wouldn't allow for this to worry Spectre, any longer. Perhaps, she'd be worried either way - she had a kind, tender heart, like that. However, keeping it from her.. Leaving her in the dark.. He knew that she didn't enjoy that - being left knowing nothing. He knew that if he died, then Spectre would feel worse, having no idea as to what had killed him, and as to where he had gone.

"Do you remember when I told you that I killed my mother?" He'd add - it was a strange phrase.. This secret, that he had kept close to him for so long, leaving his throat again. Nighttales didn't talk about himself. He never did. He didn't enjoy it. He didn't need to. However, talking about it with Spectre - it was.. relieving, perhaps? It was almost as if a burden was gradually alleviated.. And that he wouldn't have to bother pondering as to whether she'd think ill of him, or tell someone else. She.. wasn't like that. Even if he deserved to be despised, for keeping things from her for so long, he knew that she wasn't cruel, or judgmental, and that he could put his undoubted trust in her. "Did I tell you about Demios, at the time? In.. detail, anyway?"

[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=none; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; width: 370px;font-size:8pt;line-height: 130%;][justify]"Truly." Nighttales would resound in response, a small, though perhaps somewhat heavy smile, traipsing his jaws. His heterochromatic orbs would settle on her own for a few moments, before skimming the ground, and a slight, somewhat saccharine sigh slid by his parted maw. "In a way, I wish I was." He wish he was just.. ill. He wished that he hadn't.. messed everything up, back then. An illness wouldn't have strangled Curt to near-death, after all. An illness wouldn't threaten him with an eternal limbo, and instead, with a content and empty demise. An illness.. could be fixable, right? And even if it were.. the only one suffering, would be him?

No: that was a lie. Were it an illness.. He was sure that even then, Spectre would be concerned. Of course she would be. The situations differed, but her feelings were, somehow, unyielding. A part of him only wished that he didn't have to worry her, like this.. Because, her life deserved to be that consisting of something relatively.. care-free. She should be able to cook her vegetable cupcakes and god-knows what else, without having to ponder over whether he was taking care of himself, or not. She hadn't asked to have been plagued with worries, and doubts, and the struggle of not knowing the whole story, or the possible struggle that she would face when she did.

"Demios, she's.." Nighttales paused, feeling his insides churn at the mention of her name: not because he feared her, and not because he was irate at the mention of her presence, but because she physically rattled within him, dowsing within with something that wasn't quite pain, but an uncanny twisting, instead. He raised a fore-paw, briefly clutching his chest. He was going to be honest, here. He was going to tell Spectre the truth. Perhaps, it wasn't only Demios, drawing his insides to shift within, but also, his perplexing will to explain everything, alongside a logical hesitance that held him back, and drew him to take idle pauses between.

"She's my chain." Did Spectre know.. what a chain was, exactly? "A chain is an entity from a place called the Abyss. It's not really the same as the heat haze, but it's.. a form of limbo, I suppose. People used to call it a 'prison', of sorts." In truth, it was far more than that, but not a single individual truly understood the place. He had to ponder as to whether the very will itself happened to comprehend its peculiar labyrinths. "I'm her contractor. I contracted with her, before I killed my mother. And now she lives inside of me." Nighttales paused, momentarily. "She can grant me power, if I need it. She can do things for me. But, she can also break me. Her existence gives me a time-limit, and she's slowly draining my life from me, Spectre."

The silence lingered for a few moments, and he'd resound with a slight sigh, allowing a small smile to illuminate his solemn features. "Sorry, Spec." Nighttales would add. "You shouldn't trouble yourself with it, alright? I can handle it." He'd assure her, though he was gradually beginning to doubt just how exactly his words could, in any way, sound remotely reassuring.