On A Personal Note

Look, I've been acting weird lately.

Been through a lot of shit in the past... week? Month?

Months. It's been months. Haven't been feeling my old, ornery self. Had to deal with a lot of one sided, ill informed communication. Conceptually, the worst day of my life up to this point, no hyperbole fucking necessary. Try getting twenty phone calls in a row without time to even take a shit in the middle of it. That was my day, and honestly, fuck anyone who says they can handle it.

Look, I'm the fucking number two of Sanctuary and I nearly blew a fucking gasket.

I was so mad that people around me nearly ended up dead. Which is saying something, since I consider myself considerably mellowed out over the years.

Definitely would have pissed Jack off, so.. Had to fold into myself a little before that fucking geyser erupted. Softened up a bit outwardly... Less yelling, more like I swallowed an entire jar of body glitter and chased it with a jar of Elmer's paste. Completely uncharacteristic, I know, but bear with me, there's a reason behind all of this.

I need to start feeling more like myself again.

So, let me tell you young bastards a new story.

Well a new, old story.

Back when my name used to begin with a P, and was a simpler time compared to our now more complex universe. I was, sort of suave? Bit more of an inexperienced asshole.

I had a planet sized fucking ego, a chip on my shoulder. Ready to take up a grander space of importance than possibly imaginable. Had ups and downs, hard time making friends because of the literal sharpness of my tongue.

Until I met a girl. Who always played by a tree. And without a damn break in her step, nearly made me lose my damn footing when I saw her. Breathtaking to the point that it made me nearly have a shit fit once she called me out on it.

It was me. Her. And my brother.

Playing. Having fun. Living life to the fullest. She loved to share. My brother that didn't like to share. And we never had a care in the world until it all fell apart.

A fuckton of an incredibly long time ago, I was tasked with watching over her... Well.

Getting too far ahead there. I was just there when she was growing up. My best friend.

Moved on to more than that. You could have called us anything and she'd just smile, that nice little fanged looking pointed smirk, and nod her head. Best friends. Lovers. Married. Every single time.

Just that.. soft nod and sharp smirk. Like she was proud to just be seen with me.

She grabbed my arm and took me with her everywhere. Showed me the beauty in the world, as much as I wanted to stay in my dark and fiery bubble, I couldn't help but start agreeing with her about how things really looked. The world above my station was truly something I could learn to understand.

I was a part of her world. And for once, I didn't need to be angry. Didn't need to emulate my family in their pursuit for... somewhat morally objectionable power to preserve the balance and their bloodline. The concept of good and evil didn't exactly exist as it does today. Let's call it..  the position for King of Hell. I was near the bottom of the field, like a ready draftee into the next hot seat at a Russian Roulette game.

I was a prince. She was the princess of the River Styx.

She said she liked me best. But that's because I ironically hated the arrogance of royalty more than I hated people. It made me.. in her words "A nice asshole." Never have I heard a better fucking set of words than the one she said to me that day.

Would you blame me for loving someone like that?

Because I fucking did. And she loved me. But then my brother was assigned her Guardian.

The new deal of our bloodline was that she moved forward and protected the tree. But mistakes were made, love was held for someone who shouldn't have been loved. And it went wrong, so horribly wrong. You aren't supposed to be in love with your Guardian, after all.

But that isn't where it went wrong. No. It was because of a big, bad wolf.

In one fell swoop, I lost my best friend. In my grief and resentment, in a sense, tore off what I considered my wings, my ability to fly, my heart full of love, and the notion to imagine what could have been. My brother went insane and threw himself into battles, bathed himself in blood to run away from his grief.

What was it that turned me into a Shadow of my former self?

Complex of course, like any story, and not mine to tell. But the broad strokes are ones that are forced on to a visage more lovely than I could ever imagine. When what happened when she was forced into a relationship for someone else's personal gain. She married into a pack of wolves. Her husband, fearful of her true value to others, locked her away in a tower, not out of love, but out of jealous and enraged insanity. In her defiant grief, she hung herself and died.

I failed to save my friend. Protect her, as I promised. 

But what could I do? Even after I infiltrated the tower, kept her as sane as possible, and even tried to help her escape, she chose to do this. To stay in the proverbial hell hole when I could just stand idly by, sitting on my fucking ass in disbelief.

I... blamed myself.

For her slipping from my fingers.  For feeling like I let go of the hand I had held on to for so long.

If you saw my other posts, I drank heavily, drowned my sorrows over guilt I could never bring myself to explain. It was what happened, that haunted me for as long as I close my eyes.

I cried, more than I had ever cried in my life. And all I could do was stand by her grave and watch as she came back. She said she forgave me for not being able to do anything. But how could I ever forgive myself?

I wanted to atone more than anything, to try and work through my own grief. So, I decided to make myself useful. To do the only thing I had truly been good at for my entire life.

I asked to be made her guardian in my brother's place. They couldn't find him among the bodies and the dust of the war long since past. And here I am, guarding every version of her I could manage to find. The latest one is only the recent in a series of lovely ladies that are an eternal, beloved pain in my ass.

Trying to atone for the sin of failing her in my original lifetime. In this one, many know her name. Know her ways. Know what she is capable of. Know who she is and how she runs her business.

Me? I see her as the first day I met her. My best friend. 

Someone who took the time out of her busy schedule to shoot the shit with me. Drank me under the table to prove that she could. Draped a blanket over me during long nights so I wouldn't catch the death of cold. Stopped the drinking at her request. Learning to.. be myself again.

I don't like telling this story to anyone. Nor will I ever really think about it in detail again.

I'll tell the rest some other time. But that's me.

Tag is a name she gave me, this time around. It's grown on me, but that's not the only reason I kept it.

I don't deserve my real name just yet. My job isn't done, and I can't go back home until I'm ready. Something in me is telling me that I have a larger purpose in life, and knowing that a fucking Seraph managed to show up at my door and not kill me is a lot bigger than what I expected.

As the title says, I'm sort of recovering and trying to get a bit more... personal with these entries. I may be a shadowy bastard, but... I'm only angry at the people who deserve it.

Let me sip this coffee and get back to you. If anything, maybe that Seraph is doing me a favor, looking after her while I'm stuck here. Smug little bastard. Maybe he's not half bad...

- From the desk of Section Chief Tag