I sat crosslegged in the ethos, staring at a moonrise over the hills of the town of Ragmoth. The ethereal glow of the inhabitants' auras rose like heat waves from the ground.

I scratched my head around my horns. The strange protrusions were uncomfortable, still settling in. I remembered the last time I had sat there with Mephisto. I remembered falling asleep to the Cure singing, "Why can't I be more like you?" I had woken up in that spot of the astral realms, feeling a strange overhanging sadness and dissatisfaction.

"I wish I were more like you."

His stare revealed nothing, not even curiosity. He sat in silence, waiting for me to continue.

"You don't have to worry about longing to be something more. Never feeling like you are good enough, never feeling like there is more you should be doing."

He was silent for a few moments before he finally answered, staring into the glow of Ragmoth, "You're wrong about that. None of us escapes that." He twirled his pen nervously in his hand. "Not until we are all one, at least. And that moment is so brief, it's almost not even worth mentioning."

How strange life could be in retrospect. Now I was part demon, too, and I could understand the feelings Mephisto must have had when I told him I wished I could be more like him. It was something he must have longed and feared to hear. His ability to reveal nothing was astounding, because the feelings must have been boiling within him. He contained the humanity that I had leant him, he was both mesmerized by it and eternal enough to understand that it must be contained. Containment was the only option. Yet, to see me each night, to be fascinated by the freedom of my youth, my humanity, in comparison to his endless years, years stretching out so far as to have no context of length. Perhaps he was able to accept the fact by then that it would never be good enough.

But no. I knew that it never got easier. Knowing that the universe would implode and only for the briefest of moments would we all have that moment of complete peace, having no illusions, must have been the greatest burden to bear.

My new horns symbolized my inability to return to matters as they were. No more lies, no more illusions, no more delusions. That was why Mephisto worked so hard to maintain the search for happiness on earth by causing chaos in the hearts of its inhabitants. Because he knew that what they had was the best and worst thing they would ever have. They would get to make the most of it over and over again, life after brief life, a clean slate with an illusion to reach for. I think deep down he hoped if he taught us to reach for that illusion, that we would actually reach it someday, and even he would be saved from eternity.

So many things to think, so many things to just barely understand and be discontented with. It was hard to wake up sometimes, because humanity suddenly felt like an Eden to which I would never again be able to return to. Home would always be out of reach. This was what exile felt like.

This was Mephisto's curse, and now it was mine.