He is pretending to be asleep in the large bed with the dark covers threatening to fall down to the floor at any moment. I know he's not sleeping. He can't sleep when someone is moving around too much in the same room he is lying in. It seems as if he's never been able to sleep properly without first exhausting himself completely, and then only for a short while. I know why he wakes when a shadow passes through the room. Knowing makes it difficult to even watch him like this; it makes me think of all the horrible things that have happened to my lovely demented angel. All the things that make him want to run away and hide from the world, throwing him into another adventure, another alias, and another life. His closet is evidence of it. He keeps so much of what he has pretended to be. The robes of a priest hang next to an old, purple jester's outfit. I believe the hat is somewhere above me, hidden away safely with all the other hats worthy of a place in his memory. Then there is that Nazi uniform. I have difficulties believing half of what they say about those men when I know that Kalki was right there, among them. One of them. He is too good to have mixed with such people it seems. Maybe I am more naïve than I thought.

If I look around carefully enough I am sure that I will find that outfit that would put fear in any elf who knows its history. I think he even kept the armor. He simply can't have thrown it away. I think I saw the deep blue cape once, while looking in the darkest corners of his closets. It had holes that he had not bothered to fix. Old holes made by arrows. I don't know what kind of people would do that to someone who could have been perfect. I don't think I want to know. I suppose I do know why they did it though. He told me about that time, long time ago when he wanted to tell me about all the horrible things he had done in his life. Testing me, wanting to see how much truth I could handle before I rejected him. Possibly even to see if I would still want his body after rejecting the person within. He told me about that life, told me all the details he could remember. Yet, where elves see a monster I see a thoroughly miserable man trying to build himself a new life, only to find that it was being built for him, yet again.

Ah, yes, there is the long, black robe he wore when I first met him. It is far less dusty now, it was grey rather than black back then, but aside from cleaning it he doesn't seem to have altered it. It seems that the memory connected with it is special enough for it to have been honored with a special place, next to the jester's outfit and a white shirt with pale green broidery, the origin of which I can't quite place. A dress hangs close to it, and I know that it must have been Hel's. I must admit that I am jealous of her, the only one who has managed to entice the wandering spirit through all of his life. The only one who he ever considered to marry. I meet her every now and then and I can never see what is so special about her, though Lord knows I try. All I see is the wounded little dove in a golden cage her family has made for her, one which she happily accepts. Yes, I know, she has reasons for her silence, for her ever constant change between laughter and tears. I don't blame her, far from it. I just do not see how she can keep someone of such an unpredictable nature with her for hundreds of years.

They share a childhood, I know, but all the same. He shares his childhood with Cain, and far more blood, and they can't even be in the same room as the other without hurling insults at each other. Or rather, Cain at Kalki. Kalki always ends up reduced to a whipping boy whenever he returns to the place where he spent most of his childhood. He returns to someone that he used to be, and he seems to take some sort of twisted pride in doing so. Pride in being the innocent victim, feeling the pain all over again, and to just take it. Sometimes I think he seeks that kind of pain, and sometimes I fear he actually believes that he deserves that pain. Those times I wish I was like Hel, that I would know what he needed and what I could do to make him feel loved all over again, as if it was for the first time. How to make him feel as if he was the perfect angel he could be.

I close the closet, not wanting to see any more of what he feels he needs to remember. I walk over to him and kneel down by the bed. He looks at me with his tired grey eyes, silently asking me if there was something I wanted. If there is something he can do for me.

"I love you," I whisper and stroke his black hair, "I really do."

He smiles a jaded smile which tells me that he has heard all of that a thousand times before, and it lost its meaning to him a very long time ago. I wish I could be all that Hel is to him, because while I can't see why he loves her after all these years I really don't see why he bothered with me in the first place.