Night One
I had always heard that a woman could teach even the devil a lesson. And now, it seems, you and I are going to prove that saying true.
You may be surprised when you read these pages someday. Let me tell you why these letters are addressed to you: because I lied to you, even though I want you to know the truth in the end.
By the time you read my confessions, I will be dead. And that is a good thing, because if you wish to take revenge on me, you will not find me.
Before anything else, I must say that I did not believe a single word you told me, and I do not think I will see you again tonight. What could you have expected? I was merely sitting on a stone platform, staring at flowers whose names I did not know. It was midnight, and when I heard you approaching, I was frightened. When you asked whether I was suffering because of you, I denied it. You may count that among my lies as well. Though I am certain you already knew that, despite my denials, you had frightened me.
But the fear did not last. It quickly gave way to playfulness, especially when you introduced yourself as Mephistopheles. I told you that I did not believe you were the devil, but you only laughed. I do not know how you realized that I did not have much time left to live, or how you knew I was waiting for death. Still, when you said you had an entertaining proposal for me, I realized that you, like me, were a liar. I do not know what you are hiding from me, but whatever it is, it does not matter. I have hidden far greater things from you.
Where did you hear that I was skilled in matters of love? I could see your face twist when I said there was no hope of my ever falling in love. You expected me to struggle with another kind of despair—to beg for my life, perhaps. But I only said there was no hope of falling in love, even though I wanted it more than anything. You did not believe me either, and I had to explain that desire to you several times.
In the end, you brought up that ridiculous proposal. You said that if I found love before my death, you would bring me back to life—and, in return, take that love away from me. You were astonished by how quickly I accepted. Perhaps you thought you had offered me something difficult, but that was not the case. If you truly possess such power, and I choose to believe your strange words, it still cannot hurt me. Either way, I will win this game: if I succeed, I will reach the death I desire; if I fail, I will find what I have been longing for.
So, as a devil, you are far too naïve, my friend. Believe me, I could be a better devil than you.
But let us move past these matters. Even now, as I write this confession, I feel foolish, though I intend to become even more so. You said that if I taught you about love, I would make your task easier. Of course, perhaps you did not say those exact words, but that was what I understood. You wanted to know what love looked like through my eyes, so that you could interfere with the pact we had made.
It is all right. I am not upset. In fact, I would be glad if you tried—even if the attempt amounted to cheating.
But I told you, “I cannot teach you love in one night.”
And here lies a not-so-small secret. This was where I told you my greatest lie. Do not waste your time trying to guess. Yes, I know how ridiculous I must have seemed when I said that learning about love would require fifteen sessions. It was obvious that I did not know what I was talking about, just as I do not know, even now, what I intend to say during those fifteen sessions.
But my deception lay elsewhere.
I want to try to fall in love with you over the course of these fifteen nights.
This is the greatest secret I am meant to carry until the final moment of my life. I know it is impossible, and I know that doing this with you is wrong, because you are a strange human being. Even if you refuse to accept your humanity, it makes no difference. The fact that you deny it only makes you more dangerous than you truly are.
But what does someone like me—someone with one foot in the grave—have to fear?
So I will try to fall in love with you: you, who call yourself a devil and who, at midnight, can casually decide to sit beside a stranger and invite him to listen to your words. Now that I have said this, I must make one more small confession.
Yes. For all your strangeness, you drew me toward you.
And I think that if you truly come again tonight, our story will become more exciting.
Still, I do not believe you will come, though I wish I were wrong.
