John watched the thief leave the building, the prison he rightfully belonged in. He wasn't sure what to do, something about the situation made him feel uneasy, uncomfortable. He wanted to understand. He knew that the thief leaving made him feel bad, and he knew that he didn't like the thief lying about John. And he knew that he didn't like the guard having a bad outlook on John.

But how was that different than him walking down the street and hearing people talk about his monstrous form? What made it different from the workers sitting around his building whispering to each other about the creature inside?

He didn't know.

He decided to take some time, to think about what had happened. He got up from his desk and locked his door, casting a spell to cover his building in a protective layer of space. It would not do to have his new building he took pride in be damaged while he was off contemplating.

And then John vanished, appearing in the empty space he found solace in. Surrounded by darkness, the faint lights of a few stars breaking up the black scenery. This was his home away from home, he always thought. As infrequently as he tended to use it, anyway.

More often since opening his building, he realized. He wondered why that was. What about being here with these humans made him need so many more breaks? He always had a firm grip over his self, this little corner of space being his to relax in when he felt good, or had some spare time.

And yet, here he was, for the second time in a short time, spending his time here contemplating his emotions. His state of mind. It was curious, to him. That these humans would have such an effect on him.

He had hoped they would matter to him, that was the point of opening his shop. He wanted to learn about them. Understand them a little better. Take a piece of them with him, immortalizing their short reign with his memory for eternity.

But this was more than he had expected. His emotions were in turmoil. Frustrations, anger. Unbridled fury plaguing his every thought as he sought interesting stories to learn about. He found himself unable to control it at times, the desire to destroy filling him. Pushing him to erase the feeble creatures from existence.

That wasn't what he wanted. He knew that, deep inside. Killing them wouldn't make him feel better, he wanted to be accepted. He wanted to be appreciated. And to see so clearly that people were lying, deceiving the populace into believing that he wasn't to be accepted hurt.

That was the difference, he realized. The people walking down the street were afraid of him. Mislead, perhaps. But this time was different. The thief knew they had lied to John. The thief knew they deserved to be imprisoned. And yet they lied, they lead the guard to believe John was full of malice and ill intent. And the guard's opinion of John would be influenced by this, without John ever having the ability to deny it. To disprove it.

It made him feel small, almost. A feeling he wasn't used to. People who had never met John would think less of him, simply because another had advised them to do so. Even if it were untruthful. And that hurt, he realized.

What could he do about that, though? It wasn't as though he could just go around telling everybody that he didn't mean to bring them harm. He couldn't blanket the town with the idea of his peaceful gesture. Was this something he just had to live with?

Did the humans do this to each other, even? Speak ill of one another when they weren't listening? Did they just allow it to happen, accepting it as a necessary evil? It was surprising to him, to think they could handle that amount of pressure.

To know that somebody else would hate you, for no practical reason, simply because another person lied to them about you. And then to not feel bothered by that. To not be overwhelmed with frustration. It was difficult for John. But another thing the humans did that he would just have to accept.

Perhaps he would just need to focus on who he knew, the people who came to see him. Though, the thief was one who came to see him as well. Did John overreact to the lie, he wondered. The thief was a thief, attacking John. But from the human's perspective, perhaps a lie wouldn't be considered a direct attack.

From the thief's perspective, perhaps they truly never did attack John. Thrown into prison for a silly story would be frustrating as well, he thought. It was difficult to accept, remembering the pain the thief put him through. But he had to, he thought. He was there to understand them, to learn about them.

There were many things about the humans that he envied. Things he admired. Their ability to adapt, to change and grow. But there would be things he didn't like, as well. Their greed, and deceit. The insatiable hunger for power. These were things he would have to accept too, he thought.

This was what made them human. If you took away all of the bad, you would be left with but a shell of their former greatness. Their will and desires, removed. They wouldn't be human were it not for their individuality. And he appreciated that, he found. That each of them is so different means he has many stories to learn from.

A painful experience, without question. Both physically, and mentally. But he had quelled the turmoil raging inside of him, he understood better now. The thief was evil to John, and yet not evil to others. From one's perspective, the thief was a thief, attacking an innocent owner to take what was not theirs. But from another, the owner was a horrible monster, defying logic and acting above their station.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

He could understand the thief, though he did not like them.

John's view shifted, as the black space he floated through was replaced with his bookstore. Each book was right where he left it, not a speck of dust out of place. He unlocked his door and removed the spacial barrier he had put up, looking outside.

It seemed different, he thought. The street looked cleaner. The buildings may have changed too, he thought. Though he never much cared for the surrounding buildings, his awareness rarely covered them, and even less frequently was his focus on them when it did.

His building was still the same, and that was what mattered to him. He took in the sights, the black and white patterns bringing him back to the mindset of a bookstore owner. Somehow managing to instill in him the peace and tranquillity he found himself in while he helped customers.

He took a walk down the street, wanting to find the furniture store he frequented. The streets seemed busier than he remembered. Perhaps there was an event going on, and travellers were coming to visit? He wasn't sure, but he continued on as he ignored the stares and remarks of even more people than he was used to.

It didn't bother him as much now, he found. They would make their own opinions of him, but they didn't matter. He would live his life and do as he wished, and there would be those who would respect it. He already had several customers coming back, and he would have even more in the future. People who would appreciate him and what he had to offer.

Though, he wondered how long it had been since he was last open. Would any of the humans he helped be around anymore? The Vampire, he supposed, were she not to have been killed somewhere along the line. A thought that irked him, somehow. He still wasn't sure why that bothered him as much as it did.

He had thought about it a few times now, and nothing seemed to make sense to him. The merchant he met didn't inspire the same feeling. If he were to die, John didn't feel like he would be upset. There shouldn't be a difference between them, John thought. And yet there was some strange pull to the girl that wasn't there for any other. It made him uncomfortable, and yet he didn't think he would ever truly understand it. Something inside him just seemed so confident of that whenever it came up.

John arrived at the furniture store. Rolenda's Works, the sign said. John wasn't here for anything, however, so he turned around and headed back to his store. There were things he needed to get for his building, things that the furniture store may even have. But today was not the day for that, he didn't think.

He had just arrived back here, and he wanted to help a customer. The walk was pleasant, and he enjoyed seeing how much less the people bothered him now. But there was nothing more enjoyable than a good story from an interesting customer.

There was somebody waiting outside his store when he got back. An older woman, leaning on a cane.

"Hello," John said to her.

"Oh hi there, you must be John?" The woman asked, her voice soft.

"Yes, you want books?"

"Oh my yes, I would love a book from you."

John opened the door and led the woman inside, then sat down at his desk.

The woman approached John, "I heard a lot about you growing up. A big ugly monster who will eat your soul if you don't behave, Dad always said." She laughed, "He never seemed serious about it though. I think he liked you even, said you helped him learn how to knit."

John thought about it, and there was a man who had wanted a book about knitting. He nodded his head.

"You must not be much of a knitter then because he never managed to make anything functional. Lots of misshapen blankets though." She said with a chuckle. "Gramps met you too I heard. I never really knew him though, he passed while I was still very young."

The man John gave a gift to? To think that both of those customers were speaking of the same child. The woman looked quite old now for a human, too. He wondered how long he had spent working through his emotions.

"I walk down this street every day just to keep these old bones moving a bit. I never expected to see your store seem so... present, again. What a surprise. I'm glad I finally got to meet you."

Glad to meet him? A pleasant thought, John felt. That somebody would appreciate the opportunity to meet him. It filled him with joy.

"I guess I'll buy a book of my own too, keep the family tradition going, right?" She smiled. "Something fun, maybe?"

John waved his hand, filling the bookshelf near him with books of humour and fantasy. The woman pulled a book out at random and brought it to John's desk.

"No point wasting time picking when you've already done that for me, right?" She smiled, placing the book down in front of John. A supervillain who falls in love at a laundromat. Not horrible, John thought.

"Mum ended up leaving when I grew up. Said she wanted to get back to adventuring again and then never came back. I don't hold it against her, I think she would've come back if she could. She didn't resent me, I don't think anyway. Probably bit off more than she could chew, maybe made some mistakes after so many years of stagnation. Dad passed away a few years later. A work accident, apparently. They wouldn't tell me the specifics even to this day.

"I resent them a little for that. I think I deserve to know the specifics. But he was getting very successful towards the end of his days, taking on more expensive jobs from more influential people. Guess he too bit off more than he could chew. It's why I've always stuck to the town. People say you can live forever if you get to a high enough level but I've lived a good life. And I'm still around for a while too.

"I wanted to, when I was younger. Mum would share her stories, and I always wished to go see the sights for myself. But then the reality hits you. It's dangerous, and there's no guarantee you make it anyway. There's safety here in town. More than outside at least. And I guess I'm just content with that now. A nice story, a cup of tea and a walk through town to say hello to some old friends is enough for me.

"Well, thanks for the book, John. It was nice meeting you after so many years." She smiled at John and left with her book.

He wondered why the woman didn't just work on her classes in a safer manner. Humans lived long enough to get to a higher level even without the risk of danger. Perhaps they just didn't have the resources necessary, or the knowledge to do so? It seemed as though she wished for a longer life, but didn't want the risk that came with acquiring that through her own power.

But could she not have taken a healing class and levelled safely within the town for her life? Could she not have taken on a cleaning class and kept the town clean? Even just level one hundred should extend your life by a substantial amount.

Or perhaps she did, and it had just been much longer than John had thought. He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter either way. She seemed content with her life and John was happy for her.