***Today, we meet Basil
I pondered what sweet smell could force me within the doors of a coffee chain. Seemed so below me. I mean, really, a Harvestor sipping on a latte? Not hardly.
I see souls everywhere I go. But to smell one? Not in my lifetime. But I haven't been around all that long. I've got a lot to learn.
The source of my draw sat in the back corner, a table beside the window, a perfect view to the park and the cathedral across the cobblestone walkway. Day after day I arrive, having harvested my quota of souls for the night, ready to pour them out from me as I write each memorized name in my blood, emptying their souls from my human form and into the pages of Nevermore, my collector's journal. The pen's needlepoint, which calls my blood forth for the release, is the one thing I can't get used to.
Well, it used to be the one thing. What am I supposed to do about vente white chocolate mocha with her extra shot? What am I supposed to do about these...what are these things? Feelings? Can't be. I'm a Harvestor. We don't have emotions, at least, so I was taught.***
Hmmm....this can't be a good thing...or can it?