3. Lucy #2
Harder.
My nose heats, a blunt burn high in my cavities. Something runs down my nostril, splattering on the floor.
Blood.
Father’s eyes glimmer. “Who is the city going to believe? A bitter young demon or a devil and hero to the city? The only person getting hurt here is you.” His voice is caramel and coal. Smarmy, sleek and full of the smug knowledge that he’s won.
There are days when I hate him more than life itself. When I’d rather carve my chest open and tear my crystalline heart from between my ribs and shatter it just to be free of him.
Hell, there would be no better vengeance than falling for a mortal and losing all my demonic power to them and ruining our family’s reputation.
And then there are days like today where reality settles and I cave to him, again.
He softens, that charm and charisma brightening his expression. He draws a gentle thumb under my nose and wipes the blood away.
“My bright, beautiful daughter, you are magnificent. This might be an inconvenience, but you are so capable. I just want to see you soar.” He beams, genuine pride moulding his features into the same father I remember as a young girl.
The one who would clap and cheer every time I’d bring him a scroll with gobbledygook words written on it, proclaiming I’d made another deal. Who still, to this day, has the first one I scrawled as a toddler framed above his desk.
The room shudders, the plaques on the walls tremble so violently that one of the lower ones drops to the floor and shatters.
I release him.
His eyes dart this way and that as if he’s expecting someone to be there.
“Tremors?” I whisper.
He nods, his eyes wide.
“How bad is it?”
He rubs at his thumb, his shoulders sagging. “I am concerned. Tomorrow, Arcadius is going to announce some changes, and the fact that we’re anticipating Veil tears throughout this academic year… It is… not good.”
I press my lips together. If he’s worried, then things must be much worse than the faculty are saying. Father shakes himself off and brushes down his shirt.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I say.
“There, was that so hard?” he says. “You’ll make a fantastic Head of House Inferos. I expect you to show your gratitude by doing the role justice.”
He bends to plant a kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Lucy, I hope you recognise that. Everything I do is for your benefit. I want you to understand that I make a lot of sacrifices for us. Even now, when you’re a fully grown demon. I do it to keep us safe and prospering.”
He leaves me in his office.
I have never felt more alone. More disconnected. He’s been there my entire life, and yet, not .
He’s a facade.
A mask of a parent.
When it pleases him, he’ll show others how good he is as a father.
But there’s more to parenting than ensuring I’m fed, watered, and educated.
I hate that I want his love. I hate that I crave being told I’ve done well or made him proud.
I want to gouge this yearning need for validation from my ribs because all the while I need it, I am not free.
I will never be free.
I know this, and yet I can’t break away. It’s a strange thing to love a parent who behaves like they hate you. There’s a part of him—deep down—that loves me. Or at least a part of him thinks he does. But he can’t see past his own selfish needs.
It’s fucked up. But what else can I do? I have no other parent, no other family.
My chin aches from the press of his fingers. I rub my jaw and pick up the fallen frame.
My fingers skim over the words; it’s signed by Professor Dregan. I wonder if his wife is okay. I can’t imagine having spent aeons with the same person only to have them die.
Omnia mors aequat, death renders all equal.
Death is an oddity. We’re here studying every facet of it, a few are even able to control some elements of it, and still, there comes a point where none of us can avoid it, not even the archdevil himself. Not forever. And yet, if we are all honest, that is exactly what we are here to do.
Avoid it.
Control it.
Tame it.
Make it our own.
Irrespective of whether you’re mortal, demonic or somewhere in between, we all obsess over death here.
It makes me wonder whether it’s really the mortals or us demons who are most afraid of death. We evade it for so long, live these luxuriously long lives that no one can take away, and yet, like every mortal I’ve encountered, it’s never enough.
We crave more.
I make a mental note to seek out the professor when he’s back from his trip and hope that I get a chance to say goodbye to Mrs Dregan. She was a real sweetie. She always interrupted his classes to bring him sandwiches and cookies from home. It was adorable.
I pop the frame back on the wall and make my way out of the tower. I need that wine and dance, and rumour has it there’s a pop-up rave in an old graveyard in the city.
I rush across the campus, its grey, gloomy mist lingering around every corner.
Even at the height of midday, fog often crawls along the campus’s cobbled streets and clings to the buildings like a cloak.
But tonight, it’s a pale, globulous shroud.
Even the ivy seems to tremble at what lurks in the dingy white cloud.
I find a carriage at the campus entrance.
“Take me to Lendon’s Cemetery across town,” I say and lean against the seat, grateful that despite this afternoon’s horrendous events, the night is not lost. I intend to drink myself into oblivion, and if I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll find a woman, or better yet, a masc dom who wants to play.