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The Demon's Betrothed

Her beauty and darkness were always for him

By Dani BananiPublished about a year ago 10 min read
2

I have spent my days lamenting, moaning like the chain-ridden ghosts in the halls of the abandoned jails of centuries past. I, the soulless demon of the Underworld, King of Horrors and all that disputes the nauseating comfort of what humans describe as contentment, happiness, and love. I have spent my time mourning and loathing myself for my existence. It has been exactly like what human teenagers go through, what they call "puberty," how they react so outrageously...they find every inconvenience to be life-altering. Though my longing has not been for useless purpose; no, my anguish has proven the existence of a heart somewhere deep in the abscesses where my soul might have survived had I not been betrayed by humanity. Banished to these depths by the witches, eternally damned to rule and torture with great pleasure.

I have basked in the glory of it, until I saw her.

She, my dark Goddess stranded on the cruel outer layer of the Earth.

Seeing her was as sorrowful as the first moment my soul, my human life were ripped from my chest. Yet she was charming like a black rose lying alone atop a freshly occupied coffin, enchanting like the galactic color scheme of the Milky Way.

She had no idea the power she had over me, nor any idea of my existence. Many have names for who or what I am, and she is aware of these names and ideas, but of my true figure that breathes, lives, and creates the greatest darkness to ever plague her world? She knows not a whisper.

It would be against every expectation, every bit of my nature as Ruler of the Dark Planes to seek her and bring her to my world. I am cast out from existence on Earth's surface. It is much like that Shakespearean piece in which it seems that togetherness is impossible. The youthful couple who suffer the loss of love. I cannot go to her. She could come to me, but how would one as mercilessly evil as myself persuade such grace and beauty to appreciate torment with one who cannot possibly feel true love?

Somehow, I still felt that I must do my best to construct a successful plan to unite with the one who I felt certain has been destined to rule by my side. Something about her, unable to be described by any of the languages of the Earth that I can speak, feels created specifically for me. It is a test of my willpower, and I had yet to discover anything that could create this reaction in me.

There have never been rules on having a Queen of Fire and Endlessness, yet there would be backlash. Oh, yes, the backlash from the hierarchy of demons beneath me, those who would feel entitled to the right as my ruling partner. Not a soul-holder like my beloved one above.

By Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash

Held captive by personal choice in my chambers, the black walls a comfort to my agony, I closed my eyes to see what pointless little human activities had drawn her attention for the time being. I knew the torment I'd suffer from viewing her would be worth the glory my eyes will behold in taking in her artistic perfection.

She was back at the old cemetery by the pond, the evening bringing fog with it that rolled, coiled like snakes with intent to kill across the still, shadowy water. Her dark brown eyes scanned the movement with a silent and pleasant smile that I admired, causing me to feel what I believed must be some sort of reaction that humans experience when their hearts witness their intended ones. Those sensations had been long forgotten, yet they managed to stir once again with the revelation of every movement her frail body made. I could see in her hands that barely poked out from her long, black sleeves of her hooded top that she carried her beloved journal. She liked to write at the cemetery, I had noted, and often she would choose to do so when life had become overwhelming. As if death itself were the only peace she could find when her turmoils ruled her heart like the bitter storms of the sea. I experienced a small flicker of irritation that she might be in her safe place due to a poor experience with other humans.

I recalled the time I witnessed her ex-husband try to run her over with a car. The rage that filled my essence had grown so powerful, I had blown rains of fire over the underground lands I reign supreme for hours. After sending well-trained fighter demons to create chaos for his attempt on her life, I closed my eyes again to see her quivering near the edge of the foggy waters as she opened the journal. It seemed her human emotions worked out best when she could write about it. There was an odd comfort she displayed that reminded me of human times when I watched her consider her writings. She would cock her head to the side, allowing her dark brown curls to cascade down her arm as her left hand lifted the pen to her curvaceous lips to absentmindedly chew.

By Shyam on Unsplash

The sky was darkening but she was not phased by this. She took her favorite seat near the grave of a man I had the pleasure of punishing for many years now and clipped a silly thing with a light on the edge of her glasses. What a precious little soul she was, so dedicated to her word-smithing, and I felt my chest heave with delight as her pen began to scribble upon the first available blank page.

Unable to help myself, I sent my clairvoyant view closer to her journal, wanting to understand what she was feeling.

I feel empty here, which is nothing new. I have done everything to fit in and feel like I belong. I've always felt so cliche being the girl who would rather sit in a cemetery than drink beers at the bonfire. If I tell people, I'm some kind of commodity to be won. There aren't many like me around here and it makes all these men feel so entitled to me. It's...disgusting.

I was having such a good time for a change. Randy was making me laugh. I like it when a guy makes me laugh. The fire wasn't blowing a ton of smoke in my face either, and I was talking normally. I was thinking maybe I finally got my way into a group and wasn't going to feel like an outcast all the time. Maybe for once I wouldn't be so scared to talk. Everyone can talk, why can't I just do that?

Then Randy, smelling like beer, had to "fall on top of me" and force a kiss. Now everyone thinks I'm a whiny little bitch for running and crying. So here I am again, staring at the beauty of the water, surrounded by death and peace.

Maybe I'm not even a person. Maybe I'm something else.

She closed the book and gazed at the water again as my chest exploded in more fury, when my visions were clouded at once by the summoning noises of a fellow demonic force. With a deafening roar as I returned to reality, the demon retreated my quarters at once as I turned over the potentials in my head.

To bring her here, or to leave it be? She said it herself, she does not feel she belongs. Perhaps this is further proof.

Perhaps.

By Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

With little thoughts running through my devious mind, I sent my power through the vision to create the image I intended to present to her as myself. A human form based on my observations of her greatest desires. A ghostly image that would enchant her to her very death, so that I may catch her soul in the in-between world and encourage that she accompany me. It is only I who can keep her soul safe, unless she asks me to destroy it for her.

And, unfortunately, I needed her to ask me to do just that.

I heard her breath catch in her throat as she looked up and saw a ghostly male floating above the water of the pond. He was tall with dark, spiked hair and a full, dark brown beard. His piercingly dark brown eyes stared into her very soul as his large hand extended, beckoning her forward. I controlled the image to speak lovingly, yet divulge a command to her:

"Come to me. You belong to me."

She nodded and stood, dropping her journal and pen to the ground as her feet unwillingly took her to the edge of the pond. She mindlessly moved forward as I pulled the image I intended to take on for myself farther away. She waded through shallow waters until she reached the deepest part of the pond, when I snapped the image of myself beneath the surface and pulled her with him.

She did not struggle. She merely seemed to accept what was happening to her and allowed darkness to take her from the miserable life she had been leading for too long.

By Steve Halama on Unsplash

As life slipped away, I ceased the line of power to the image and altered myself to resemble the man and transitioned to the in-between of life and death. I dared not reveal my monstrous appearance until a trust of protection would strengthen our bond. There, a light shone behind me as I awaited her transition, creating an ominous shadow that I hoped she would not fear...but I would not have been displeased if she did.

When her soul arrived, she walked forward silently until she was face to face with me, those alluring lips mere inches from my own human mouth. Tilting her head as she did in life when writing, her hand reached up to caress my facial hair and gaze deeply into my eyes. When I reached back to touch her for the first time, flames ignited in both of our pupils which created some sort of new life, new awareness to my beloved's heart. I sensed a change in her that I adored more than any aspect of her I had adored prior to this moment. I had already changed her with a simple touch. I knew she was mine.

As the flames died, they were replaced with solid black filling what used to be circles of freshly dug earth surrounded by white. My dark queen.

And for the first time, she spoke to me the most beautiful words I had ever heard spoken:

"I was made for you, My Lord. Made for you to create, recreate, break, rebuild, and teach. My every hope, dream, and desire is to be the best lover and rule by your side in a manner that brings pride. To have you shaping my spiritual being is a blessing of the darkest fashion, to be your creation while providing the delights of punishment and torment as a single unit. In the spirit and glory of hell fires and horrors, I am prepared to serve by your side. I am prepared to feel the power of your destruction, to witness chaos like no other, to feel the wrath of it myself that may change and improve my inner being. I am yours, Dark One."

I cupped her cheek lovingly, her skin softer than I could have ever predicted through views alone.

"My darling, my weak little one, if we are to rule as one then you must be willing to receive exactly what you have just asked me for."

I paused for a moment, searching her black and blank expression for a reaction, and saw nothing. Felt nothing. I lifted my large palm where a flame ignited, prepared to consume her most precious of essences should she agree.

"You must let me destroy your soul."

By Samuele Giglio on Unsplash

She nodded knowingly and simply answered:

"Do it."

Horror
2

About the Creator

Dani Banani

I write through the passion I have for how much the world around me inspires me, and I create so the world inside me can be manifested.

Mom of 4, Birth Mom of 1, LGBTQIA+, I <3 Love.

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