"For goodness sake, Rose, stop noodling around on that vile excuse for an instrument! Get over here and help us with these flowers! Your father's wedding won't plan itself!"

I rolled my eyes, continuing to strum away at the strings of my guitar that my grandmother had so courteously nicknamed 'that vile excuse for an instrument'. I hummed a tune, playing around with the harmonies and reveling in the way they melded with the birds and the wind and the leaves. I leaned back against the tree behind me and stretched out my long legs, bronzed from hours playing my guitar on the beach. Just a five minute walk from my small house in Key West, the beach was quiet and peaceful, perfect for getting away from life.

I'd spent the most time there after my mom died.

My father's new fiancée was nothing like my mother. My mom had been quiet, yet everything she did spoke a thousand words. Lucille (or my step-monster-to-be, as I liked to call her) was boisterous, and nearly everything that came out of her mouth was nonsense. Mom had been an artist in a million ways, on a canvas or an instrument or in a notebook. Lucille was a lawyer's secretary.

But despite my low opinion of Lucille, my father seemed at his best around her, as did she around him. So, for that, I accepted that they would be married. However, my acceptance did not warrant spending hours on a flower arrangement that would be wrecked in a day. I left that to my old-fashioned grandmother and my two aunts, all of whom thought that Lucille was 'such a sweetheart' and 'simply marvelous', unlike me, who was a disaster in all aspects; my sense of fashion was dreadful, my hair the most horrendous colour, and I wasted all my time on the "ghastly sounding device" that was my guitar. In simpler words, I was a sore disappointment.

I set my guitar down in front of me, rotating myself to lie down on the cool grass. My grandmother's summer home may have been a somber, empty place, but I had to admit that the vast stretches of land surrounding the property merited some credit. In the middle of the property was the house itself. Surrounding the house in all directions was about fifty metres of land, then a pond out the front of the house and a huge forest in the back. My twin brother, Alfie, was probably out exploring the forest with my father. Lucky for them, the only task they were obliged to do for the wedding was heavy lifting, most of which had been done the day before.

I sighed, and stood up, walking towards the pond. It was a clear blue, thanks to the beautiful, cloudless sky and the bright sunshine. I could see a few tiny bugs flitting around the surface of the pond, and some fish swishing their tails underwater. I slipped my shoes off and rustled through the tall grass surrounding the pond, stopping just at the edge. I dipped my toe in, and jerked it back almost immediately from its' sudden cold touch. The water rippled from the spot where my toe made contact and the bugs zipped away, panicking from the sudden wave that washed over their tiny bodies.

It really would've been quite a peaceful moment, if I hadn't fallen in.

Actually, it felt more like I was pushed in. But when came up to the surface of the water, coughing and sputtering, and looked around the perimeter of the pond, I saw nobody. So when my grandmother stormed over and started screaming at me for my clumsiness, I opted out of telling her that I could've sworn I felt someone's hands on my back pushing me in. I didn't need her to think any less of me than she already did.

I dragged myself out of the water, dripping and freezing. I rolled my eyes as she shrilled,

"Rose Sophia Williams, why can't you be more like sweet Lucille? Poised, soft spoken, and pretty as a petunia… You're just the disgraceful spawn of that strange mother of yours." My jaw clenched and my hands curled up into tiny, white fists. I told myself to ignore her. I was used to her degrading me, after all, and I didn't care so much that she hated me. "She was always a little out of it, stuck in the clouds, I always thought there was something wrong with her… mentally deranged, or something. My handsome Pat deserved much better than her, and I always told him that but he never listened. I wasn't surprised at all when she killed herself, probably for the best-"

I heard the crack before I registered the pain in my fingers. I saw the blood before I realized what I'd done. My grandmother, always the perfectly groomed little lady, had the entirety of her lower face covered in blood and her cool, gray gaze was stabbing me right in the eyes. A little part of me told me to feel guilty, but the enraged look on my grandmother's face made me feel better. I could take a little jab at my own ego; my mother was a whole other matter. I never understood the deep hatred that my grandmother held for my mother by I was always of the firm opinion that my mother was the greatest woman who ever lived and no matter what my grandma said, I would always believe that.

"Why you vile little berk! How dare you! I'll be telling your father about this as soon as he gets back, he needs to set you straight!" I rolled my eyes at her lame insult. "Don't you roll your eyes at me young lady! I'll teach you to-" she raised a hand to slap me but I ducked out of the way, picked up my shoes, and dashed around the house and into the forest. Maybe my father would get angry at me for hitting his mother, but once I told him what she said about my mom, he would understand.

 

 

I shivered as I trudged through the mud and fallen leaves of the forest. I was already regretting my decision to come find my dad and brother. They were probably back at the house getting an earful about how inconsiderate and violent I was. Alfie would probably laugh his head off when he heard what I did.

I almost decided to back to the house, when I heard someone calling for help. It was faint, but loud enough for my ears to follow the noise.

"Help!" it cried. "Help me, I'm lost!" I quickened my pace, and within seconds, I found a little boy crouched in a ball in the middle of a clearing. He was rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath about monsters chasing him.

"Hello? What's your name?" I asked cautiously, reaching a hand out.

He cringed. "L-l-lyon."

"Well, Lyon, why don't I help you find your way home? I live just out there," I said, pointing back to the house, "and we can call the police or something. Would you like that?"

He glanced at me suspiciously, still rocking back and forth. "My big brother told me never to trust anyone, especially not strangers."

I smiled. "Well, your big brother is a smart guy. What's his name?"

He paused before answering, "Luke."

I nodded. "So how about we go find Luke, hm?"

He didn't respond, but he stood up, and took hold of my hand. The moment his skin made contact with mine, the world went black.

I received a flood of images upon touching Lyon's hand. Punching my grandmother. Learning that my father would be marrying Lucille. Finding my mother lying on the floor with a knife in her stomach and her blood soaking the carpet around her. It was as though every bad memory I ever experienced was coming forth to haunt me, punishing me for a crime I didn't commit. My legs screamed in pain, remembering being broken in the third grade. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut tight, willing Lyon to stop whatever he was doing and leave me be. I couldn't understand why he was doing this, how he was doing this. Stop! I screamed in my head. Please, Lyon, stop whatever you're doing! I'll take you back to your brother just please stop!

After what seemed like ages, the pain in my legs subsided and my mind was my own again. I opened my eyes just a crack, and saw four images of Lyon moving from side to side. My head was killing me. I tried to stand up, then fell back down. Just before I passed out again, I heard the faint whisper of Lyon's voice.

"Weak."

2: Chapter Two

I woke up with my head pounding, and my body aching. I felt like I’d been thrown off a cliff. I blinked a couple times, trying to regain my senses. When I finally managed to see clear images, I sat up and found myself in a small, concrete box, with walls surrounding me on all sides except one, which was barred by long, metal poles. I was in a jail cell.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember what had happened before ending up in this cell.

Oh. Lyon, the little boy who had somehow tortured me with images and memories I'd always tried to forget. Had he brought me here?

I glanced out of the bars of my cell, trying to see if anyone was there. If anyone could tell me what was going on. I was suddenly very aware of my dry mouth and growling stomach as I noticed a figure in a dark hood sitting just meters away drinking some water and munching on potato chips, as if they were trying to taunt me. I tried to stand up and walk over to the bars, but I just fell back down. The hooded person chuckled, their shoulders shaking up and down very slightly.

"Don't bother, you'll only waste your energy." They said. "And trust me, you'll need it." The person had a high pitched, feminine voice that I might've described as musical if not for the fact that I was locked up in a prison cell.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Who are you? What do you want from me? I haven't done anything."

She laughed. "Classic line from a prisoner. trying to pull the whole innocent act, hm?"

"I'm not trying to pull anything, I honestly have no idea what I've done to be brought here, wherever or whatever this place is." I said insistently.

The woman clicked her tongue, as though she knew something about me that I didn't. "Well, I suppose that's for the Prince to find out, isn't it?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I don't know about you, but I'm living in the twenty first century. And in said twenty first century, royals don't grab random people off the street and put them in a cell. So please, let me out of this damn cell."

"She's got quite the mouth on her, hm?" Said a new voice, echoing from further away. I looked towards the noise and saw another figure in a hood, but this one had a very low, baritone voice. He made his way to my cell without a single sound. It was almost as though he was floating, walking on air. Within moments, he was right at the bars in front of me. I wanted to scoot to the back of the cell but I told myself to stay where I was, to not let myself be intimidated by some freaks in hoods.

The man chuckled, as though guessing what I was thinking. "What a curious thing you are. Most die within hours of passing through the gates. You're handling this quite well, too. Almost as though.. you were prepared for something like this."

My nostrils flared as I stood up quickly. "I am not a thing, I am a human being! I don't know what the hell you're trying to pull by locking me up in here, but I demand to be let out of this cell right now!" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my knees buckled and I fell forward, right into the man's arms. His hands gripped my shoulders so tight I was sure they would punch holes right through.

He brought me so close to him, I could see the small stubble on his chin. "Let me make myself very clear, human. I make the rules here. It is not your place to demand anything of me, nor of my servants." He roughly shoved me to the back of the cell. I hit the floor painfully, squeezing my eyes shut as tears threatened to fall. "You may have survived so far, but nobody lies to me, and you should learn that if you want to survive any longer."

With that, the man unraveled a pair of huge, black, feathery wings and flew off into the vast, never-ending darkness.

 

 

In the time leading up to my next visit from the winged man, I came up with several theories.

One: this was some super twisted cult with a great stage crew that thought I did something to offend them and they wanted a confession before killing me.

Two: my grandmother was actually a high-status demon who wanted me punished for punching her so she had me kidnapped and brought to an underworld jail cell to die.

Three: humans mated with birds and their offspring wanted to kill all humans, starting with me.

So my theories were a little far fetched. But I still couldn’t see any way of getting out of this place alive. I had no idea what I had or hadn’t done to get into this place, and it seemed pretty clear that confessing to whatever crime it was the only thing that would buy me some more time.

I leaned against the back wall of the cell, my butt aching from being thrown down by the winged man. I was thirsty, starving, and tired. I just wanted to go home.

With a huge whoosh, the winged man gracefully landed in front of my cell, but this time, there was a small boy with him. Lyon. I glared at Lyon, internally kicking myself for trying to help him. He stared at me with innocent, yet piercing eyes. Lyon stood beside the winged man, a little too close for their relationship to be plain business. Father and son, maybe?

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice flat.

The winged man took off his hood and raised a brow. “It’s more of a question of what you want. Do you want to live?”

“Does anyone want to die?”

I could’ve sworn I saw Lyon crack a smile.

The winged man’s eyes flashed with annoyance, making me smirk with satisfaction. His stormy, dark grey eyes stared vehemently into mine, and my dark blue eyes stared right back. This continued for a few moments when he sighed, and leaned on one side, crossing his arms.

“So, Lyon here tells me that you were quite violent with your grandmother the other day?”

So maybe my theories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

“So what if I was? She deserved it.” I responded sharply, pulling my bright red hair to one side.

He looked at me dubiously. “Did she?”

“She insulted my mother.”

He nodded, somewhat understandingly. “Ah. I see. You must love your mother very much. What’s she like?”

I shifted uncomfortably, making my lower back scream in pain. I stifled a gasp. “If Lyon told you about my grandmother then he must’ve told you that my mother’s dead.” I said bitterly.

“Oh yes, sorry about that. Standard procedure, we had to see if your memories were suspicious. So who killed your mother?”

I felt a sudden rush of anger. “You just went through my memories like they were files in a cabinet? How is that even possible?”

He pursed his lips. “Classified information.”

I rolled my eyes. Classified, schmlassified. “If you’re going to kill me you might as well tell me.” He didn’t respond. “Fine then. But if I’m going to answer your questions you have to answer some of mine.”

“We don’t bargain.” He said sharply. “Who killed your mother?” This sounded more like a statement than a question. I huffed indignantly.

“She did. Suicide. Stabbed herself.” I mumbled. I looked down at my hands, avoiding the gazes of Lyon and the winged man. I could feel their eyes practically piercing into my soul.

“Are you sure about that?” asked the winged man. My head shot up so quickly, I could’ve sworn I heard a crack.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m asking if you’re sure it was suicide. Do you know for sure that it wasn’t murder?”

I opened my mouth then closed it, speechless. “Well… no, but there was a lot of evidence pointing to suicide.”

“Like what?” he pressed.

I swallowed, trying not to cry. “Look, I… I don’t really want to talk about how my mother died.”

“Well it’s too bad you don’t have a choice.”

“Why are you interested, anyways?”

“I told you, we don’t bargain. What evidence was there?”

A tear escaped from my eye. “Her hand was on the knife. There was a letter written by her. There were no other footprints or fingerprints anywhere. There’s no way it could’ve been murder.”

“Stop crying.” he said, making me cry more. “What about prints from other people in the household?”

“W-well, obviously mine and my dad’s and my brother’s prints were everywhere but we were all out on the day she… died, there was footage at the grocery store and everything. Are you trying to insinuate that I killed my own mother?”

He shifted his weight to his other foot. “It’s a distinct possibility. Are you an angel?”

“I.. Excuse me?”

“I said, are you an angel?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It’s a perfectly valid question. Are you an angel or not?” I could hear his patience thinning.

“Okay, look, I have no idea who or what you are but clearly you and I are on very different pages right now. So you can either answer my questions and tell me who the hell you are, or you can kill me and forget about whatever you want to hear from me.”

He sighed, resigned. “Alright. Here we go.”

3: Chapter Three

"Welcome to hell." He said, flatly. "I'm Prince Lucifer, but if that makes you uncomfortable then you can call me Luke. I'll be your guide during your stay here. If you have any questions, feel free to ask." He threw in a fake smile. I raised a brow, thinking I might've heard wrong.

"Er… Lucifer-" I shuddered. That did make me uncomfortable. "Luke. Sorry, did you say Hell?"

He shrugged. "Yep. The one and only." As if Hell was no big deal.

I wasn't quite sure what to say. "Uh... Okay. So then why am I here? In Hell? No, nevermind, scratch that. How am I here? How is any of this real? Is it even real?"

He snorted. It was a strange sight, to see the dark Prince Lucifer, with his dark hair and his dark eyes and his dark everything, snorting. "Well, it's a funny story actually. A very true, funny story." He began. "One day I decided I wanted to be more than I was, more than God himself. I know, who would dare? God heard about my fantasy and decided I was a criminal. So he conjured up this fantastic prison for me and my friends, and he called it Hell. My eternal punishment. But, y'know, it's not so bad, he mostly just leaves me to my own devices. In fact, a couple thousand years ago, I killed this silly human for fun, and God didn't do a single thing! Crazy, I know! Anyways, now I just fashion myself an average Joe trader. Human souls are a really hot commodity these days." He finished bitterly, ruffling his hair with a distinct expression of distaste.

I swallowed thickly. "Er... Okay then." There was a long pause. "So... Am I dead, or what? Did I do something to end up in hell?"

Lucifer had been sulking slightly, but at my question he immediately perked up. He was really starting to confuse me. One second he was a super killer monster man, then a depressed teenage boy, then a... what was it? Average Joe trader?

"Well, Rosie- can I call you Rosie? It has a much nicer ring to it than Rose. Thanks, dear. Anyways, I've made a bargain with someone up on Earth. He's recently discovered that someone close to him was murdered, and he, consequently, would trade anything to get revenge. Lucky for him, I've got some super high tech robot demons that are great at investigating these types of things, since, you know, I'm supposed to deal with murderers." He looked at me pointedly.

"And you think I did it?" I asked. "Please, pray tell me, why I would kill my own mother?"

Luke went quiet, seemingly unsure of how to explain this. Then Lyon spoke up.

"We don't think it was you, per se, but rather an angelic presence that's inside of you." Lyon had been so quiet, I'd forgotten he was there. Then I remembered the only reason I was in this damn jail cell was because of him. I'd been so caught up in trying to fathom the idea of Hell, that I'd forgotten I was IN Hell. I stood up suddenly, ignoring the stab of pain down my lower back and butt, and walked over to the bars of my cell.

"Okay, you know what, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm tired, and I really want to get out of this cell. So would you mind just unlocking it and sending me back to Earth?"

Luke's nostrils flared. "Did you even hear what Lyon said?" He demanded, suddenly in super killer monster mode. "You have a goddamn angelic presence inside of you and all you can think about is how hungry you are? For God's sake, sometimes I forget how stupid humans are, constantly needing to eat and drink and rest. Oh, there's an angel eating my soul from the inside out but GOD FORBID I GET HUNGRY. JUST IGNORE YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING NATURAL URGES FOR ONCE AND USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN, YOU HAVE ONE DON'T YOU-"

"Luke." Said Lyon, calmly cutting the angry man off. Then Lyon continued, much more tranquil than Luke who had stormed a few meters away and was pacing back and forth. "All we're trying to say, Rose, is that the angelic presence inside you isn't only dangerous to you, but to everyone on Earth. Most Angels don't bother with humans unless they're Guardian Angels, but sometimes one of them goes rogue. Hence, the killer Angel in your body. It's in the best interest of not only Luke's client but also the entire mortal community for that rogue inside of you to be extracted and eliminated as soon as possible."

I sighed and leaned my forehead onto the bars of my cell, grasping them tightly with my hands. "Alright." I answered, resignedly. God knows I wouldn't miss my grandmother but I couldn't stand to lose my father or brother knowing I could've done something to stop it. "So how's this going to work? Like a surgery, you can just cut me open and use tweezers to pull out an angel?"

Lyon grinned. "In a sense. Let's just start by letting you out of this jail cell."

 

 

"You know, it's kind of strange to think that Luke is supposed to be your older brother because you act like you're ten times his age." I commented, as I watched Luke lying on the floor, sulking again.

Lyon fiddled with what was presumably a key hole to the side of my cell. "Well, you know what they say," he said. "Age is but a number."

I smiled, knowing all too well the meaning of that phrase. My brother was just seven minutes older than me, yet he sometimes acted like he was seven years younger. Reckless, childish, and always sporting a mischievous grin. I looked down, biting my lip at the thought of my family back home.

"Thinking about someone?" Asked Lyon.

I nodded. "Yeah. My twin brother. It's weird not being near him. I never gave a second thought to what would happen if we were separated, but now that we are, I kind of... Miss him." I wrinkled my nose at the sentimental thought.

"Well, we don't often appreciate what we have until we don't have it anymore." He replied. It was so peculiar hearing a boy who looked no more than seven years old speaking the words of an aged elder.

"How did you end up here, anyways?" I asked, curious. "I've never heard about a brother of Lucifer."

His expression darkened, and I immediately felt bad for asking. "I'm not really his brother, in the sense that we have the same parents. I was here when he was cast down by God. In a sense I was Hell, because I was essentially the king of the all the beings that were here before Lucifer. You might know me better by my full name, Apollyon."

I raised a brow, surprised. "King of the Locusts?"

"The one and only." He replied bitterly. "Bringer of plague, conjurer of death." I didn't quite know how to respond to that. There was an uncomfortable silence until Lyon threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay, I give up. Luke, come unlock the cell."

Luke, still lying on the floor, turned to face us, pouting. "No."

I rolled my eyes, tired of his childish temperament. "Luke, get your head out of your ass and open this cell or you can forget about whatever you're supposed to get from your client." I demanded.

He seemed torn between his need to keep me locked up and his need for his payment. Finally, after moments of deliberation, he dragged himself up and unlocked the cell with a wave of his hand. The door pushed open with a loud creak, and I stepped out of the concrete box onto a soft surface.

"You know, I honestly pictured Hell with a lot more... Fire. Flames. Screaming dead people, that kind of stuff."

Luke grinned maniacally. 'We'll get there in time. Just you wait."

4: Chapter Four

Luke and Lyon led me to a surprisingly bright room, with dark gray walls and a putrid smell. I wrinkled my nose. A concrete table sat in the middle of the room, covered in cobwebs and mold. Both Luke and Lyon sat in chairs that were equally as disgusting. 

Luke gestured for me to sit down. I pointed at myself, feigning surprise. "Haha, no. How long have these chairs been here, five thousand years? It's so humid in here, I'm surprised the furniture hasn't melted yet." 

He rolled his eyes. "You're such a twentieth century human." I think that was meant as an insult. 

"It's the twenty first century." I corrected. "Not that you would know, this whole place has a major first century vibe." I commented dryly. 

"Is it?" Luke asked, frowning. "Hm. It's been so hard to keep track lately... And just for the record, even if we haven't renovated in five centuries, we've got tons of high-tech gadgets and gizmos. Those... iPads, I think they're called? They control our robot bugs." He added proudly. Lyon looked especially impressed. "Anyways, I usually leave that stuff to my assistant, Death. Although I don't know where she is right now, she's usually close by..." A hooded figure appeared at the door. "Ah, there she is!" 

"You called, boss?" She asked casually. It was the same woman who had been there when I'd woken up. 

"Yes, Death, this is Rose. You've met already." She turned to me hood still covering most of her face.  

I tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. "Yes, it was a really pleasant meeting." I said in an unusually high voice. Death suddenly went still. 

Luke sighed. "Death, it's alright, you can take your hood off. He seems to be dormant." 

He? I wondered. This comment seemed to soothe Death. She slowly took her hood off, making me stifle a gasp. There was a deep indent in her left cheek, almost as it somebody had carved out part of her skin.  

She noticed me staring and gave me a hard look. I shrunk a little in my seat, not saying anything. It seemed like she had some sort of guard up against him, whoever he was, and she didn't seem like the kind of person to mess around with. Aside from her scarred face, her bow and arrow, sword, dagger, and likely many other hidden weapons all screamed danger.  

Still glaring at me, she said, "Alright, boss. I'll be out if you need anything." 

She walked towards the door, but before she left, she turned to look at me again. As soon as my eyes met hers, it was as though something was triggered inside of me, except it wasn't... me.  

My chest tightened. It felt like there was a dishcloth being pulled out from my stomach into my throat and out my mouth. A voice that was not mine spoke, startling everyone, including me.  

"Leaving the party so soon, Death?" It mocked, low and raspy. Death's expression turned into one that I could be quite read. Both Luke and Lyon were suddenly still in their mold-covered seats. "Ah, how nice it is to be gathered here again, the four of us, just like old times." I felt myself smile. I tried to make my expression match my internal disgust but couldn't. It made me utterly sick to my stomach that this... this thing could use my body against my will, that it could make me do and say horrible things, knowing I couldn't stop it. "Ah, tsk tsk." I heard myself-- no, him say. "Rosie, you bad girl. Let us sort out our little spat ourselves, this is something for only the centenarian's club. Though, I suppose we're part of the centi-centenarian's club by now, eh?" He gave a loathsome chuckle. Nobody laughed. 

Death charged forward with angry eyes. "You have no right to be here, Cassiel!" She pulled a dagger but my arm suddenly shot out, grabbing her neck and squeezing with a strength I didn't know I had. Luke and Lyon shot up from their seats, Luke putting his hands up trying to calm down the being in control of my body. 

"Now, Cassiel, we don't mean you any harm, just please put Death down and we can negotiate and see if we can get you to exit your human vessel." 

His human vessel? My chest flared with anger and I tried to open my mouth to protest but, again, couldn't. He-- Cassiel, I think, smirked. 

"Ooh, you've made little Rosie here a tiny bit angry, your highness." He jeered. Then he turned back to Death, still in his grip. He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Azrael." She stiffened.  

"I don't go by that name anymore." She replied, wheezing. 

He smiled. "You should. It really was such a beautiful name. Still is. It sounds so good with my name. Azrael and Cassiel. Remember that? Don't you remember the glory days? We can go back to them, just say the words."  

Death with this maniac, with this monster? I couldn't picture it. 

He loosened his grip a little for Death to answer.  

"Never." She gasped out.  

Cassiel pouted. "That's a shame." Then he squeezed harder. Her eyes bulged and she thrashed a bit, then went still. He dropped her to the ground then turned to Luke casually, who was staring at Death's limp body in shock. "What, never seen an unconscious body before? You and I both know she can't die, none of us can. She'll be up and about again in a few hours, don't worry your pretty little head." He flashed a smile. "Now, then, those negotiations?" 

Luke glowered at Cassiel. Internally, I shrunk, remembering how Luke had thrown me to the ground when he was angry. "Please, sit." He said, through his teeth.  

Cassiel sat down, and I felt him wince a little at my bruised tailbone. "Dear God, Lucifer, what did you do to the girl? It feels like I've been to Hell and back!" He chuckled. "Oh wait, I have!" Luke pursed his lips in disapproval, then glanced at Death again. Lyon walked over to Death and brought her upright, leaning her back against the wall by the door. Cassiel was still laughing with himself. "Ah, I'm such a jokester, sometimes I can't even tell when I'm being serious!" He grinned. 

"Alright then," Luke began. "If you'd kindly just leave Rose's body and take your true form then we can talk properly." 

Cassiel tsked. "Do you care so little for humans, little prince? You know what'll happen to her if I release her, humans aren't meant for the horrors of Hell. At least let me back onto Earth before making me extract myself!" 

Luke's jaw tightened. What would happen to me? I wondered. From his tone it sounded like Hell would kill me. "Well, she's survived thus far." He said, somewhat hopefully. "Besides, letting you back onto Earth would just let you find some other human to possess." 

Cassiel gave a sharp laugh. "The only reason she's still alive is because of me! The moment I let her go, it'll be her puny little human soul against the whole of Hell. She'll never survive that." 

"I think you'll find that many things have changed here since you left, Cassiel." 

He scoffed. "Like what? Are you telling me you've made peace with God? That you're set to return to the Realm of the Divine?" Luke said nothing. "Face it, Lucifer. The Angels have painted you as an evil in the three realms, and no atonement will change that picture. You can try to make Hell the fluffiest place in the universe, but Hell is, and always will be the Realm of the Dead." 

Luke remained silent. Lyon spoke up instead, speaking softly to me. "Rose, I know  you can't control anything Cassiel does with your body but if you can hear me, I need you to do something." 

Oh, I heard him. Loud and clear. Not that I could actually confirm it out loud.  

"What, you think this little girl can push me out?" Cassiel sneered. "You insult me." 

Lyon ignored him. "Okay, Rose, listen to me." He looked into Cassiel's eyes. My eyes. "Remember when we met in the forest? When you were remembering every bad feeling, every bit of pain that ever overcame you? I'm going to need you to remember them again."  

I had to do what? Lyon's eyes flashed light blue for a second. I didn't have time to dwell on the strange occurrence before Cassiel boomed with laughter. "It is in the very nature of humankind to avoid pain! What makes you think Rose is any different?" 

His words angered me, motivated me. I remembered the pain in my hand after punching my grandmother, the raw heartache upon seeing my mother's dead body. The tears I cried when I broke my legs. The blood pooling in my mouth after having a tooth pulled out. I wanted the pain to stop, but I wanted more to prove him wrong. 

"This is great, Rose. Fantastic. Now, think about somebody you love more than anything, someone you would die for." 

The first person I thought of was Alfie. We'd literally been together since the very beginning. He was the prankster of the two of us, always knowing how to make me smile. The thought of living in a world without him was absolutely dreadful. 

"Picture them dead. Dead at Cassiel's feet." 

I had trouble imagining it. I couldn't make my mind conjure up an image of the corpse of my twin brother. There was never a dull moment around him; even when he was tired, he had a smile.  

Instead, I thought of someone I'd already seen dead. My mother. All I had to do was take the memory of my mother's bloodied body and create a vision of Cassiel, with a morbid grin on his face. 

That was all it took. Emotion swelled in my chest, fury shooting through my veins. Hatred towards Cassiel, for stealing my body. Hatred towards Lyon, for surfing my memories like the waves of an ocean. Hatred to Luke, for locking me up in a concrete box.  

A lone tear slipped out of my eye and down my cheek. 

Cassiel screamed a cry of rage, a cry of madness. "DAMN YOUR HUMAN EMOTIONS! DAMN YOUR DEAD MOTHER!!" 

I smiled to myself with my own sort of sick satisfaction, this time on my real face. I didn't need Lyon to tell me what to do next. 

I brought up an image of Cassiel in my grandmother's old lady clothes, and I punched him square in the face. 

A huge whoosh of air left my lungs and I fell to the ground, breathing heavily. The last thing I registered before falling unconscious was the swirling of a dark mist through the room.

 

Authors' Note: Hi!!! It's already the fourth chapter and haven't actually introduced myself yet, so... I'm Angela, otherwise known as madwoman-with-a-box! Thank you for reading this far, this is a story I've been thinking about for a long time and I've got a lot of ideas about how its gonna go. If you like the story then please like and review! I appreciate any kinds of constructive criticism!! 

(Oh, and I've also been wondering-- should I make this more of a novel or a series of novellas? I feel like it would work better as a series of novellas, but I'd like to get an outside opinion, too. I know it might be difficult to recommend something since I've only posted four chapters but I would really appreciate some advice!!)