#monster content

Soft, deep humming skirted your ears as you took in the warm, flickering light emitting from the kitchen.

You peeked around the corner and huffed out a quiet breath, smiling. Wearing what you believed were his PJs, Beel stood in front of the black cauldron that bubbled with a strange, deep red stew streaked with black. Two stools stood on either side of him, balancing a number of canisters, satchels and spices. All of them and the stew screamed out “do not touch” to your human sensibilities. Still, curiosity urged you onward.

“Hi, Beel. Couldn’t sleep either?”

The tall demon shook his head, but his hair looked stiff? You blinked a few times to dislodge the bit of sleep clinging to the corners of your eyes.

As he tended to the cauldron, you poured a quick glass of water and grabbed a small slice of hellfire baked cheesecake before sitting at the counter. The everlasting warmth and mixture of spices melded together pleasantly on your tongue, melting away any remaining fatigue. At least you could sleep in; perks of the weekend.

Low muttering drew you away from another bite of your snack.

“More newt? No…maybe nightshade or foxglove.”

Those were ingredients, at least when it came to Devildom cuisine. And very much not safe for human consumption.

“Seems like a small portion for a midnight snack,” you hedged.

“It’s not for me,” he said.

“It isn’t?”

Beel shook his head. Then, without any warning, his hair shifted. Still stiff, it folded onto itself and repositioned further down his neck, blending into the black, reflective substance overtaking his skin. Like the hard shell of a beetle. You quietly leaned over to see what else would happen.

Instead of his usual angular face, there was the profile of a skeletal, gaunt face. His skin paled and thinned out, leaving it with a paper-like consistency. His mouth stretched out beyond what was humanly possible, allowing you to see not an inkling of a tongue, but of a curled proboscis hidden behind pointed teeth. The simple, purple eyes you’d grown used to shrank down, multiplying until numerous little pinpoints were left. Just like an insect. Then, his body changed.

The more he focused on the task in front of him, the less subtle the changes were. His horns appeared, now larger and more intimidating than usual. His muscular torso turned fly-like with a deeply black outer shell, still carrying that orange-toned sheen. Instead of two legs, he now stood on four…which somehow, didn’t affect his clothes. Maybe they were magicked to accommodate his form? And on his back, large and imposing, rested two massive fly wings that twitched sporadically.

Everything about this new form was proportional to his larger size, just different. The only thing you could compare the entire change to was a person slowly releasing a long-held breath.

You watched as his mouth opened and the proboscis unfurled. Wooden spoon in hand, he ladled up some of the stew with a clawed hand and tasted it with the new appendage. As he retracted his proboscis, he huffed out a breath while his wings buzzed just a bit; the sound clashed against your ears a bit before dying down.

“Still not right…”

His speech had been somewhat affected by the change; the cadence wasn’t consistent and his voice was much deeper than usual. It was comparable to staring down into a deep abyss. You gently set down your fork.

“Can I help somehow?” you asked.

Beel froze. For a moment, you think you felt his numerous eyes on you. Then the sensation swiftly faded as he took his current appearance. The buzzing from before geared up, its intensity growing.

“...I didn’t…I wasn’t supposed to—”

You quickly hopped out of your seat and held up your hands. “Beel, it’s fine! You were occupied with the cauldron. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The buzzing ceased but he still appeared nervous.

“...You weren’t meant to see this form. Lucifer said so before he and others left. It’s still your first time in the Devildom and humans usually…”

As he trailed off, he turned slightly to face you. You offered him a gentle smile and tilted your head.

“Something up?”

If he were wearing his human guise, you think he’d be squinting his eyes at you.

“Why aren’t you scared right now?”

You grinned.

“Because you’re you. I mean, you were scarier when I first met you unofficially, which was understandable after the fact. ‘Avatar of Gluttony’ and all. But since then, I haven’t had a reason to be scared. Yeah, you could’ve eaten me anytime after.”

You pointed a thumb over your shoulder at what remained of your cheesecake.

“But you’re the guy who recommended that amazing dessert when you learned what I could and couldn’t eat. You’ve been nice enough to get me safely from campus back here when the others couldn’t. And yeah, maybe one of these days I’ll take you up on that offer to exercise with you…just as long as it’s something a human can handle. That’s all to say: you’re a good guy Beel. Seeing your real form hasn’t changed how I think about you.”

The longer Beel stared at you, the more you hoped you hadn’t said the wrong thing. More so because having so many eyes focused on you was pretty intense, but not unpleasant.

As he smiled widely, he chuckled, the sound a bit breathy. He shifted the stool in front of you, creating some extra space in front of the cauldron.

“Wanna help me out?”

You smiled. “Of course!”

It turns out the Bloodied Babylon Stew was something he wanted to surprise his brothers with once he returned later on. Before leaving, Lucifer estimated their return an hour or so from now. So Beel had been working on the recipe a little after you turned in for the night. Similar to Hell Coffee, the taste would change depending on the ability of the chef. The dish would fit the palette of the recipient, regardless of who they were, providing a perfect meal.

With a few more adjustments, Beel declared it ready to go and placed the lid on top. After the ingredients were placed back in their proper places and the fire was dimmed enough to keep the stew warm, you offered the rest of your cheesecake to Beel. He happily finished it off.

“Think I’ll officially turn in for the night,” you said, yawning.

“Same here…”

Before you could bid him a goodnight, he gently gathered you in a hug, one which you happily returned as best you could. He was still in his true form, after all.

“Good night,” he said. “I hope you have sweet dreams.”

“You too, Beel.”

Needless to say, once you were back in bed, you fell into a peaceful sleep.

Come morning, familiar voices and conversation reached your room, gently pulling you from slumber. As you finished getting dressed for the day, there was a soft knock at the door.

Beel stood in the doorway with a smile, in his human guise and wearing his casual clothes.

“Breakfast time! Are you ready to go?”

“Ready! It’ll be nice to see everyone else. By the way, did they like the stew?” you asked.

Beel’s grin was blinding.

“Asmo? Are you there?” When you received no response, you pressed your ear against the white, lacquered door.

The sound from inside was faint and watery. Yet unmistakable. The sharp hiss afterward cut you to the core. “Asmo, are you alright? Have you been crying?”

A sniffle. “Oh, hello darling.” His muffled voice, devoid of its usual playfulness, barely reached your ears. “I was certain that silence charm would work, but…”

But you both knew demonic magic didn’t affect you normally like other humans.

“Asmo, are you hurt? Did something happen last night at the Fall?”

No lower-ranking demon could ever measure up to the fifth lord of hell. But as you soon came to learn, because of your humanity and soul, they’d still try. Even die in the attempt. If only for a chance to get at you.

“C-can you let me in?” The growing knot in your throat grew tighter, heavier. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“…You always worry about others instead of yourself. That isn’t good for your health or your skin, dear.”

You giggled at his gentle chiding, your ears making out a light sigh from him and a sharp click. The door’s lock. “You can come inside…but I don’t expect you to stay.”

You turned the knob without hesitation and went in. A heavy humidity slammed into your face, dampening your skin and pajamas. A quick glance confirmed his massive tub was filled to the brim with steaming, scented water. Chamomile to be exact. You ignored the stickiness clinging to your skin. 

Asmo sat in his massive bed, horns present with his perfect skin blotchy and his eyes rimmed with red. The sight almost drew your attention from the chelicerae framing his lips. His arms and torso were bare, leaving his large, bat-like wings visible but his lower half…

A pair of large, pink grasping pincers protruded from his hips. Eight, long legs of the same color rested at his side as a segmented tail tipped with a black stinger lay flat and curled behind him. 

The gradation of color from his scorpion half to his human torso blended perfectly in a seamless, gorgeous way. While you tried to notice more, a sharp hiss diverted your attention. You reached out, hands at the ready. He gently took yours in his, being careful of his black claws.

“You’re not scared? Careful, darling, or  you’ll make me swoon~! But then, that wouldn’t be so bad—!”

Asmo hissed, his body tensing. The keratin of his left pincer had cracked without warning. But his hold on you remained impossibly gentle. 

“But maybe not now,” he eked out with a strained smile.

“What can I do to help?” 

Asmo’s flushed face deepened as his mouth opened and closed a few times. As cute as he was speechless, you tucked the sight away for another time.

“I’m just molting, darling, nothing serious. I should be done in about four hours or so.”

“But it hurts, right?” You gently squeezed his hands, claws be damned. “Have your brothers helped you before? Stayed with you?” 

The fifth born took in your words, what you hoped he saw as want in your expression. His chelicerae clicked softly as he glanced away. 

“They haven’t. I never wanted anyone to see me…”

“Not looking like ‘The Jewel of the Heavens’?” That was two times you’ve left Asmo speechless; a new personal record. You giggled, moving your hands to cup his face.

“Oh Asmo, everyone has their off days. Some more than others.” You tilted your head a little to the side to refer to yourself, feeling glad when he caught on. “You’ve been there for me when I needed help getting used to the Devildom. So let me be here for you, if you’re okay with that.”

His features wavered and nearly crumpled altogether, but he steadied himself by placing his hands onto yours. Then he truly smiled.

“You should be careful, dear. I may find a way to keep you here all to myself.”

“Knowing Lucifer, he’d find out sooner than later and have a fit,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So you’d better make the most of these next few hours, Romeo.”

Three for three; you were on a roll! And was that a light blush, too? Happy to have the last word during your banter, you grinned at the fifth born. “So, what can I do to help?”

The molting process, as you learned, left Asmo drained of energy. This affected his other bodily sensations like hunger and thirst, making them non-existent. The only thing he needed now was constant warmth, humidity, and time (“and you as well, darling~”).

So you took up the responsibility of ensuring he was comfortable. That the bathtub was filled and scented perfectly, that the temperature in his room was just right. There were a few moments where he’d quietly inch his hand towards your, which you gently took. And every time, he’d glance away with a little smile.

Four hours later, the process was done. With a new softened shell that had yet to harden, Asmo could barely keep his eyes open or his head from drooping. Knowing how keen he was to stick to his skincare routine, you stepped into his bathroom and gathered everything you needed. 

You weren’t surprised when he drifted to sleep during the process, reclined against a huge mountain of plush, soft pillows at his back. And with his face cleaned and his skin moisturized, he looked much healthier. Thank goodness. 

Not wanting to disturb his rest, you started scooting off his bed. But a soft touch to the back of your hand stopped you.

“Stay? Please?”

Those shy words were more than enough to convince you. With your hands still joined, that’s how you ended up spending the night in Asmo’s room.

Which he was all too happy to croon about the next day. 

The tension during Saturday’s breakfast steadily built to a crescendo as Asmo fawned over you and sat as close as possible. He nuzzled his dewy cheek against yours with bright, almost lovestruck eyes. 

“…And the dear didn’t want to leave my side! They had to tend to their own needs a few times, of course, but they came rushing back immediately after! My own personal knight-in-shining armor!”

Even Beel was losing steam while chewing his food. He looked ill. With a familiar twinkle in his eyes, Asmo looped his arms around your shoulders with a coquettish smile.

“Well,” he said, “my knight in very appealing nightwear.”

All hell broke loose. 

The others began swearing up a storm, screeching about unfairness, chastising Asmo, all while Beel painfully swallowed his previous bite. Asmo deftly dodged the cow-printed pillow hurled at him with deadly precision. You were pretty sure Belphie would’ve used a chair instead if Lucifer weren’t present. 

Still, the fifth born carried you away from the chaotic fray in his arms bridal-style, blocking your view and appearing oh so very pleased. 

“I’m their first man! Me, ya hear?!” “Mammon, I will personally rip out your throat if you don’t shut up!” “Oh yeah? Try it you little—”

“Asmo, you bastard! …Why couldn’t it have been me?!” “...I can’t believe I’m not as hungry as before.” “You’d better sleep with one eye open from now on motherf—“

“THAT’S IT!” A defining crash, the splintering of wood. Then silence. From the sound of things, Satan got to use a dining room chair first. 

“…Mammmooonnn…”

And missed his intended target. 

You were certain the others would do what they could to learn more about last night. But you wouldn’t say anything; neither would Asmo.

And if he happened to hug you closer before unfurling his wings while you snuggled closer…

“Many know of Saint Nicholas and the simple gifts he brings. Chocolates, fruits, walnuts; little happy comforts. But few know of his shadow and of the long birch rods he bears.”

Omi paused, letting her rocking chair shift before continuing.

“With fur dark as night, sprawling horns hard as stone, and cloven hooves like iron, he follows the saint to scare wicked children into obedience. Sometimes with the threat of his heavy chains or the woven basket he carries on his back. For those he binds and places inside are whisked away for a night of terror. But the most wicked of all are never heard from again…”

Ella’s grip on your hand tightened and you answered with a quick squeeze. Your shared touch and curiosity slowly calmed your fears, letting Ella find her voice.

“What’s his name, Omi?”

Omi smiled in a mischievous way.

“This ancient being is called—”

“Mother!”

You squeaked at the sharp tone, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Mrs. Vogel stood at the bedroom’s entrance, her fair hands planted on her pajama-clad hips.

“Ah, Annette,” Omi said with a pleasant smile. “I was just telling the girls a bedtime story. Won’t you join us?”

Mrs. Vogel’s eyebrow twitched as she puffed out a quiet sigh.

“Not with how late it’s getting Mother. The girls should be tucked in bed and asleep, resting up for Christmas morning. Not listening to scary folktales.”

Slipping her hand from yours, Ella shifted her sprawled body and popped up with a frown.

“But Moooom!”

“Hush, Ella. Your father and brother are asleep, as you both should be.”

Before Ella could speak again, Omi used the rocking of her chair and its arm rests to stand.

“Annie is right, die lieblinge. I’ll finish my tale another time.”

Ella’s frown only deepened hearing that. Your expression almost matched her, except for the extra wrinkles. Mrs. Vogul began tapping her slippered foot against the floor then cleared her throat, moving her sharp gaze to Omi.

Not a moment later, Omi reached out and patted the tops of your heads with her warm, worn hands.

“Now, now. Shall I sweeten the pot with some morning hot cocoa? Maybe some afternoon marzipan, too?”

You were already nodding, having tasted and loved Omi’s delicious homemade goods since you were first introduced to them two years ago. 

Ella, however, stayed quiet, her frown twisting up into a tight scrunch. Her “thinking face”, as you called it.

“Can we have marmalade toast, too?”

Mrs. Vogel called Ella’s name in a disappointed tone, but Omi cut her off with a low, pleasant chuckle.

“Of course! Now, let’s get you both tucked in.”

After a bit of scurrying and squirming, you both settled down in Ella’s bed, the duvet thick enough to keep you warm. Mrs. Vogel and Omi wished you both good night in their own special ways: with a kiss at Ella’s temple and two tight hugs for you.

With the dim glow of Ella’s crescent shaped night light and the shared warmth between you two, your eyes fell closed soon after.

THUD

Then quickly snapped open.

Once your body relaxed and your heart calmed, you yawned widely, blinking away the sleep blurring your vision. According to the bright, blue numbers beneath the nightlight, it was 2:00 AM. Much too late for you to be awake. But the noise…did you imagine it? Dream it?

Turning your head, you met Ella’s relaxed face and saw her chest fall up and down in a slow fashion. Waking her up just to ask about the sound would’ve been rude and you didn’t want her to get in trouble. Mr. Vogel said a storm would blow through town in the middle of the night. But he didn’t say anything about hail. Maybe there was a clue outside?

Carefully and quietly, you sat up, taking care so Ella remained snuggled in bed. It was a good thing you chose the left side of the bed next to the window. You only had to worry about quietly shifting the curtain just so to see the ground below.

There was snow, as you expected. What you didn’t expect was the small figure standing on the edge of the front lawn. And strangely, they were wearing a coat you hadn’t seen before.

You had heard from your parents about kids who had lost their homes because of a fire or money problems. They sometimes got food and a room with the help of homeless shelters. But other times, they and their families were left to fend for themselves. Or worse, they were all alone. Like this kid was.

You made up your mind then and there: you had to make sure they were okay. If they were lost, they could use the phone to call for help and get out of the cold. Or maybe you could help them find their parents if they were in the neighborhood. You knew the layout like the back of your hand, including all the hiding places. So there was no chance of you getting lost.

With a sharp nod, you set out on your mission. It took a lot of stretching and pauses to make sure Ella stayed asleep, but your sock-covered feet soon touched the carpet in victory. Luckily for you, the Vogel house didn’t creak like yours. So getting to the coat closet downstairs was easy. You easily found your coat, boots, mittens, and hat, putting them on quietly and quickly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turned the two locks on the front door then opened it. The icy winds washed over you, stinging at your face like thousands of tiny needles. But you swallowed your whine, kept quiet, and shuffled outside, closing the door behind you. If it was this cold, you could only imagine how awful the kid further out felt. But you refused to stop now.

Taking giant steps across the lawn helped with getting through the steadily piling snow. Your breath puffed out from between your dried lips, your body heavy from the trek. Just a few more steps and—

You groan loudly with the final step, bending down and using your bent knees as support. 

“Finally…made it.” you huff out.

“You aren’t supposed to be out here.”

The harsh way he spoke his words told you he wasn’t from around here. But you didn’t know what was weirder: how his teeth weren’t chattering like yours, how pale his skin was like the snow around him, or the furry, brown robe he was bundled up in. Soon, you were able to decide when he turned to face you. 

Nobody you knew had deep, pitch black eyes. But then, you didn’t and couldn’t know everyone since that wasn’t possible. And your parents taught you staring was rude. So you blinked against the chilly winds blowing against your face and licked your lips.

“Neither are you,” you say. “Are you lost?”

The boy shook his head, whipping around the low tail his light brown hair was tied in. 

“My father’s nearby, so I’m safe. But you’re not. Don’t you know what happens to bad kids this time of year?”

You gulped down a large breath, refusing to be afraid. As much as getting coal for Christmas or meeting the monster from Omi’s tale scared you, you had to be brave. Especially if this kid and his father needed help.

“I do. But I came outside to make sure you were okay, that’s all. And I don’t think that makes me bad.”

The boy’s face scrunched up at your words. His lips pulled back to reveal small but sharpened teeth.

“I know you can tell I’m not normal,” he said with what you thought was a growl. “Aren’t you scared of me?”

Even though you felt tired and a little confused, you tilted your head to the side.

“Should I be?”

The boy stepped back, sputtering a large breath against the falling snowflakes. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking for something. But since your face didn’t have whatever it was, his own smoothed out as he blinked at you.

“You…you’re really not scared.”

“No,” you say, giggling. “Because you kind of remind me of an angry kitten.”

“Hey!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as his face turned a bright, cherry red. Sure, he was a little weird, but who wasn’t? Besides, it made sense for him to have sharp teeth and black eyes, just like how you were best friends with Ella.

“It’s true!” you chirped happily. Your laughter is cut short by a deep, full body shiver. “I’m just cold and I’m sure you are, too.” 

You remembered when your parents taught you the importance of choice and how special it was. You should never force someone to do something, even if you think they need help. They would have to “meet you halfway”. So you held out your hand and smiled at the boy.

“You can come inside with me until your dad comes back. Ella’s family won’t mind since they took me in for Christmas. And Omi Helena makes the best hot cocoa and baked apples!”

But the boy didn’t move. He just stared at you for what you thought was too long a time. Then, as his robes shifted, you wondered if he was ready to take your hand to go inside. Instead, he held out his own, his fingers tipped with little claws and gripping something tight.

“Here,” he said.

The round bell sitting in his palm wasn’t shiny like the ones used around town for decoration. It wasn’t golden either, but a bronzy color like that of a new penny. And the black writing on its surface swirled and curled so prettily even if you couldn’t read or understand what it meant.

“Is this for me?” 

The boy nodded firmly. “It’s a gift for being nice to me.”

You thought back to every treasure you ever collected since you can remember. And you knew this one would be the best of all, no matter what else you found. You caught the bell in your palm as the boy let it roll from his hand. Even though it was made of metal, it was warm to the touch, like the heat from a cozy fire that’s been burning strongly for a while. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh with joy.

“Thank you!”

The boy grunted in reply. “And as long as you have this, you’ll be safe every Christmas Eve.”

“Really? But why?”

“Because it’ll let me watch over you. I can vouch for you if you’re seen as bad each year. And so we can meet again, if you want…”

The boy lifted his leg, kicking at the snow with his booted foot while folding his hands behind his back. You felt your smile widen in reply.

“Yeah, I’d like that!” 

You introduced yourself as it was the polite thing to do and so he’d know who you were when you meet again. The boy grinned and opened his mouth, but quickly shut it with a click. You saw his shoulders sink, even with the massive robe covering him. From behind, a huge shadow slowly shuffled closer until you could see it clearly. It was also bundled in a dark robe like the boy’s, but its hood was pulled over its head. And sticking out from the hood were two, long horns.

You tried to get the boy’s attention only to watch him walk towards the figure without fear.

“Wait!”

You took a step forward, only for the wind to pick up, making it hard to see through the snow. But over the rushing air, you heard the boy’s soft voice and didn’t feel scared at all.

“I’ll tell you my name when we meet again. I promise.”

                                        TWENTY YEARS LATER

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the grit sticking to the inner and outer corners. With a roll of your shoulders and a few swipes of your hands across your face, consciousness returns at a quicker pace. The sudden bit of turbulence shaking your body also “helps” in its own way, but it’s soon forgiven.

The view from your aisle seat is breathtaking. Hues of pink, orange, and yellow greet you as a painted masterpiece, one you drink in an attempt to remember later on. As the sight gives way to thicker cloud cover, you glimpse the loose, dirty blond bun sticking up from the pile of blankets next to you. Very little could get through to Ella if she wanted to sleep. Well, save for her hunger; and speaking of.

You hear a low, long whine as the pile shifts. Ella’s face pops up through the opening, light red sleep lines pressed against her white skin. No doubt from the pillow she has hoarded in there. 

“Morning,” she greets around a large yawn, covered by her hand. “Are we there yet?”

You shake your head. “We should be landing in an hour. The captain announced the breakfast cart’ll come down the way soon.”

“Yay~. Hopefully they’ll have some toast and marmalade. Or least some peach jelly.”

“There was a mention of biscuits, fruit, and smoked bacon. Think I’ll snag that for myself.”

Ella grins. “Max is really gonna be bummed he missed out. You know how much he loves the other white meat.”

Ella had hoped to involve Max in her Christmas holiday visit to Omi’s childhood town: a fortified, German town with cobblestoned streets lined with half-timbered houses and shops, and a large square that becomes a yearly Christmas wonderland. But his work schedule sadly kept him grounded back in the city. And since Ella's parents visited the town frequently before old age set in, this left you and Ella to venture out on your own.

You were more than excited to join your childhood best friend. You loved Omi like a grandmother and the feeling was reciprocated as she treated you the same as Ella. And her passing at the long-lived age of ninety affected you just as deeply.

“You know,” Ella starts, still curled in her window seat, “I’m hoping to see the Doll and Toy Museum. Omi would always tell us about it, remember?”

“Yeah. Same with the Christmas shoppe. She was happy to learn how popular it became since she moved to America.”

“I honestly want to see everything I can, you know? I think it’d help with feeling as if Omi is there with us in spirit… Mind handing me my laptop?”

“A change in the itinerary?” 

“More like an addition or a few,” she says around a toothy smile.

You bend forward, reaching under your seat to grab at the floral, stylized case. Once it’s in Ella’s grasp, she makes quick work of unloading her laptop and getting down to business. Which is contacting your private tour guide.

You didn’t have the chance to speak to Ella’s chosen guide when she hosted the first video call between them. But she had nothing but positive praise about him when you asked. Fluent in German (as both of you were still learning), a local, and very easy on the eyes. You voiced your curiosity about meeting him while keeping your hopeful thoughts about his appearance to yourself. It wouldn’t do if Ella managed to get wind of something to tease you with in front of a new acquaintance. And maybe, if he’s willing, you hope he would act as a translator of sorts.

The bronzed bell from long ago sits nestled in your suitcase, carefully insulated from the rest of your belongings. Every time you glimpse it, your thoughts drift back to that night years back. The strange thudding from the rooftop, the odd boy you met, and the hulking figure he went to so readily… 

And none if it was a dream.

When you came to as a child, it was to the sight of your parents’ tear-stained faces and your father’s tight hugs. From what you learned over time, you were found outside huddled against the front door while the anticipated snow storm raged around you. But miraculously enough, you were unharmed by the frigid elements, warm to the touch, and embraced by a peaceful sleep. 

Your parents coddled you after for a time before making a huge decision. As a result of that night, they shifted their schedules, docking their own paychecks just to take time off work to spend more time with you. Unsurprisingly, the Vogels also grew more protective towards you, too. Especially Omi. 

You had never seen her so terrified when she glimpsed your treasure one quiet night. Her explanation only came as she lay in bed, before drifting off into an eternal sleep.

“I saw the same as you when I was a young woman. I was a romantic, so I gave him my heart. But it was broken soon after. Please do not be like me, liebste. Do not let your curiosity get the best of you.”

You saw things. Creatures and landscapes not of this world, more vibrant and dynamic than what you found while exploring as a child. They flickered into view before your wide eyes then vanished just as quickly, as if covered by a veil. Concerned with your claims, your parents took you to a knowledgeable, hermit woman who lived on the outskirts of the village. The same one your parents aided when you were just a newborn babe.

With a knowing smile and a caress of her pale, knotted finger against your cheek, Elspeth claimed she’d given you a blessing. So that you would never be deceived by The Good People, just like her. You were too thrilled thinking yourself similar to this mysterious woman...to the point of overlooking your parents’ terrified faces.

Per their instruction, you kept quiet about your gift, promising to not attract attention from The Good People and to only use it if absolutely necessary. But who knew the time would come just a year after that visit?

Callum, a well-mannered boy from one of the wealthier families, turned hellish overnight. He left destruction in his wake with a hideous cackle and a perverse sense of glee. Word spread about the sudden change, which caught your little ears. Try as your folks did, they couldn’t keep you from seeing Callum wreaking havoc in the village square. And breaking his glamor.

The moment your eyes met, you saw Callum for what he truly was: a changeling, one crafted from wood and sinews of leafy vines. The shock on his face from your knowing gaze broke his concentration, letting everyone present see him for what he was.

With his panic and vanishment, the real Callum stood in his place, crying and covered in grime. And the truth of your abilities came to light. The older generations believed you cursed and refused to have their children associate with you, regardless of curiosity. As the stories were repeated and embroidered over the years, the specifics and actual happenstance turned murky. In time, many of the younger villagers only thought you delusional, unsuitable for friendship and romance.

But regardless of how ostracized you felt, you had your family. Gran, Grandda, and your parents. Until you didn’t.

The freak storm that churned the sea and destroyed your parents’ modest boat, dragging them into the depths. The failure of your Grandda’s weak heart as he slept unaware. The night which peacefully claimed your Gran in her sleep...

They were the only ones who understood you. You were now truly and utterly alone.

The uptick of murmured condolences and sympathies fill your heated eyes with more tears. You weep, ignoring all offers of food and drink. With your stomach too agitated for anything but air, it’d all go to waste.

A few more tears slip down your cheeks as the last guests leave the reception hall. You want nothing more than to collapse in your bed, but sleep will have to wait.

You feel a soft buzzing from inside your coat pocket and know it’s time for the hardest part. 

With the untouched, leftover food happily accepted by the reception hall staff, you walk outside into the crisp, humid air. A black sedan pulls up beside you not a moment later and breaks. As you slide into the backseat and buckle yourself in, the Black woman in the passenger seat finishes picking out her tight coils with her fingers.

She peers over her shoulder at you with soft, wet eyes, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“How’re you holding up, love?”

You thumb away an errant tear and swallow at the lump in your throat.

“As best as I can, Sheena.”

Callum sits in the driver’s seat, carding a warm, white hand through his red hair. His gaze catches yours through the rearview mirror.

“That’s all anyone can ever ask, including your Gran.”

He pauses to wet his lips. After the incident in the main square, Callum grew close to you, your Gran, and your Grandda over time, despite his family’s attempts to dissuade him.

When you both were just children, after inadvertently saving him, you believed he was a kindred spirit who could relate to you. But he only wished to forget whatever he saw while spirited away, wanting to live a normal life. And meeting Sheena, someone he truly loved who was just as grounded as him, ensured that.

You watch as she reaches over with both hands towards Callum, the silver engagement band on her deep brown finger standing out. Her touch engulfs his left hand and he squeezes gently in turn.

“Ready to head over to Oban?” he asks.

Gran had requested her ashes to be scattered at sea, in the same location as your Grandda. The two had met there before striking up a friendship that would deepen into love. One that led to the birth of your mother, her meeting your father, and every subsequent event. After everything Gran did for you after your parents’ death, how could you not do so?

You nod, a sob threatening to break free. Neither Callum or Sheena push you, allowing the car ride to fall into a deep silence. You’re grateful for the consideration along with their few house visits after Gran’s passing. You’ll have to do something in kind for them when you’re able, despite knowing they wouldn’t ask for anything in return.

Time passes and the sedan coasts into Oban, letting you see the seaside town from a higher vantage point. You’ve lost count of how many times your family visited over the years, but the memories are still fresh. Corran Halls community events, the two screen cinema, pipe band season…

But for now, your focus is on one of the crematoriums. Before her passing, your Gran insisted you not be present on site. So as not to upset you further by watching an empty shell being burned.

The owners stand before the crematorium’s door, holding a lacquered, wooden urn. Callum and Sheen remain in the car per your request while you collect your Gran’s ashes. Then, with the owners’ well wishes still ringing in your ears, Callum drives you towards the harbor where your rented vessel awaits.

“And you’re sure you don’t want us to come with?” Sheena asks, wringing her hands.

Grateful for your black slacks while gaining your sea legs, you sit beside the outboard motor and carefully secure Gran’s ashes.

“This is something I need to do alone,” you say softly. You attempt a smile, feeling it to be weak. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Callum says. He’s kind enough to cast off the boat for you. “Stay safe.”

You nod while starting the motor. And with your hand gripping the tiller to steer, you’re off.

The minimum distance for scattering someone’s ashes at sea is about three nautical miles offshore. But you plan on doing so farther than that; closer to where your Grandda was dispersed.

Minutes pass feeling like hours, but you soon see your destination. The motorboat slows with a twist of the mechanism’s shaft, coasting to a gentle stop. You cut the engine then kneel towards the boat’s edge, holding your Gran’s urn. Such a simple vase, but the weight of it makes your arms tremble. You take in a deep breath and slowly release it.

“I’m trying really hard to be happy, Gran. But it...it’s so hard. Thinking back, I can barely remember Mum and Dad, but I remember you. You and Grandda with your warm hugs and headpats…”

The tears fall freely, giving way to heavy sobs that wrack your whole body. As your mind gains growing clarity after the release, you think it’s a miracle you’re still upright. With a last heaving breath, you open the vase and steadily pour the ashes into the sea.

Your hands stop short. You swallow thickly. Holding your tongue is something you’d promise to do during this time. But the weight of your unspoken words is too much for you to swallow.

“This...is selfish of me. But I remember, when I was little, you told me to ask for help whenever I needed it. So Gran. If you’re listening...I just don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

A slight, gentle breeze picks up around the boat. One you take a sign, as foolish as it may be. Encouraged, you continue scattering the ashes and breathe deeply.

“Say hello to everyone for me. One day, I’ll see you all soon.”

The last of Gran’s ashes sink into the sea. It’s finished; you’ve done as promised. And yet, there’s no sense of fulfillment or even finality. Just a strange, nebulous uncertainty that can’t be further described. But it is tinted with exhaustion.

Maybe after some rest and a few days away from the bookshop, you’ll be able to get yourself together. The motor starts up with a heavy twist of your hand, the tiller snug in your dry grip. Biting back a yawn, you begin steering the boat back towards Oban’s shoreline.

Or at least, you think you are.

The forecast didn’t call for any gathering fog or sudden choppy waves. Cloudy, yes, but still calm overall. Your focus is divided between keeping course and navigating the waters. But your heart plummets into your gut when the air before you ripples.

The comparison of a veil shifting and lifting wasn’t chosen randomly. You learned at a young age that Elspeth saw the same thing a hundred times over. But the one thing she warned you of is getting anywhere near such phenomena.

And your boat is sailing straight towards it.

You push and pull against the tiller to no avail. It remains stuck in place, pointing straight at the lifting veil. There are no oars to row with or any sea stacks to tether your boat to. You do the only thing you can: brace yourself for what comes next.

Your eyes screw shut the moment you pass through the tear. Your stomach sinks, not unlike what one’d feel when falling from a high height. The air is punched out of your lungs, leaving you breathless for a few, stinging moments. You just as quickly inhale more air while your body lurches forward.

You topple onto the boat’s floor, right next to Gran’s empty urn. Regaining balance is a challenge thanks to the way the boat is positioned. The pointed front is completely submerged while the back sticks up at a slant. The motor’s blades whirl in the salt-laden air uselessly. Your hand reaches out and touches something wet, worn, yet jagged. A hidden rock spike skewers the left bottom of your boat, letting water gather in the interior.

You’re shipwrecked beyond the veil.

Shifting your body, you’re able to rest your feet and squat against the stone. You grab your smartphone from your coat pocket and turn on the torch. The cavern is dark and dank, the echoes of water dripping from every which way. What little strips of land there is before you isn’t enough for you to even stand on. And worse yet, the multiple cave openings facing you offer only darkness with no hint of what is inside.

You’ve no salt, bread, or iron. Only a useless hunk of metal and a smartphone with a battery on its last leg. You’re as good as easy prey if you don’t move.

You kick away from the rock with a grunt and jump into the water. The scream you bite back is still loud, but muffled. The saltwater burns furiously against your leg. You scrabble away from the wreck and clamber onto a patch of slick rock.

Blood shines underneath your phone torch’s light, trickling from the open cut on your calf.

“Fuck.”

As if things weren’t bad enough—

You freeze. The hairs on your neck stand on end. A small part of you implores you not to move. But you’ve always been stubborn, even against your own better judgement.

Your gaze lifts to find the illuminated form of a black horse...no. Of something impersonating a black horse. Its visage flickers between unsuspecting normalcy and a grinning maw of fangs coupled with a glowing, green gaze.

An each-uisge; a water horse. A devourer of human flesh.

Your phone slips into the water, the torch still lit and pointing up. You plunge your hand into the shallow pool behind you then pull it out; it holds a jagged stone. You point the tip at the water horse, ignoring the chattering of your teeth.

The creature regards you before dropping its glamor entirely. It laughs.

“I’m surprised you see me as a tangible thing,” its masculine voice rumbles. “Not like the other fools who swallowed too much sea water. You also know what I am, don’t you?”

You try to will your armed hand to stop shaking, but it’s no use.

“S-stay back,” you hiss.

“Or what? You’ll stab me?” He lowers its head to meet your wide gaze. “You’d have only a bloodied stump left before you could.”

The Good People never lie, but they twist their words. Tell you what you want to hear. To your growing horror, you realize the each-uisge is telling the truth. You can barely find your voice to respond.

“What do you want from me?”

The creature stands to his full height, proudly showing off his full bearing.

“You didn’t panic or fall into hysterics like the others,” he says. “You even had the fortitude to point a weapon at me. I wish to propose a deal.”

Your muscles tense painfully at his words. Elspeth’s knowledge flows freely from your memories as a warning. Never agree to a deal if you can help it, for it must be upheld by the Good People’s standards. And those standards are always too high.

You shrink away, only to agitate your injured leg. The shifting of torn cloth against the scabbing, salted injury stings and burns like nothing you’ve felt before. You don’t even know if walking is possible. You force your gaze to watch the water horse’s face.

“Why not just eat me?”

The each-uisge’s ears flick back and forth, as if showing surprise.

“I’ve no way to protect myself and I’m basically a sitting duck. Why not drown me now?”

The water horse tilts its head as if thinking.

“As a reward for your bravery,” he says. “And your will to live. I, too, want to survive but am lacking strength.”

He steps closer, his front hooves stepping onto the water’s surface as if it were solid land.

“You wish to return home. I wish to keep my home. I will take you beyond the veil by way of the caverns, but as payment...you must let me sup your blood.”

The grip on your impromptu weapon tightens to the point of pain.

“I swear on my True Name that I will only use your blood to regain my strength...and to keep us safe from harm.”

Something heavy settles against your body. Like a weighted blanket, but frigid. Whether the sensation is from his promise or your own imagination, you’re not sure.

“You’re saying we’re not alone here?”

“No. But I’d prefer to make that our reality so that I can reclaim my territory. Do we have a deal?”

Trusting any of the Good People is as good as a death sentence. But with the way your leg looks and throbs without end, without any treatment…

You meet the water horse’s eerie gaze and nod.

“I accept your terms.”

He grins with too sharp teeth and too wide a mouth. A tongue just as long slips out of his mouth. The tip laps at your open wound, the sensation cold and unpleasantly wet. As you shudder, oddly enough, you notice the stinging slightly subsides. After a few more passes, he relents with a pleased hum and a lick of his maw. He then shifts his muscular form so his side faces you.

“Shall we leave, then?”

Of course he wouldn’t make this any easier. You hobble to your feet and limp towards him. The moment your hand touches his side, it sticks. The feeling against your skin is slick yet stiff, but it holds you in place. With a well-timed hop, your other hand reaches higher onto his back.

Shimmying up a water-horse’s back is not something you expected to do at all. Yet you manage, all with a bum leg, until you’re firmly planted onto his back. The adherence of your skin to his only strengthens once you settle. You aren’t going anywhere without his say-so.

Silently, the water-horse begins to walk at a steady pace towards the entrances in the distance. If you’re going to be stuck like this for goodness knows how long, you might as well know one piece of information.

“What...may I call you?”

“Clever,” he says, his voice rebounding off the stone. “Arran.”

- You sat on your bed, reading the second book in a mystery series Satan had recommended. With the identity of the killer just a page flip away, you steeled yourself, hoping your deductions were right. But a boisterous boom forced your gentle grip tighter than expected, eliciting a ‘rip’ instead of a flutter. Shit.  - Any thoughts about retrieving some tape from your work desk were immediately squashed. And replaced by a bone-deep sense of fear. You didn’t move. You don’t even think you breathed. A small part of you, from long ago when humans weren’t at the top of the known food chain, was too busy screaming at you to not move an inch. 

- Seconds (or minutes) passed before you were able to gulp down a needed breath of air. Whatever hovered beyond your bedroom door was gone, the absence of its presence marked by a slammed door. Thinking of the house’s layout, you surmised the sound came from Lucifer’s study. As for the cause?

- Mammon was at another photoshoot for Majolish while Asmo decided to treat himself to a shopping spree. Beel was busy with fangol practice, having managed to drag Belphie along for some fresh air. And Levi, for once, had left the sanctuary of his room for a popular, yearly con. That left only one demon to be the source of Lucifer’s rage.

- With the perceived threat to your being gone, you bookmark your place and walk towards your door with stiff legs. Out into the hallway and far, far away from Lucifer’s study towards the eastern side of the House of Lamentations. The temperate air of the place strangely began to get warmer, then hotter. Almost unbearably so.  

- By the time you stood in front of Satan’s bedroom door, a sheen of sweat had collected on your brow...and in other places you weren’t happy about. But you had made it this far and refused to retreat so quickly. Being as prideful as he was, Lucifer couldn’t be reasoned with now. But maybe, you could at least talk to Satan.

- Your fingertips skimmed the ornate doorknob only to flinch away. Steam floated from your skin where the hot metal made contact. You had learned about demonic intent and how a demon could channel the energy into something tangible. In Satan’s case, it was unrelenting heat. 

- That made sense, though. Wrath was associated with heat. It made the human body hot, affecting its equilibrium; why wouldn’t it do the same with a demon, and its avatar at that? While speculating helped cool your stinging fingertips, it wouldn’t help your friend. So you grabbed at the bottom of your shirt and, using it as a barrier, twisted the knob. 

- The wooden door creaked open, making the sacrifice of your charred shirt count. A horrible gust of hot energy rushed over your body, forcing your eyes shut. Tears leaked from the seams as your legs trembled under the invisible weight. Maybe those religious writers were onto something about Hell’s scorching atmosphere. 

- Your sweat-slicked hands grabbed onto the inner door jamb as additional purchase. You hissed against the singeing pain and pull yourself inside. The usual scent of sweet vanilla, wood, leather, and ink—comforting and deep—was now horribly acrid, like smoke. In fact, it almost hurt to breathe. 

- And no wonder, you thought, taking in the burned state of the room. His bed, his purple loveseat, his ornate, winding staircase. And his books. All that knowledge; all those stories, spells, poems and more. Reduced to a blackened char belying what those tomes held. Satan would probably cry if he could see his affected collection if he were in his right mind. But he wasn’t. 

- Instead he was...not present. Or maybe he was? Concentrating to look past all the anger and demonic influence wasn’t easy. But you managed, thanks to your courses, and were able to sense a small, familiar flicker of your friend. Your legs still unsteady, you carefully ambled over towards the center of the room, fighting against the crushing weight of energy bearing down on you. 

- With one final, heaving step, you fall to your knees, too exhausted to even care about the pain. The energy of this place was draining you at an alarming, terrifying rate. You honestly didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to stay conscious. Still, you had to. For Satan. That’s when you saw it.

- Behind the swirling, sickly green energy, right in the center of it all as the source was an orb. One that pulsed frenetically sending out minor shockwaves of heated energy. But for every pulse, you could make out a humanoid outline...one with claws, horns, and a familiarly shaped, bone-like tail. 

- “Satan? Can you hear me?”

- No response. That wasn’t too surprising, considering the amount of energy he was giving off. Whatever he and Lucifer argued about had the former trapped in his own rage and thoughts. Words wouldn’t be enough to reach him. But you had an idea of what would.

- You fought against your logic screaming at you to run, get away or else. All to crawl closer to your friend at the center of this energy storm. You reached out a hand, ignoring the burning sensation licking against your fingertips, as if to ward you away. With a building grunt and a yell, you lunged forward, hand poised over the orb. Heat engulfed your body, punching out the air in your lungs. 

- Then, nothing. 

- You floated, somewhere on the edge of consciousness and dreaming. Instead of the hot inferno you expected to be present, you were met with coolness...and something wet? Your eyes blinked open, your hand reaching up to wipe away the moisture. Soft fabric...a towel. Soon, several voices piped up, all saying your name in a relieved manner. The brothers. 

- Even though you felt horribly weak, you let each one of them fret over you. Mainly as to not hurt their feelings. As Mammon and Levi quietly argued over who would fluff your pillow, Asmo was busy cooing at you with promises of a spa day; to treat your smoke-filled pours and soothe your skin. Beel coaxed small spoonfuls of deluxe ice-cream from Madame Scream’s into your mouth while Belphie snuggled closer, gently holding onto your bandaged hand. 

- This went on for a few minutes, with each demon insisting you simply rest and not talk. In-between the following reassurances, someone cleared their throat. Lucifer looked at you from where he stood a few feet away from your bed. Without a single word, he fixed his brothers with a telling stare. Each avatar removed himself from your personal bubble, promising to visit or stop by with something to keep you occupied as you recovered. 

- While you were glad to see them, the one you hoped to see hadn’t been present at all. Lucifer stared at you, brows furrowing as he no doubt considered chastising you now or later. But a hand clapped onto his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. Mammon gave Lucifer a knowing looking, then motioned towards your still opened door. 

- Lucifer led the way with his younger brother following behind. Mammon flashed you a grin before closing the door with a soft click. Your ears strained to hear what was happening beyond the barrier. But with your human hearing, you had no such luck. Time passed, leaving you to the silence of your room and the book resting on the edge of your bedspread...

- “How’s the series so far?”

- You startled then smiled. Satan stood at your doorway, holding a bottle of cold water. He walked closer and seated himself on the edge of your bed. You muttered a quick “thank you” as you took his offering. He didn’t respond, instead opting to stare at the condensation on the plastic. His vivid green eyes narrowed and he heaved a quiet sigh.

- “I’m so sorry...I never meant...I didn’t want you to—”

- You reached over with your uninjured hand and give his a gentle squeeze, one he quickly returns. 

- “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

- Satan stared at you, eyes wide. You weren’t sure if the look was surprised, stunned, or a combination of the two. But it soon melted away into something terribly soft. With one last squeeze of your hand, Satan picked up his book and flipped to your bookmark. You winced as he came face-to-face with the torn page, an apology at the ready. But he placed a finger against your lips and shrugged. 

- “It happens. And...” he trailed off, his mouth twisting before settling into a frown. “I was hoping to make things right with you. If you’ll let me?”

- You grinned in reply, settling against your pillows. 

- “I’m all ears.”

- With a smile of his own—warm, true, and bright—Satan began to read where you left off. And as you drifted off, lulled by the comforting sound of his voice as the second book came to a close, you hoped he wouldn’t hold the action against you.