#zulima

The itching only gets worse as the spring goes on, getting to the point where Cyrus is transforming into his demon form regularly and actively scratching his head against his bedroom door frame just to soothe the odd sensation.

Why do they feel so loose? Is the question that invades the bottle-black-haired boy’s mind as he inspects the onyx horns that haven’t grown much since they first came in jutting out from his scruffy, unkempt hair. Messing with them only causes the itch to intensify until Cyrus can’t help but to rut the side of his head against his bathroom door frame.

It feels so relieving until the half-demon hears a ‘snap’. Blue-to-gold-eyes snap open in horror to see the small, corkscrewed appendage fall to the floor in front of him.

“Korrina!” The tanned boy calls out to his captor who’s just downstairs brewing new types of medicinal potions to sell in her shop.

“Quiet down, Avaro” the witch sighs as she puts her utensils down, not even turning to face him. “I can hear you just fine.”

Cyrus pauses for a moment at the use of the name she’d picked out for him when she’d won him in an auction seven years prior- one that made him feel like a newly adopted pet.

“Don’t call me that. My name’s not Avaro and you know it.” The 12-year-old grumbles. “Use the name my real parents gave me or don’t call me by a name at all.”

“And I told you that old name was dead. Avaro suits you better anyway.” Finally turning to look at him, Korrina’s mint-green eyes widen in delight when she sees the horn clenched in his hand. “Are your baby horns finally falling off? Here. Come here.”

Excitement bubbles up in her voice and Cyrus is more than a little weirded out by it. When he doesn’t respond in the way she wants, Korrina uses magic to pull the pre-teen to her.

She takes his horn from his hand and places it in her bowl to be ground up later.

“I wonder if the other one is ready to come off too.” She muses as she cups Cyrus’ face with one hand to hold him in place and uses the other to test the horn still attached to his head. “It is!”

With a quick jerk of the wrist, the black-haired witch is able to snap it off his head.

“OW!” Cyrus yelps as he smacks her away with his wing, knocking himself down in the process. A small trail of blood trickles down the side of his face. “That hurt!”

“Ohh, my poor baby…” Korrina grabs a handkerchief and wipes the side of his face before uttering a spell under her breath and kissing the wound. “I’m sorry.”

“Get your lips off of me!” The half-demon growls as he pushes her away. “You’re not my Mom- don’t try to kiss my injuries to make them feel better. It’s gross.”

“Avaro,” the witch gasps with a frown, “You’ve always been my baby. I’m heartbroken that you would say that.”

“You really are crazy.” Cyrus hurries and scampers back off to his room before Korrina can do anything else. “And stop calling me that name!” He slams his bedroom door, now two horns short and done with interacting with his delusional captor.

・・・〆・・・

Azalea

“Muuum, my head itches!” Azalea complains as her mother does her hair from an official ball at the Demon Lord’s castle. “Will you scratch it for me?”

“When was the last time Dad filed down your horns for you?” Arella asks, gently scratching her nails over where her horns would naturally spiral out of her head. Perhaps they just needed to be tended to and that’s why the 11-year-old’s head was itching so badly.

“A while ago…” Azalea admits while leaning into her mother’s touch, eventually becoming so relaxed she let her glamour fade away to reveal her demon form.

“A long while ago it seems,” the human arches a brow at the look of them. “You’ve been avoiding having your horns taken care of, haven’t you?”

The half-demon freezes when her mother finally catches on to what she’s been doing as she answers with a quiet “maybe.”

“Well, now you know why your head itches. First thing tomorrow, were filing these-!” As she’s talking, Azalea’s horns literally pop off of her head. Arella looks down at her hands with wide eyes and concern.

As if on cue, Azalea happens to look in the mirror. Her eyes go wide as she sees what’s in her mother’s hands.

“Are… those my horns?”

“Don’t panic.” Arella says calmly, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal explana-”

“DAAAAAAAD!” The freckled half-demon takes off in search of her father, as if he might be able to do something about her missing horns.

She finds him downstairs as he’s teaching her twin brother how to tie his tie so the boy doesn’t manage to somehow strangle himself with it.

“What’s with all the racket?” Mammon finally lets Aurelius go as Azalea runs circles around them, freaking out about something he can’t really make out right now. “Hey slow down, kid, I can’t understand you.”

When the demon does finally manage to catch his daughter, she’s full-on freaking out about how her mother had just torn her horns off her head. Something seemgly backed up by Arella when she appears with the appendages still in her hand.

“Please tell me this is normal for this time of year.” The human frowns as she places them on the table beside her.

It takes Mammon two seconds to connect the dots before he’s laughing to himself.

“You look weird in that form without your horns…” Aurelius comments to his sister earning him a pointed glare.

“Yeah well at least I ain’t got wings that I trip over cuz they’re too big for my body.” His sister growls back.

“Dad says I’ll grow into ‘em one day.” The green-eyed boy pouts.

“Okay, enough, you two.” Mammon sighs, “Azalea, you’re gonna be fine. Mom didn’t tear yer horns off yer head, they fell off. Remember when y’all were loosin’ your baby teeth? Same concept applies here.”

“So I’m gonna be fine? That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Mammon confirms, ruffling his daughter's hair, much to his wife’s disappointment. “They’ll start growin’ back in a couple days until they’re ready to shed off again at the end of next year’s summer. I coulda told ya sooner if ya stopped hiding from me every time I brought the filer out.”

“Well maybe if that stupid machine wasn’t so damn loud, I wouldn’t…” Azalea grumbles as she smooths her hair down and she and her mother return to her room to finish putting her hair up.

・・・〆・・・

Zulima

Zulima was enjoying a nice trip up to the human world with her father when one of her horns plopped down onto the book below her. She’s startled at first before she remembers back to the conversation she’d had with her other father just days before leaving for this excursion.

Gathering the boney structure in her hand, the silver-haired 11-year-old descends the steps until she finds Solomon in the basement taking inventory of all his materials.

“Papa…”

“Yes, dear?” He replies absentmindedly.

“I’m becoming a woman...”

“hUH!?” Solomon whips around, one part in surprise, the other in bewilderment at just how casually his daughter announced such a big life event only to find the girl holding one of her horns in her hand. To find its just that makes the sorcerer left out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, you’re losing your horns. I thought you meant something… else.”

“I mean I got my period yesterday too, but I thought you wouldn’t want to know that.” It’s said with such a deadpan that Solomon can only pinch the bridge of his nose, vowing to have talk with Asmo when they got home about how their daughter delivers these types of announcements.

“Well, where’s the other one? I can make you a salve to help with the upkeep of your new horns using the old ones if I have both.”

“Still attached to my head.” Zulima drops her glamour to show the still attached horn jutting out from her silver hair. “It is really wiggly though.”

“Does it hurt when you mess with it?” Solomon asks as his daughter shakes her head. “Good, that means it’s ready to come off. Here, tie this piece of string to it.”

He hands the half-demon a piece of string while tying the other end to the doorknob. Once Zulima has her end secured around the top of her horn, Solomon simply slams the door shut and the horn pops right off. No muss, no fuss.

“There we go. Nice and easy.” Solomon smiles as he inspects his daughter's hair for any leftover bits of keratin that might’ve broken off where the horn used to be attached to her head. “I’ll take those, and you can go off to bed for the night. I’ll call your father in a bit and let him know that you finally lost your baby horns.”

“Okay, thanks, Papa…” without much else the 11-year-old is bounding back up the stairs.

Once she’s gone, the witty sorcerer deflates, pulling out his phone.

“‘Becoming a woman,’” he scoffs in irritation, dialing his partner’s number, “When I get my hands on you, Asmo, I swear… Why would he tell her to say it like that?”