Twisted

Chapter 17

*Hell Feb. 23, 1933*

I wipe the blood from the angelic blade, staining the white fabric rusted red. When I can again see my reflection in the metal, I set the dagger back on the table. Behind me, my father tries to quiet his cries of pain. I laugh to myself. After all these years and he still acts as if he has no weakness. 

Next to the dagger lay two bloody antlers, pieces of skin and hair still stuck to the base. I pick up the antlers in all their gory glory. I look over my shoulder at my father who hangs his head low so I can't see his eyes. 

Through two holes in his scalp, I can see his skull cracked and scared. I smile to myself as I tack the antlers to the wall across from where my father is chained. 

"Beautiful piece of art isn't it?" I say. 

"F-fuck you, slut." My father gasps between labored breaths. 

I laugh and wipe a fake tear from my face. "It's almost as if you actually believe you don't deserve this torture."

My father glares up at me. Blood drips down his temples from the cuts in his scalp and smaller cuts from when I threw glass shards and needles at him for target practice. Pinprick scars dot along the veins in his hands from a session weeks ago. 

"Fake it all you want. Deep down I know you're still that scared little girl hiding under the covers. You laugh at me for acting like a demon without weakness and yet you hide behind the biggest mask of all."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I growl. 

"Oh, don't I?" A smirk dances on his lips, and I fight the urge to punch him right then and there. "Where's Al?"

I freeze before hardening my stare again, "He's alive, on Earth."

"Not for long. He will die eventually. What then daughter?"

"Then I'll protect him. Like always. I always have and always will." I cross my arms.

"You can't protect him from everything. You can't protect him from me or the king. You especially can't protect him from what's coming. He will die. You can't protect him from yourself. Either you'll kill him, or he'll kill you, again."

I rear back and punch my father across the face. His head whips to the side and I hear the soft ticking of a tooth rolling across the floor. My father rolls his jaw and spits a second tooth out. 

"Deny it all you want. You know you're not bulletproof." My father sneers.

I stand up straight and wipe my knuckles free of blood. "Ya know. I was gonna cut this session short because I have a meeting to go to soon but now... they can wait." I summon a silver needle and some thread. 

I kneel in front of my father so we're now at eye level and begin humming. His body goes rigid as the spell sets into his skin. I thread the needle and place my hand on my father's cheek. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes what I'm about to do. 

"Don't move." I tease, not that he could even if he tried. I place the needle against his bottom lip before pushing it through both his lips. I repeat a couple of times before the first stitch is nice and tight. As I move on to the next stitch I see a small tear slip down my father's cheek. I shake my head and dip the needle in the tear as a lubricant before continuing to sew. 

When I've finished I step back to examine my work. I smile and nod before dropping the spell. My father drops forward like my spell was the only thing keeping him upright. 

"That's better. No more of that persistent nagging. It really was quite annoying." I hum. 

I clean the needle before setting it on a shorter table that I push closer to my father. I grab his arm and lift it up onto the table.