The Devil's Voice | Desire of the Endless

1 - The Velvet Rose

The battering sound of the rain made it hard to listen to one's own thoughts, let alone the bouncer who Celia's childhood friend and avid party goer Asta was talking to. She tightened the grip around her dark umbrella, which threatened to fall out of her hand while she used the other to pull her short dress further down her thighs. Whether it was due to the cold biting into her exposed skin or the fact that this dress was simply too short for her liking, she couldn't tell.

Asta smiled brightly at the bouncer, his hair seeming almost as black as Celia's in the darkness of the night, save for the few neon lights that hung above them and occasionally let the auburn color of his locks come through. She hadn't paid attention to their conversation, but she could tell by the way the bouncer nodded at them that Asta had gotten them into the club.

The Velvet Rose, one of the most famous and most notorious places to spend one's night in London. If its reputation held any truth to it, it was definitely not the place her father would want Celia to be in right now, but it was also where he would least expect her to be. After all, a pastor's daughter had nothing to do in a hotspot for sins, as her father liked to call establishments like this. Celia had always thought that his views were too old-fashioned, too antiquated for the 12st Century and yet here she was, questioning whether she should have come in the first place. Dressed in less clothing than she had ever worn in her life.

"Come on, we're early. The bar shouldn't be crowded yet," said Asta in his usual, mischievous voice but all Celia could do was smile at him. They walked past the bouncer, who didn't even look at them again, and Celia noticed the muffled sound of electronic music coming from the inside of the building. The ground even shook to the song's beat as she followed Asta inside, and she could feel it in her bones by the time they had fully entered and were now standing in front of the dance floor.
It was hard to concentrate on anything but the bright, pink light that was twisting and turning above their heads, or the thin fog that smelled like something fresh and gently enveloped them both.

Water was dripping from the closed umbrella in her hand, and it wasn't until another bouncer directed her towards the wardrobe stand to her left, that she actually let go of it. Unlike Asta, she hadn't brought a coat and so she simply gave the annoyed looking woman taking care of the wardrobe her umbrella, and received a little card with a number in return.

"Together, please," said Asta as he took off his black coat and gently rested it on top of the counter separating them and the woman.
"Take her card, then. You have the same number." When she spoke, Celia noticed a tongue piercing glistening in the little light that was available, but tried not to stare. Her arms were wrapped around her upper body subconsciously, trying to hide how much of her cleavage this dress revealed, but when Asta saw it he visibly exhaled.

"Celia," he said into her ear as they left the wardrobe behind, and made their way towards the bar on the opposite side of the room, "you have got to let go for once. Enjoy yourself. I guarantee you, no one here knows you or will report back to your father. Plus, my sister's dress looks great on you so there is no reason to hide anything."

She still felt his breath on her skin when he pulled away again to give her a wink, to which she only rolled her eyes. Asta had always tried to make her leave her comfort zone, ever since they were children. But her father's shaming words and high expectations seemed to follow her everywhere, like shadows and little needles pinching the skin of her neck; a constant reminder to be the girl he raised. Always well-behaved, never out of line. Though she did not lack confidence, despite Asta having a different opinion on that, she felt way too out of line now to be comfortable. Perhaps a few drinks would fix that, however.

Celia almost bit her tongue when she realized her internal voice began sounding a lot like Asta on a Saturday night with nothing else to do than get drunk and regret his entire existence the next morning.