Sympathy for the Devil

22

I sprawled out of my bed as I stretched.

I must have dozed off for a few hours, but the bright sun outside my window suggested otherwise. I know that Killian would scold me like a petulant child for being here, but I was glad that I was. I missed the comforts of familiarity. I missed my bedroom. Heck, I even missed my two butt-munch brothers, even if it only has been a few days since I have seen them.

As I stood up and began to make my bed, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. My bedroom was a mess of memories, each one tangled up in the familiar scent of my perfume and the faded colors of my childhood posters. I ran my fingers over the spines of my old young adult books from years past, feeling a sense of comfort in their worn pages. I hadn't picked up a book to read in a long while. I stopped reading for enjoyment after my mother died.

I wonder if Mom will ever show herself to me now that I know that she is alive and well. I don't know if I ever want to see her. She left us purposefully while we thought she died in such a brutal way that still churns my stomach when I think about it. It's straight-up nightmare fuel.

I glanced around the room, taking in the familiar sights. My desk was still cluttered with old school papers and broken pencils. My dresser was still covered in a mess of jewelry and hair clips. It was all so...normal. My clothes were still hanging out of the mouth of the wooden dresser in a messy heap.

Everything was left as an untouched Ellie shrine; minus the leftover hoard from Les that was currently residing under my bed like a freeloading roommate.

I sighed, feeling a sense of longing wash over me. I missed this life. I missed being a normal girl, with normal problems and normal worries. I missed not having to worry about Sluagh and Banshees and ancient prophecies from outdated dry books.

I truly had no fucking idea how good I had it until it was all taken right out from under me.

I didn't know the dead could mourn their life too. There is suffering in life and in the afterlife. Death isn't a sweet justifiable relief. It presents its own set of challenges and rules, especially if you're a demigod.

I caught my eye in the vanity mirror. My green eyes were two glowing emeralds. My frame was less chunky around the middle. I needed to eat something soon because the bites of toast I had yesterday weren't cutting it at this point.

Les and Julian should be at school. My dad is probably off for the rest of the week. Knowing him, he was probably drinking a beer and stewing in his thoughts. I hated to think that that's how he was managing. But how else could he manage with all of this loss? I know I wouldn't be able to hold on anymore. Losing my mom was too much for me. Losing two people in the span of a year would be a sentence straight from Hell.

I tucked a strand of silver behind my ears. "I'm still here, dammit," I whispered as I wiped at my eyes.

"Save the crocodile tears, Elizabeth. It's been too played out by now."

I caught a glimpse of Ankou on my bed with his head resting on the headboard. He was flipping a stuffed animal from years past in his hands.

"You're looking a bit worse for wear, Elizabeth," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Rough night?"

I glowered in his direction as I spun on my heels.

"What are you doing here, Ankou?" I demanded in a hushed tone trying to keep my voice neutral. Ankou's eyes sparkled with amusement as he continued to flip the stuffed animal in his hands.

"I could ask you the same thing, Elizabeth," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's Ellie," I huffed as Ankou singed the whiskers on the stuffed wolf.