"Come on, little witch. You're only prolonging the inevitable. We're going to have you one way... or the other..."
***
There are some rules you don't break
when it comes to the supernatural.
1. Don't be an idiot.
2. Don't make deals with Demons...
AN: I'm not gonna lie I think I cried writing some of this. I can't remember cause I blacked out about two sentences in. This chapter was written by my angsty emo teen so... blame her if it gets outta pocket 🤪🥴
PS. Y'all we really gotta rally around our boy Levi rn. He's gonna go through it 😞
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The Trickster
I tried not to think about where I was and what I was doing. I tried not to think about all the shit that had led me to this point. I made damn sure I tried not to think about Malachi and his greedy, power hungry plans.
I didn't want this. I didn't want any of it. Not anymore at least.
Being the disappointment to an age old line of seated officials and ambassadors came at a steep cost. Most of the time it was a tongue lashing that stuck with me for a few years at least.
But other times...
Fuck that.
It didn't matter what they did to me, it was just my lot in life. I wasn't unfamiliar with pain when I had been trapped and tortured for years.
But I had grossly underestimated humans and their ability to be cruel.
I had grown to appreciate the art and the music and the life that was gifted to them. I had learned to enjoy all their quirks and their beauty, no matter how flawed they were.
And yet the moment those hunters ripped into me, I was eternally ruptured. All that time I had lived among them, to learn and study their humanity, I had never been afraid of what they were.
Now it felt like every face I saw was the one who had broken me. I hated it.
Somewhere along the way, I had begun to hate humanity. It was jealousy and disgust that had stopped me from continuing my study abroad program. Sending that letter of resignation had been the hardest decision of my life because I wanted so badly for the things I had endured to not affect my view of mankind and their creations.
But it was too much.
I looked down at my hands. The place I had begun. My very first tattoos were on my palms. It was where they had nailed me to a fucking wall just to have some target practice with their crossbows.
Like it was some kind of sport.
I mean fathers had brought their goddamn sons in as a sick initiation rite. It wasn't just the physical pain that haunted me. But the mental.
