The Radio Demon and the Star [Alastor Fic]

Moth to a Flame

1932

Alastor

The brunette fiddled with the radio dial, struggling find music within the scratchy static. A low sigh leaving his lips.

"Breaking news about the shining star, Honey S-"

It took a minute for the rushed words to register in Alastors mind. Then, he was turning the dial back, hoping he didn't miss much.

"Brought in by Russell Winston, the star was declared dead on arrival! She had taken a rifle shot to chest!"

Alastors eye twitched. He slammed his hand on the table. He was furious.

"What exactly happened out there, Mr. Winston?"

"I didn't mean to shoot her! I was just out hunting! Then I saw her, the tree branches made it seem like she had antlers, and she was wearing a fuzzy scarf so I thought she had fur! I-"

The jumbled apologizes were cut off. Slowly dying into to ear splitting static, then silence.

His fist slammed back into the table.

The star was dead.

His star, was dead.

Now he'll never know the beautiful darkness hidden within the angel. He lost his mystery. His fun. His puppet.

She was supposed to help him wipe the competitors. She was going to help him rule the radio.

Alastor was fuming. He was so close to becoming the number one radio show. He could tell.

He knew it in washroom of the diner. The star enamored him. Just as he did her. It would have been so easy to get her in his control. So, very easy.

Glaring daggers at the broken radio on the floor, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness.

Scoffing at himself, he stormed the counter, and grabbed the half full bottle of Jamison. He didn't bother getting a glass, and drank straight from the bottle.

Why was he sad?

He knew why he was angry, but he couldn't place why he was hurt. He enjoyed her music, but there were other artist. He was enchanted by the mystery she held, but he was certain there were others.

She was going to be his marionette, but there was other strings for him to pull.

Was it her smile? The dark look in her eyes that would appear for just a moment?

He didn't know, and it only pissed him off more.

Alastor threw himself down on his sofa. Galring at his broken radio once more, he brought the bottle to his lips.

She was a shooting star, beautiful, bright, and gone to quick.

His shooting star.

Maybe they'll meet again, in another life.

•°•°•°•°•

1932

Wisteria

The woman sat, groggy. Her ears were ringing and there was a pounding in her head.

Raising her hand, she froze. Her skin was now pitch black. Eyes trailing up her arms, she noticed the color began to fade into a blinding white starting at her elbows.