𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ★Alastor x fem! reader★🥀

Ch. XIX ✡Light In Dark, Dark In Light✡

THE AMOUNT OF DREAD THAT FILLED every cell and nerve inside of you on your walk back home was enough to cause a few shortened breaths and to feel lightheaded. Though standing face to face in front of the large oak door with the symbol of a spider carved into the wood...you feel like collapsing entirely.

You don't exactly know why you feel so anxious over this. He's your father, your family. A being who took you under his wing and cared for you during your three centuries of life in Hell while others chose not to do so.

Without him, you wouldn't be the demoness you are today.

The irony of this. It was so easy for you to kill those four shark demons in the alleyway and kill Exorcists without any sort of fear or anxiety.
But facing Zestial? That makes you shake from the inside out, urging you to turn and run away to avoid such a confrontation. You hate how you allow yourself to feel like this.

Running a hand down your face with a deep inhale, you open the door and step inside, greeted with a blow of cold air softly brushing your hair off your shoulders, while the entrance is dimly lit from candelabras displayed on nightstands and hanging on the stone walls.

This part of your home always reminded you of a castle, made completely from stone while the floor has a velvet red carpet running from the door across the room straight ahead, before stopping at the hallway entrance, where everything is made from materials such as wood and other housing materials.

The stone walls are cold to the touch as you gently caress your fingers against it while you walk forward, remembering when you were a small child constantly touching the walls, breathing in its smell of rock mixed with the embedded scents of candles that are lit 24/7.

You would always be in this section of the mansion, feeling like a princess to a king.
A soft smile tugs at your lips, the anxiety slowly dissolving to almost nothing as you remember back to simpler times. When you were a child looking up to your father like he was the world.

It's sad honestly. When someone is a child, they have no understanding of the world, the open world of choices, they haven't found their voices, and parents love them. But as they begin to grow and show desires to be something then what their parents had wanted them to be, everything changes.

A wall is built between a parent and child because of different points of view...why is that? Do parents feel disrespected or insulted because of their child wanting to be something else and write their own life stories? Or does it boil down to parents fear of losing control before they feel their child is ready to embark their own path without them?

It's always different for everyone, though when it comes to you and your father, you can't help but fear it's a mix of both those points you just stated.

Slowly after reaching the end of the hallway, you enter the longue room where a stone fireplace is built inside the wall, a grand painting of you and your father hanging above it, and to your left the walls are completely covered from shelves of books, while a small desk sits against the tinted window as two large chairs are displayed to the right of it, on top a black throw rug.

One chair, being currently occupied by Zestial. His chair is turned in such a way where he has to look over his shoulder to look at you, though he makes no such movement. He remains still, fingertips touching as his hands rest on top his legs, his two long spider-like legs crossed over each other, as a cup of half drank tea sits on the table beside the chair, growing colder by each tick and tock that are seconds from the grandfather clock tucked in the corner.

You wonder for a moment if he knows you're even here, or if he's purposely giving you the cold shoulder to force you to be the first one to break the tense filled silence that surrounds you and him. Judging his cold demeanor, his deep inhales and long exhales through his nose, and his four luminous green eyes slowly closing and opening, illuminating the room slightly, you know that he won't mutter a word until you are the one to speak first.