The Riddle Of Magic

Chapter 57: A Pinch of Home

✨ Mature content ahead! ✨

Though his kingdom may have been one constantly in chaos, the King of Hell had always been a figure who glided through the turbulence of his reign, ever a force of cool equanimity. The light that shone from Lucifer was always cold, which made it strange for his daughter to have inherited that power, only for it to come from her fingertips as flame.

His steadfast nature had been comforting in its way when the princess was a child. He'd been a constant presence in her life alongside her mother, and though the fallen seraphim saw to his affairs as a ruler and was often busy with some meeting or project, she still felt taken care of.

She'd only known the placid edges of emotion from him - bemusement or curiosity or annoyance. There was always something carefully reserved and tempered about her father's demeanor, as if he was unable to express his emotions in full. She'd never seen him truly show joy or confusion or anger.

And she certainly had never seen him show fear.

But Charlie saw it blazing within him now, and it was as contagious as any yawn, rippling between the two royals as they hid behind the King's golden shield.

It could not hold, would not hold.

Doom was fast approaching, and it would soon take him - and her too, if she could not do what needed to be done. Magic spilled from his hands to hers, rushed as any kind of reminder, and the heat was distant now, but so strange. His light wasn't warm - there was nothing warm about him.

So why did that magic burn?

The gold suddenly vanished, swallowed by the blackened void that engulfed them, and it was as if she was poised on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed or pulled over the edge.

Something moved in the dark, and Charlie realized it was the trailing ends of flowing black hair, before her vision was filled with red. Her father's lifeless face tilted down as his head fell, then his shoulders tumbled a different direction; and as she tried to process just how terrible and wrong the sight before her was, the Princess of Hell saw her own face staring back at her from the dark.

The eyes were cruel and cold as her father's, but a blazing sapphire blue. Her pale fingers gripped a black pitchfork, but the blood dripping from it was practically glowing, the red an almost sickly sanguine. The gored tip leveled at Charlie's face, and the other figure's blue eyes crackled with malice as she thrust forward.

The blonde demoness jerked awake with a sharp gasp, her stomach tight with tension. It felt as if she'd dodged a killing strike, and she tried to remind herself that it was just her imagination this time, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down.

At least there wasn't any pain from the lesson this time. The entire beginning of the dream was a blur in her senses, more vague emotion than anything concrete.

She glanced at the window. It was morning, just barely. Alastor had already gone, most likely to work.

As she went to grab her phone to look at news, Charlie spotted something unusual among her possessions. A peculiar bell was sitting on her nightstand, ornate black metal with red rubies inlaid into its surface in the shape of roses, just like her hair-clip.

There was a folded-up letter sitting underneath it, and she pulled it out to read it.

Hello Charlie!

I hope you didn't think I was merely joking about you getting your rest today, my dear!

I'm afraid I simply must insist, hence why I've taken the liberty of ensuring you have no need to leave our suite!