Finding Alex (English)

Chapter 1. The beginning

 Hello everyone. My name is Evangeline and I won't start my presentation like the typical "I am a normal girl, living a normal life". Because I clearly don't.

I'm an orphan. But luckily I have my little brother Alex, well or rather, I had him.

When our parents died, when I was 10 and Alex 4, they sent us to a Christian orphanage where some horrible nuns "took care" of us. Since Alex was the youngest of the two of us, he was the only one who was adopted.

And of course, I went from house to house until I was full age.

I never knew who adopted my brother, all I know is that they were foreigners.

And well I started the search for my brother. I've been like this for about 4 years. And you may ask, have I found him in these four years? Do I have any clue as to his whereabouts? No.

Unfortunately, I'm just a 22-year-old girl looking for my brother, who has been adopted by a good family and to top it off, from another country. I think you can imagine the face of the police officers every time I tell the story, and they always tell me that they can't do anything about it, because since it wasn't a kidnapping, the only thing I can do is create a profile on any social media where I can be seen and wait for my brother to come out of nowhere. Oh What a bunch of incompetent!

Honestly, I'm tired of being called crazy, stupid and desperate everywhere I go, so I've decided to ask the only gentleman who I know for sure is going to help me.

I was raised as a Catholic, Roman and apostolic Christian, so it couldn't be any other, please drum drum, Lucifer.

You thought it was God, but no, I'm laughing at you. It was so funny, sorry.

As I was saying, God has not helped me in anything in life, he has made it worse, so I have moved to the other side. And, well, here I am, doing a satanic ritual for the lord of hell to help me find my brother.

I have my pentagram made of chicken blood, not mine. I value my iron in blood, I do enough losing it once a month; My black candles, the circle of salt, The grimoire of Solomon's Third Clavicle, stolen from the library; and the ritual place, my cheap flat room. Well, shall we begin?

As the words were recited, the flames of the candles rose, quickened; the light bulbs lit up and burst, the windows opened suddenly, letting in a strong gust of air that completely darkened my room.

I was frozen and in the dark long enough to realize that something went wrong and that I wasted the blood of a poor hen unnecessarily, so I closed the window and checked the ritual to see where I had the error.

-—Why are you calling me? —A man's seductive voice was heard in the room.

I turn around and there's no one.

—Hello? Who's there?

—What do you think?

The candles are lit suddenly and a figure of an extremely attractive man with messy dark hair, about thirty years old, appears leaning on my door.

He's the real one, I can't believe it.

—Lucifer, I guess. —I try to pretend, okay.

—You guess it right, young lady. —he said, approaching me, looking at me with her spectacular red eyes —OK? Why are you calling me? I don't have all night.

Every time he opens his mouth, the same hell is lit inside me. He's the perfection itself.

—My brother, —I managed to say —help me find my brother. —I looked into his eyes saddened, you are my only and last hope of finding him.