MAD HATTER [TATE LANGDON]

[1.5] MY DEAR FREYA

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ONE REGRET DEAR WORLD, THAT I AM DETERMINED NOT TO HAVE WHEN I AM ON MY DEATHBED IS THAT I DID NOT KISS YOU ENOUGH.
HAFIZ OF PERSIA
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HER LIPS were of flowers that decorated the gardens of life, her hair was a river that flowed down her back as her shoulders held the world, and her eyes were of stars that littered the dark sky.

She was every little bit flawed, in her head, it was. Freya's words were lighthearted and her thoughts ignorant. Her lips always curved into a smile, making her prey for the world. Her hair was eye catching along with her pushed back shoulders, her posture impeccable like a ballerina as her sun-kissed skin shined. Lastly, her eyes were glinted with foolishness and immaturity.

Nobody had told her, though. It was not her fault, as those around her had shaped Freya to what she was supposed to be. The late nineteenth century and centuries before that were known to degrade women for their strength and capabilities.

And, so, Freya was taken advantage of that.

It was the Murder House where she had died. Well, actually, it was merely land that she had lied her deathbed upon and watched it get built. Person after person had helped shape her into a very slightly modern person, allowing her to be somewhat familiar with the modern day language.

Tate Langdon had taught her a lot. She had raised him but didn't pay attention as much when he grew up. She yearned for charisma and rebellious attitude as it clashed against everything she knew.

But Freya was still clueless.

It was not until Hell that she had grown. Her lips were now tipped into a devious smirk, her hair was now alluring to prey, and her eyes were deep with vendetta and hate.

But, in the end, she had grown, nonetheless. In the end, she has become the predator and not the prey.

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"STOP IT!" She screeched to the Devil as he stood above her. His fiery eyes glanced over her as her hair shined in the fire behind her, her head tilted to look up at him and her body slightly turned.

"Freya," His deep voice casted over her as her brain took in the wave of trauma. He had no skin tone, el Diablo. He was neither a deep brown or a pale white, gray or silver, red or green. He was only the silhouette of past life and his eyes were the only defining thing about him, as they were the most colorful with a fire burning in his eyes.

"Freya," His sonorous voice had murmured yet again, "I have decided to release you back to the world, but only the land of which you died on."

Her eyes widened as she cried out in happiness, her foolishness returning to her at the sound of the old world, "You will release me again? I get to go back? What is the present date, is the house still there?"

"Silence!" El Diablo's voice boomed before his eyes lowered down to her face as she trembled at the sound of his loud voice, "Do you know why souls come to Hell?"

"To be punished?" Freya squeaked like a mouse, worried that she was to be hurt for the comment. El Diablo shook what seemed like the outlining of his head. "Every soul comes to Past Life, or Hell, to be taught the lessons that have not been learned." He told her calmly, "So, that before I send you to Heaven, you all become equal."

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion as he continued on. "Notice that I have never hurt you physically," The Devil spoke wisely, "I carve the lessons of life into your head so you can be sent to Heaven. Racism, sexism, courage, the gist of it. I put the scenes in your head so that you can learn what everyone goes through. So, that you can face the problems that the world had also faced.

"But my last lesson to you is that you face your past and learn your mistakes. That you are not fooled by the lies that men have told you, because dear Freya, that is a problem that every woman has ever faced and is the most important one in your life."

Freya pushed herself off the floor with her hands. She stared into the eyes of the Devil as her hair was the only thing that covered her bare body. Her arms stood at her sides, her posture straight, and her face emotionless. His hand caressed her smooth cheek, "Goodbye, my sweet."

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MY FIRST DRAFT WAS CRAP SO I MADE SOMETHING BETTER FOR THE MEANTIME.