The Demon of Angels (Bk. 2) | ✓

Ⅰ

A GASP PARTS my lips, cracking the dry skin. I inhale a deep breath as if my soul was restored to my body suddenly. My body quivers; my eyes frantic as it roams the room that suddenly felt unfamiliar. Hugging my knees to my chest, I began rocking my body back and forth as tears silently stream down my pale cheeks. The terror that seized my limbs felt like shackles around my body, holding me in its vice-like clutches.

The weight of my skull felt heavy as it dropped to my knees. I don't wince at the sharp ache that immediately follows, and I don't realize I'm screaming until a body barges through my bedroom door.

Reality began to settle deep within my bones, tormenting me as it seeped through my pores and cut through me from the inside out. My father wanted me alive, but he'd make damn sure I was tormented first. That way, when he finally came for me, there would be nothing left of me to fight him off. I was useless, unable to pick myself up, weak, and a disappointment to everyone around me.

The body skidded to a stop at my besides on their knees. Large gentle hands encircled my waist, pulling me away from myself. My head throbbed from where I continuously banged my head against my knee caps. I let them pull me from the bed, eyes squeezed shut and still sobbing as they placed me in their lap. Arms wrapped themselves around me, and small soothing strokes over my hair quickly followed in rhythmic motions.

At some point, I had stopped streaming, and any time I raised my hand to further cause harm to myself, the person holding me gently grabbed my wrist and tugged it down and away from my head.

"Shh," they said, running their hands up and down my arms. "Breathe Celeste. You're home; you're safe." The voice infiltrated my ears in a smooth-smokey vibration, calming the erratic beat of my frantic heart. But it did nothing to stop the images or the voices that began pounding themselves through my brain.

Blood-curdling screams echoed in my brain, all a cry for help or pain. The guilt that weighed down on my shoulders dragged me down into an endless pit, drowning me in its oblivion. The Death Scythe was blaming me for the deaths of many, showing me images of myself at his side with his wicked grin plastered along my lips.

You did this, Death whispered in my ear. You let them die; you let them suffer.

"Celeste, focus on my voice," the familiar male spoke again. My body shied away from the loud noise, whimpering. His words struck a chord within me, but it was quickly clouded over with Death's shadow.

You're not strong enough, he taunted me. The scratchy vibration that poured from my father's lips made crimson pour freely from my ears. It was strong enough to bring me to my knees, but my body stayed upright from the man that held me.

"You're strong, Celeste. Fight it." The voice spoke again, louder this time with a slight growl reverberating through their chest. It was strong yet gentle, demanding me to obey but it felt as if I were too far gone. A waste of space, and an utter useless attempt at salvation.

"Focus on my voice," they tried again. "What you feel; what do you smell?" When I didn't respond, the arms around me loosened, I immediately whimpered at the cold that seeped through my clothing at the loss of their touch. The arms tightened once more, "Fight it, Celeste," they murmured. "Remember who you are," he growled, his arms tightening and holding me impossibly closer.

I let my head fall back against their chest, sweat pasting my hair to my forehead. My breathing was shallow, the hollow point of my chest aching as nothing within myself felt right. I swallowed the lump of emotions clogging my throat, gritting my teeth. I willed myself to push through the fog that clogged my mind, even if it was desperate to drown me.

Slowly, I took a deep and shaky breath, obeying the man that held me safely in their arms. Despite the strong feeling of a brain bleed, and the urge to scream until everything around me was gone, I held steady and began to answer his questions.