The Antichrist has fallen for the swamp witch, causing a myriad of problems in both the realms of spirit and form. Will they come to a solution?
My first story in about 2 years, I was heavily inspired by the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades to wri...
"Aw damn," Queenie said as she struggled to watch her step down the long, pitch-black, tunnel-like void. "It's nasty down here."
"Ma cherie," she heard a voice call.
"Legba? I'm here!"
She saw a light, and the same tall, black man with white skull makeup, a top hat, bones and glass beads around his neck, cane topped with a cobra, and black cloak over a suit. His red-orange eyes flashed at her, and he held a very bright lantern up to see it was really her.
"Ah, there you are," the loa said in his booming, African-French accent. "You are not dressed for the occasion."
"I know I'm not," Queenie said, coming near him and eventually under his cloak as they walked down the path. "I am crashing the wedding, not attending. Remember?"
"There is not any time to change now," he said. "We need to get down there... fast. It starts as we speak."
"Shit," Queenie muttered. "Do you have a way to get down there faster?"
"Come under my cloak more," Legba said. "We will glide past the screams of tortured souls."
"And he won't touch me?" Queenie asked to ensure her safety.
"Non, not with me present," Legba promised. "Hang on tight."
Queenie held onto the loa for dear life under his cloak as they started to gain momentum through the tunnel leading to the underworld. The wind blew in her hair like a winter breeze; it was cold for such a dark place. As they went faster, Queenie peered into the ajar doors of each part of hell; there was even the one she had been in, from a time where she was at that fried chicken joint in Detroit. She hated it there and would rather die than return. Then she passed the door to a Sears-like retailer, where she had been with Michael to retrieve Madison's soul. However, she shut her eyes for most of the trip, still hearing the echoes of shrill screams of those suffering in the depths of hell as they descended.
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I'm ready, Misty thought to herself under her veil, holding a bouquet of narcissuses assembled by Nan. She took a breath, and the march began. It was not a usual wedding march, and the doors slid open to let her walk down the makeshift aisle leading to the fireplace of the living room. The furniture was moved in such a way it resembled an earthly wedding, for Misty's comfort. Michael stood there with a smile, the fire blazing behind him as his heart fluttered at the sight of his bride. Nan sat on the side, looking up at the bride with awe as she walked toward her husband to-be slowly. The girl got up to gather the flowers for the bride before she continued a bit more briskly to where she would stand in front of Michael, who also acted as the officiant.
"I am pleased to announce that I have found a bride, Miss Misty Day," he said. "Nan, you bear witness to this ceremony so far."
Misty turned her eyes down under her black veil and sighed quietly, as Michael continued.
"I, Michael Langdon, at this point in time in the realms of the underworld, take you," he said, taking out a plain silver ring, "Misty Day, to be my consort, my wife, my counterpart."
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