LITTLE GRIM

09 THE TREE ON THE WEST MOUNT

ACT SIXTEEN IMPULSE CONTROL

Journal,

I think I am carrying the child of the devil inside me and I have never before in my life felt so victorious. I am full of anger, of hate, and I love it. It is perishing me, and for the first time in ever so long, I feel complete - I feel full. I am relishing in the manner the Prince looks at me as if I can feel the footsteps of his dear love on my flesh. He loves me. I know that he does. He loves me so much, he cannot think of much else. I feel in my bones he writes poetry about my face, my lips, the tips of my hair. He loves me. But I never will, and he will die for that.

Oh, how you all underestimate me. I am the girl whom cannot be tethered by earthly sin but by Gods, I will toss your meals to the birds and bats and laugh while you burn. I'm a ghost. I'm a demon, a fox. Oh, I have no love in me. I'll eat you up if you are not careful - I'll swallow your heart whole and think nothing of it. I will ride your horse into a ditch to break every one of its bones, dance and waltz and feast on the succulent ashes of you and your mother and everyone you have held close to your heart. I am a ticking time bomb 'tween your hands and though you believe I carry a heart of gold, virtue carved in my skull and all, I will remain to spew sweet lies as if they are the only thing I have trusted. And so be it. I'll sooner end you with your own weapons than to love you. Do never get it twisted, my love.

  "PEARL! Pearl, sweet girl!"

There is a dainty figure in the corner lighting up more candles with matches, clad in a pretty, pink hue. Gossamer silk is what Lady Pristine wears, and it accentuates her lithe figure. Her hair shivers hues of cherry moonlight and precious Pearl flinches and sits stock-still before the window that graces her with a scenery of ingénue, hiding her journal safe and well so no one is capable of finding it.

  "Lady Pristine? What's the matter?" She proffers the woman a sickeningly sweet smile that is as insincere as Pearl is pale.

  "You need to come see Teivel instantly—he injured himself, gravely so," Pristine stammers, speaks as if it is of inferno and blazing thunderstorms, with her eyes wide and her cheeks, for once, drained of hues of beautiful rose. Tasting of ashes and smoke, her words entice little Pearl to furrow her eyebrows every so slightly.

  Her features bloom harder than before, "Gravely? Is he alright?" Hues of pink and constellations of crimson tainted biting fire along the smooth surface of her cheeks, soft like cream and so innocuous the devil would cry tears of ruby red. Pristine does not answer, instead pinches the bridge of her nose.

  "Where is he? Teivel?" Girl who had painted the heavens with the faintest, most gentle brush of her fingertips inquires of Pristine, whom stands with her slender hands in her side.

  "Outside - now, go! The Prince told me of your knowledge, you must help him!"

And so Pearl does.

The outside of the castle, Pearl notes as she steps foot out, is bustling with noise; voices, coalesced with the rumbling of hooves, the faint laughter of young maids in the background. In a pond near fish, lotus flowers and an endlessly blossoming cherry tree stand impressively, the water is mystique, and though Pearl wishes desperately so to inspect further the beauty of the scenery, she is reminded rapidly that Teivel - and, of course, the Prince - expects her to dash as fast as her feet are capable. And alas she does so - picking up the pace, like a baby deer upon clumsy little feet, she begins to sprint toward the back of the gardens, where she, finally, witnesses a sliver of he who she has come to seek.

He sits and the woman of the day prior, whom Pearl had seen him with and whom she had felt slightly uneasy toward, that one of almond silken skin only a little lighter than Evangeline's and hair that like gossamer falls from her scalp in thin threads, stands by him. She sings euphoric honeydew beauty, not gentle like Pearls but almost glorious; a jaw to envy and lips plump but eyes a tad foolish. She looks down upon Teivel as though he has mounded the earths with his own bloodied hands, as if she wishes for him to pull the sorrow from betwixt her legs, like it is him she wants to fill the void in her heart left by her father. It seems to Pearl she seeks redemption where it does not conceal itself, and it comes clear to her: she is madly in love with him. Dead chrysanthemums grow amidst her ribs when the woman looks at the man - how she glances at Teivel with hope blossoming in the darkest of her blue eyes.