a song of death.

[ 2 ]

☆ Vaggie's POV, past tense

Charlie had always been an angel.

Sometimes, I wondered if it was simply genetic. Lucifer was an angel before he fell, after all. Maybe those recessive genes came into play he and Lilith birthed Charlie.

At other times, I wondered if Charlie simply didn't believe that she was a demon. She wanted to be better; she wanted to be worth something.

Either way, Charlie was an angel. Always had been.

But, after she found out that both of her parents were dead, killed at the hands of Alastor and (Y/N), she began to change.

Charlie grew cold. Shut herself out from the world—which was her career and, well, me. She became hostile whenever Angel or I would try to talk to her, and she often left the hotel at night for long periods of time. Sometimes, I would go out looking for her when she ran off, but never to any avail. I eventually gave up.

I still tried. I wanted her to be the angel that she always was. I loved her for that. I loved her.

I tried. I knocked on her door when she would stay locked in her office or her bedroom for hours on end, I would make her pancakes and encourage her to sing. I did everything I could.

But it was pointless. There was nothing I could do. She had to fix herself.

☆

☆ Second person POV, past tense

Later that same day, Alastor had revealed  that he had a surprise for you, much to the relief of your bored mind.

It was a disguise for you. So that you could leave the house.

"Wow."

"Wow is right, my dear."

You looked like an entirely new person.

Your hair was dull and not its natural color—perfectly unnoticable to the average demon's eye—and was cut and styled differently. Your eyes were a reddish-brown rather than their usual purple, curtosy of colored contacts. Alastor had offered you a bottle of self-tan to make your skin look darker, but you had refused. You had never used fake tan before, and you were scared you might be allergic or something.

Alastor had also stuck a pair of squarish, black-wire glasses over your newly colored eyes and wrapped a blue scarf around your neck. It was thick, so a little bit of it folded up over your lips.

Shaking your head, almost in disbelief, you reached up and pulled the scarf away from your mouth. It was a bit too fluffy. "Do you think this is enough? I mean..."

Alastor put a hand on your shoulder. He had his hair tied back in a low pony-tail, which suited his face shockingly well. "There's no need to worry, love. Even I can hardly tell it's you."

You scoffed, humorously. "That's a lie."

"Fine, maybe so. After all, I do know your face like the back of my hand." Alastor placed a kiss on your temple and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you. His body was warm. "But there really is no need to worry."

You blinked at your reflection. A whole new person.

You would finally be able to leave the house. This was the mark of a new beginning; no more long days of sitting at home, alone and depressed, while Alastor was off at work. No more of wasted hours reading Alastor's dusty books on vampire lore and reenacting alternate endings for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Well, you were probably still going to do the latter.