Snow Angel (Alastor x OC)

•{Chapter 6}•

Looking After What's Mine

Submerged in darkness, Harlene found herself floating downwards once again. Aware of what was to come, Harlene inhaled a long breath, allowing the shadows to slip into her mouth and suffocate her. After the lack of oxygen caused her to roll her eyes shut, Harlene discovered she was able to breathe again once she was sitting upon a sheet of snow within the familiar forest behind where she had lived when she was alive. She immediately drifted towards the daunting silhouette of the tree she'd died under and waited for her human self to stumble over to it. Unable to close her eyes, Harlene was forced to watch her organs splay out over the snow, tainting it from white to red. Then, her son fell onto the nest of blood and Harlene's knees buckled at the sound of his chilling cries. She reached towards him, wanting to hold him and whisper that everything was going to be alright, but Harlene's fingers swept through him like a ghost and resulted in the memory bursting into a storm of snow which surrounded her, smothering her.
Covering her hands over the sides of her head, Harlene let out a hopeless wail as the wind of the snowstorm carried the fragile voice of her newborn boy, haunting her with the overwhelming guilt of causing his death.

Rapidly, Harlene snapped open her eyes to stare upwards at the ceiling of her room in the Happy Hotel, yanking herself from her sleep - a sleep that had been plagued with the awful feeling of icy knives slicing across her body. Nonetheless, the demoness had gotten used to the chills, having been in Hell for nearly a century. The nightmares were simply Harlene's eternal punishment for an event that she'd had no control over, and yet she was devastated by a neverending guilt with every passing second. Even so, the trauma that stained her soul was never going to be easy to ignore and Harlene hated herself for what her thoughtlessness had consequented in.
Tears flowed slowly down her cheeks, but Harlene didn't make a sound as she cried. She couldn't bring herself to move a single muscle, unable to even wiggle her fingers and toes. Harlene's breathing was scarily slow despite the fact that her chest was hammering with fright after enduring the memory of her death for the thousandth time. After a couple of moments however, Harlene was able to move her eyes and glanced towards the analog clock on the bedside table, which told her it was 5am. At least she'd gotten more than eight hours of sleep.
Eventually, the rest of her low energy returned and Harlene sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes to cleanse away as many of the tears as she could. A sigh blew from Harlene's lips as she hoped to relieve herself of the agony that the memories of her death had brought her. Then, sniffling slightly, Harlene moved the purple duvet off of her body and groggily made her way over to the cupboard, wearing nothing but underwear. She slipped on her old dress rather than the new ones that Alastor had kindly gotten her, not feeling at all pretty enough to do them any justice. Afterwards, she brushed the knots out of her hair and tied it over her left shoulder like usual, then gathered some art supplies and packed them into their case before making her way to the door, putting on her boots. Upon opening her door, Harlene was about to turn down the hall when she widened her eyes at the sight of Angel Dust lying on the floor, snoring.

Hastily putting her case down, Harlene sunk to a crouch beside the spider-like demon and worriedly prodded his shoulder, trying to see if he was in a condition to respond. It was then that the reek of alcohol hit her, causing Harlene to wrinkle her teensy nose in distaste towards the all-too-familiar stench. She then noticed that the door across from hers, labelled '301', must've belonged to Angel Dust, as he'd managed to open it a bit before he'd fallen unconscious with the key in his feeble grasp. Realising Angel Dust had been there all night made Harlene whimper, as she could only imagine the pain his body would suffer with once he woke.
Much to her thankfulness, Angel Dust stirred after a minute or two of her concerned prodding. He groaned and pushed himself upright, massaging his forehead, making it clear to Harlene that he had a headache. She hoped with all of her heart that he didn't have a concussion either.