Vice Versa

1«Wrath

And now, a plight

Of might,

Of sight,

Of dreams,

Of schemes.

Sitting,

Wondering,

What lies ahead.

Aamon, Daemon of the dead.

***

Chapter 1

Harper

August 25, 2015

Mother always told me to be weary of dancing demons, but she had never told me of the ones that tangled themselves in your limbs, the ones that whispered threats in your ear, against your obvious resistance. There were repercussions to holding back information, apparently.

"I'm going to kill you."

I press my back against, the thin plaster of my wall, barely able to control the shaking of my body. To think, it was just a month ago that I was sitting at home, arguing with my mom over some trivial issue like running out of my favorite cereal. God, would I give anything to argue over trivial issues again.

"You're righteous as hell, you know that? You think you're better than me, like some sort of brat."

My back feels as though its bruising from the amount of pressure I'm putting against the wall. Fruitless as it is, I'm almost counting on the thin barrier giving in. Thinking about what's on the other side is a lot better than facing the monster that was standing in front of me.

"I work at the construction site, earning money to send you to school and pay for your food, and how do you repay me?" He asks, making sure that his pungent breath is hitting the tip of my nose. "You stole my cigs, Harper."

I open my mouth in protest, but quickly close it as he gives me a dangerously predatory look.

"You're like a cornered rat, Harp," he spits, looking at me as if I'm the disgusting one, when he's practically drenched in alcohol.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I ask. There's no stopping him when he's this far off. I should be glad I'm not covered in bruises at this point.

"I don't know yet." My body practically convulses as he uses his hand to tip my chin up. "Are you going to confess to stealing my property?"

No, because I didn't steal your stupid cigarettes, you abusive bastard. "Yes, Earl, I stole your cigarettes. Sorry."

"And where are they?"

Without a moment's hesitation, I robotically answer, "I don't know. I sold them to some kid at my school."

A flow of curse words are slung at me, though I manage to calmly press myself further into the wall as he freely lets out his emotions. Another day, I would have allowed him to hurt me. I would have allowed the emotional torment of hearing my so-called guardian call me a good-for-nothing piece of scum as I sat like a coward and listened to it. I would have accepted the notion that my mere existence was a hindrance to everyone related to me, that I was born empty of legitimate feelings. However, as I have now come to terms with, listening to a grown man tell me I was worthless is nothing worse than listening to my peers taunt me at school. Every person walks with torn souls, it's how they tape them back together that makes the difference between good and bad.

Under this circumstance, I must be under some sort of grey area. Some days I'm in the white, some days I'm in the void. It can go viceversa.

As Earl begins to break away from his cathartic slew of words, he finally turns his attention back toward me. Just for one second, I wonder why I haven't fought against this monster, why I've decidedly kept mum about how he controls my life. Maybe it's because he's the last piece of my mother that I remember. Maybe it's because he's the only one who has the responsibility of taking care of me. Maybe I'm just a masochist.

As my so-called stepfather nears me, taking great care in raising his hands threateningly toward my face, one realization becomes crystal clear. To hell with being grey.

Today, I was going to embrace black.

«««

Aamon

If there is anything to bore me beyond the triviality of my role as a Daemon, it is trying to grasp the diminutive life of one insignificant Earthen. Why I'm even considering following through with wasting my time on an obviously inopportune trial is beyond me. However, seeing as I'm the one stuck in chains and they are the ones judging my fate, the space for complaining is little to none.

"You will look after her." I look up, seeing the vapor that is the Daemon court held before me. Blackness seeps beneath their cloaks, oozing inhumanity as they bore their eyes into me. It's almost laughable, to be judged for sin under the eyes of the most sinful.

"The girl is nothing," I spit, my patience thinning quickly. "You'd be wasting your time and resources, leaving me to deal with an insignificant Earthen."

My scalp tingles at the sound of the clicking of a tongue. "Your intuition must have suffered greatly from your exile, Aamon. Her power goes beyond her earthly form, and, deep within you, you know that."

With a flick of the Daemon's robe, the darkness envelopes my eyes, darkening my vision as I'm submerged into the authority's vision. Slowly, a figure blurs before me, sharpening itself as coils of smoke writhe against it.

The girl. Under some foreign power, I feel drawn to her. I fiercely try to ignore it, but to no avail. She is special, as the others have said. But to what her purpose is in my fate, I refuse to find out.

"Don't touch me," the girl warns, the original quivering of her body turning to full-on rage. Regardless of whether I detest my mission, I cannot help but be amazed by her actions. She's strong. Even as her opponent, a figure cloaked completely in black aura, approaches her, she remains belligerent. Whether it's bravery or foolishness, I have yet to find out.

In a sweeping motion, the dark figure snaps toward her, grasping the girl's hair as she thrashes around. Her entirely white persona dims slowly as the man's hands tighten their grip. I feel an inconceivable rage bubbling up inside of me, though I try to steady myself from showing any emotion.

She is nothing, I repeat to myself, over and over again.

The girl is nothing. I see her desperately try to release herself from the man's grasp.

The girl. She moves her hand up toward the man's face, reaching for something.

There. A burst of flames shoot from her fingertips as she touches her assailant.

My hands warm immediately, my skin tingling alongside her own sensations. What is this?

Who is she?

I feel the burning in my hands amplify as the girl wraps her hands around the man's throat. Even the darkness dares not to touch her flaming skin.

I realize, with great amazement, that her figure is no longer a distinction between black and white. She is far beyond nothing.

She is fire.

I feel myself warm to this acknowledgment.

And I, I am kindling.