Gods and Demons Don't Mix. (Font Demon x OC)

Chapter 10: Mud and Demons

If it is blood that you need then I will bleed myself dry for you

I will bathe your seed in my ichor

Make soil from my flesh

Make light from my dying breath

Just to see you flower for me.

I will cup you in my crimson dyed hands and pick you apart,

Petal by petal,

Petal by petal,

Until you appear to me

Your truest self,

Naked and pure and beautiful

And I will drink your nectar,

An insect in your light,

I will drink you until you wither in my hands and I will mourn,

For even the most precious of things I always destroy.

I handed back the notebook, astonished by my sister's talent. Sandy looked back at me with her dark ringed eyes, wide with anticipation and prompt.

"Well?" she asked, her nervous excitement clear in her face. I was at loss for words.

"I-I don't know what to say, it's beautiful," I said slowly, my hands shaking themselves out, left then right. Sandy's face fell,

"Oh, you're only saying that because you're my sister, I knew it was awful!"

"No! No, Sandy... it's incredible, it's art! If someone wrote that for me, seven hells, I'd probably propose on the spot!" I said, grabbing her arm and squeezing her close. Sandy gave me her shy smile and giggled, her gaze flicking ahead briefly. A small blush rose to her cheeks, her gaze darting away.

"Well I wouldn't say that..." she replied, acting humble, but I could tell she was enjoying it. My eyes flicked to where hers had been moments before only to see Pigsy ambling along the path ahead of us, chatting to Tripitaka.

Huh... I thought, looking back at my sister, a suspicion forming in the back of my mind.

"You didn't so happen to write that... about someone, did you? Perhaps a certain companion of ours? A certain someone who can- I don't know- summon lightning?" I asked slyly, wriggling my eyebrows. Sandy gasped and whacked me with the notebook.

"Seven hells, be quiet!" she hissed, giving Pigsy another sidelong glance. I just laughed in reply, my theory proven correct, at least in the simplest forms. Sandy was a strange soul, her childhood stunted by the darkness of the sewers where we became women, alone except for each other, and even then, as sisters we would crave a different from of company outside of our accidental family. We learned to give the other space, space to lick wounds clean, to heal bruised minds or simply to enjoy solace, though Sandy had always been that much more private about her past; I knew hardly more than the others did, though what other else I did know had little significance: the rhymes sung by the children as they mended nets with their mothers, the names of the creatures they caught and the games they would play. All details that added to a foggy summary of a life I hardly knew about. I didn't know the names of her parents, if she had any siblings, or friends. Did she have a pet cat to play with? Or a doll? Would she sit on the knee of some elderly relative just to listen to their stories of wonder, even though she was getting too big for their arthritic knees to bear?

I wouldn't know.

I've always respected her want to distance herself from her past, it was her way of living with it, although some part of me still wanted to know how that brain of hers worked, to understand her self-formed philosophies and beliefs, to learn how she was so brave, so hopeful of a better future when all seemed to have been lost.