koomeechan
"Guard your heart."
That was what Alastor's mother had always told him, when he was a young boy growing up in New Orleans. After every fight, every screaming match, every night when his father came home drunk out of his mind.
And Alastor had done as he was told. Until he didn't have a heart to guard anymore.
After all, hearts are monsters.
That's why ribs are cages.
It wasn't that Alastor was trying to disrespect his mother, don't get him wrong. But, no, no, it wasn't his heart he should have been guarding.
It should have been his soul.
He'd given it away, freely, to the first person who offered him a lick of power. Like a dog begging for-no, demanding-scraps.
And, just like a dog, he'd had a leash, too.
And his owner...
(His PAST owner, Alastor reminded himself.)
Rosie was something, alright.
Something utterly foolish.
Oh, he'd know all about that wouldn't he? He'd spent seven years running all over Hell, being forced to lie low for who knows why.
And yet he came back to her.
Every. Single. Time.
He had to, he told himself. After all, that was part of their deal.
Your soul will be mine.
It's a deal.
And now that deal was broken.
Alastor was never one to be kept in a cage for long. He had all but gotten used to being left hanging.
But why does he want an answer from her? Why does he want to stay? And, god forbid.
If it's not Rosie's soul he wants, then what is it?