The Devil's Darling

Hot wax dripped on his skin, streaked in lazy trails down down down. Like blood, I thought, the casual sort of slaughter. “Don’t look frightened; good people have nothing to fear.” He urged, held the back of my head the way he would cradle the head of a child, a delicate sparrow's skull. When he pressed his forehead to mine it was hot enough to make me gasp, hotter than air baked by lightning, like a heat wave before the break of rain. His words were low, a sweet hiss, “The good have nothing to fear.” There can never be any true peace until all your debts are paid. Aden's Maker owes her an eternity of suffering, of self-devastating rage - her search for him is a lonely doctrine, but it is a persistent one. She will find him. She will make him pay.