Dante

—

The months passed and passed, one after the other, and I only noticed because the demon would pass everyday by the corner of his domain that I had claimed for my own, and would always look at me like he didn’t know what to do with me.

He had only approached once, to know what was wrong. I felt the tiniest pang of hurt when I realized he didn’t remember me at all. 

And when I recounted the tale of what had happened to me, how my partner of ten years had been cheating on me for eight of those years, and how I had given my soul away to save him, only to learn this truth and have him walk away from me because I was “doomed” —his words, which still hurt an insane amount— Azrael only stared at me with an expression that was a mix of horror, confusion and surprise.

I don’t know if I expected him to say something in response, but I definitely didn’t expect him to pat me in the shoulder and walk away just like that.

If evidence was to be believed, I was an easy person to walk away from.

Now six months have gone by, and things aren’t any different for me.

The pain is the same.

The anger, the sorrow, the shame are the same.

I have barely moved, in six months, from the spot I chose when I arrived at Azrael’s domain in Hell, which, for the record, is not how I imagined Hell to be like. When I pictured it, eternal damnation was always fire and chains and suffering.

The suffering part is true at least, but I bring that on myself.

Azrael’s domain is very different from that image though. If I had to describe it resembling something from the mundane world, it would be a late-gothic cathedral. Ceilings that rise in pointed arches to impossible heights, the stained glass windows in various colors, extending for several feet in each direction, and sculpted stone everywhere you look.

Other residents of the domain often comment on the irony of this choice of appearance, but never to Azrael’s face, even though he acts friendly enough with everyone around him.

But interacting with him is not something I am interested in doing. I often just sit in the little chapel at the far right of the open church vault, trying to find calm in the movement of the flames from the candles that are constantly lit and that never seem to diminish.

Sometimes, after hours of looking at the fire, I swear I can see myself staring back, how gaunt my face looks, no trace of the healthy complexion I was used to on my dark skin. My eyes are still bright amber but I see some deep emptiness in them, as if I was dead inside.

I kinda am, to be honest.

I used to like exercising —not going to the gym, because that bored me— but jogging around the neighborhood I lived in, or dancing. I am not in the mood to do it anymore, but even though I haven’t exercized in a while, my muscles are still as defined as ever. 

Maybe I was attractive before, when I still knew how to smile and see the best in people. But I don’t care about any of that anymore.

People —other souls that Azrael has taken— would approach me at first, and try to engage in smalltalk. Some of them would look at me appreciatively, like they were interested, but were soon discouraged from it when my answers turned curt and few.

I am not interested in socializing.

I just want to be alone.

”Will you stay here alone with your thoughts forever?” At first I think it is my own treacherous mind questioning me like this. But then Azrael is sitting next to me on the bench and I turn to look at him, somehow resenting the disturbance to my solitude.

I don’t answer, just stare at him. He stares back. The light from the flames dance on his reddish skin, and seem to burn brighter when they reach his eyes. The golden circular patterns on his horns are always titillating slowly, and reflect the light of the fire as if feeding from it. 

”Well?” his deep melodic voice insists, irradiating calmness with every part of his body. 

“This is not your business.” I tell him, bitterness tainting my words. And I am surprised to see his expression turn from calm and centered to a flash of anger that burns bright in his white irises.

For a moment he looks like he is gonna storm out, indignation heavy on every one of his features. But then I see him take a deep breath, and he says “It is my business if you’re uncomfortable with your stay in my territory.”

I arch an eyebrow and purse my lips, before saying “You know it’s not because of my stay here or anything about your territory.”

That seems to satisfy him because he is quick to add “Then why are you sulking? Your surroundings are beautiful. Everyone is more than eager to treat you well and talk to you. You no longer have to worry about tiredness, or hunger, or thirst. You should be feeling better than this.” he does a hand gesture in my general direction, which has me raising my eyebrows in indignation.

“What the fuck do you know about what troubles me? You probably already forgot, again.” I raise my voice, and he seems surprised to see me like this. I realize I am standing up —when did I do that?— and I am towering over him, while he looks up, eyes wide, mouth half-open, letting me see a hint of fangs.

When he doesn’t say anything and just stares, I have the sudden thought that I have never before raised my voice here. My skin itches with adrenaline, and I wanna scream at him. There’s a ringing in my ears. My vision tunnels so I can only see what’s right in front of me, which is Azrael’s shocked face. His white irises shone as bright as his silver-almost-white hair.

He looks breathless. Like I punched him in the gut, or something. But he doesn’t look angry, his expression is awed.

My breathing starts to go back to normal and I unclench my fists —when did I do that too?— and the ringing in my ears subsides and lets me hear murmurs all around us. 

I realize there’s people witnessing our little confrontation. They all have twin expressions of horror.

My eyes land on a woman who suddenly brings her hand up to cover her mouth in surprise, and that’s when I hear it.

Laughter.

Wheezing laughter.

I turn my head to look who’s laughing like this, and I am the one to feel like I was punched in the gut when I see that the owner of that laugh is Azrael.

Everyone is staying still at this point, not knowing what to do, not knowing if they are safe to move, leave, turn away. 

When my chest finally relaxes and my breathing is steady, I notice Azrael wiping his eyes and trying to breathe deep to calm his laughter.

I don't know if it's one minute or several that pass between seeing him laughing and being confronted with him with a calm but amused face, but I know I am not prepared to hear his next words.

But he says them anyway, showing white sharp teeth in a satisfied smile. 

“You're on your way to feeling better already.”

To be continued in Part 2...