Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 1

"Thinking back to it, I was always told,
'Don't talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.'"

Strangers - Ethel Cain

Blistering wind blew relentlessly across the sandy plains before my eyes. I blinked furiously, my misty gaze beginning to sting. The air was dry and cool, but I'd been walking so long in the treacherous sand that I was perspiring, the wind providing a chilling effect. I felt weighed down by the bag on my back. My mouth felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton.

    I need to find water.

    I'd ran out of water two nights before and still hadn't found any sign of any town or oasis or even living creatures. I suppose I could have packed more water. In my defense, though, I should have come across another city by now. My assumptions about the difficulty level of traveling a rocky desert were obviously incorrect.

    My stomach rumbled, as well. I still had one more bag of almonds left--I hated almonds, but I didn't really have the option of being picky about what little I brought with me at the time that I packed them. Heaving a sigh, I turned right and pushed through the wind, trying to get closer to one of the cliff walls. Perhaps I could find a little cranny to sit down in and finally earn some peace and quiet from the howling wind.

    I was actually correct in my assumptions, and although it wasn't very far inside the cliff, it would still help. I lowered onto my hands and knees and crawled into a close-spaced cubby hole in the rocks, taking my bag off and hugging it to my chest. With one more cautious look outside, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the gallon bag about halfway full of almonds. My mouth was still dry, and the thought of eating dry nuts was very unappealing, but I wanted to be further along than I was, so I needed to keep my energy up. Reluctantly, I threw a handful into my mouth and chewed slowly.

    I should have been at least within sight of the towering skyscrapers in YorkNew City, but not even one of them were anywhere to be seen all day. My face twisted into a scowl. Perhaps I'd been too hasty; perhaps I shouldn't have left so soon. I angrily threw another few almonds into my mouth, chewing aggressively and allowing my memory to rake over the catalyst events which sparked my fleeting escape a month prior.

    My mind instinctively shied away at first--I didn't want to remember at all, let alone purposefully. But lately it was all I was able to do. Everything that kept me from turning tail again and going back home was within the same excruciating thoughts that haunted my mind unapologetically. It was the only way to keep myself sane, to remind myself that my actions were justified, that what happened was in no way my fault, that people of such valor could never learn to care for me and that I would just be manipulated into doing the same thing over and over again until I left.

    So, that's what I did--I left. There was nobody to stop me, thank god. It felt like I was under constant surveillance back home, or where I grew up, I suppose. I didn't like calling it "home." To me, home should be somewhere one feels safe, secure, and loved by all those surrounding them. Where I grew up was none of those things. I knew I had a mother and a father somewhere, and in my mind, as a child, I always entertained the idea of my mother coming back for me or my father coming to rescue me. Now, though, I hated the thought. The mere mention of a mother and father was sickening to me. In fact, it was easier to believe nobody had ever loved me even once than to believe I was once loved and then abandoned to a wretched group of slave masters.

    Hatred was simple; love was simple. Forgiveness was a real feat. If you asked me, I would've told you it was damn near impossible. If I did have a mother who loved me for even a split second, I can't believe that she would ever give me up to such a horrific fate, that she would sell my soul and my being and take off like a bandit with the money. So, I didn't. She never loved me, whoever she was; neither did my father. I'd like to say I never loved her, but I'd be lying. There was a time, when I was very young, when I would cling to her memory so desperately, when I would beg my own mind not to forget her voice, her face, her touch, just so that I would be able to escape one day and find her again and tell her I forgave her. But not anymore--I'd rather just forget I ever thought like that. It would be easier. Everything would be so much easier.