Halo Of Horns

SEVEN

When she was younger, Irina would run to her bedroom or the library to hide. She would find a dark corner among the books and cry until she was too exhausted to do anything but lie there. Typically, in the past, it had been because Belphegor scolded her about her studies or Azazel was angry at her for frankly anything. Never before had she run off to cry because of her father.

In the last four years, life in the castle was calm. Fewer arguments were to be had and while occasionally, Asmodeus or Mammon would come over and cause a ruckus, the castle maintained a peaceful aura. The same could not be said for her heart.

Deep in her chest, her heart tore open into a black pit that sucked down every dark thought and spat on any joy that tried to enter her life. This pain only deepened after her 18th birthday, coming to the realization she may never have what the women in her books have.

Love.

A husband.

Children.

A family.

She was left feeling empty, guilty, and worthless, continuously tempted by this image of an outside world.

Belphegor was very clear in his teachings that the land beyond the castle gates was dangerous. Full of predators that want to hunt down and kill anything with a pulse. But there was also beauty among the darkness. He talked about the calm, and serenity of the River Repose and the caves hidden in the Fields of Falsehood, where vines of Hanging Hesychia hung from the ceilings. 

Of course, he did not tell her of the tortured souls that lived in the depths, or the fires that would eat humans alive with a single flame. He had strict instructions from the King of the underworld himself to never speak of these horrors. To shield her from this Lucifer had the windows enchanted so that when the young girl looked outside, all she saw was a still world.

Not the faeries chasing humans from the fields.

Not the harpies fighting for food on the River Repose.

Not the vile imps that would fly out of the trees and devour a man down to his bones in seconds.

She was living a lie.

A very protective lie.

This lie did more harm than good. While technically she was protected by the four walls of the castle, her own mind was becoming a dark and dangerous place. The inside was nearly as deadly as the outside.

After her 18th birthday, when this pain overwhelmed her, completely consuming her entire being, she sought out a way to ease the aching. She allowed her feet to guide her to a place of peace, assuming the library would be the safest option for her to wallow in her sorrows, but instead, she was led to the spiral staircase of the western tower.

With wide eyes, she looked up at the looming shadows, haunted whispers echoing off of the stone walls. It was daring her. Warning her.

But the moment she took the first step, her hand gripping the railing so tight the uneven stone embedded it's mark into her fingertips, that empty hole in her chest began to fill. Suddenly, the heavy weight placed upon her back was lifted and she was  practically flying the further she wandered into the forbidden territory.

Irina never meant to trespass, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe.

Nearly every night after that she found herself in Azazel's bedroom, curled up in his bed, with the soft linens tucked under her chin. And this was where she went after the fight with her father.

Irina slowly came too, the 'morning' silence making her smile, her eyes still closed. One by one she stretched out her sore limbs and snuggled deeper into the feather pillow.