cupid clearly hates me.

[ 30 ]

[ sorry if my writing seems a little bit off/different this chapter. i'm experiencing some pretty harsh writer's block, and i have been pretty busy lately, so my mind is kind of in a daze. i'm also getting into a few new fandoms, so i'm not as obsessed with Alastor as i used to be lol.

still, i hope my writing is decent. let me know if it's too shitty for ya'll :> ]

☆

Her husband was dead.

A pile of limbs and crushed black feathers rested on the floor—the lifeless form his body. He was nothing but a broken mannequin, dressed in a flashy white suit and wearing a mat of glossy blonde hair, his neck twisted in an ugly manner. His eyes were made of glass, glazed and crystaline and unmoving.

And yet she did nothing, not even as the room around her began to transform. With nobody left alive to control the room, it faded into it's natural form; the slick stone walls crumbled to dirt, as did the floors. The air began to change, too; it smelled of blood and mold and was heavy with death. With each breath in, Lilith absorbed more of it, more of her dead husband.

You unclenched your fingers. Lucifer's sword fell to the spongey ground with a gentle thud.

"Thank you," Lilith said, giving Alastor a kind, yet somehow threatening, smile.

Alastor's grin only widened furthermore. He was unfazed by Lilith's demeaning overtone. "You are so very welcome," he said, folding his hands behind his back.

You felt like you were going to snap, both mentally and physically. Your head was pounding, probably because it couldn't wrap itself around what the hell just happened.

"Okay, you know what?" you snapped, stepping forward. Both Alastor and Lilith turned to face you, expectantly. "Alastor, we're going home. We need to have a talk. Alone."

Alastor sighed. You didn't look at him, because you knew that if you did, all of your anger would vanish and you would be overcome with relief. He was alive, and you were more than thankful for that, but right now, you wanted to be pissed. You deserved to be pissed.

"Okay. We can go—"

Lilith cleared her throat, interrupting Alastor. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can let you do that."

Your breath faltered, for just a split second.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Alastor questioned, tilting his head in Lilith's direction so he could glare at the Barbie version of a demon. His bright eyes narrowed into little, menacing slits, which was how you knew that there was nothing stopping him from killing Lilith, right then and there.

She examined her long, black nails, but let nothing more than a twinge of a smirk come over her lips. "I said, I can't let you leave. (Y/N) is mine now." She said it like it meant nothing.

You weren't surprised. She was spouting this exact same shit earlier, when she was talking to Lucifer. After Alastor was stabbed, she had said to Lucifer, 'I saved her, and now that girl belongs to me.' Or something like that. You didn't remember the exact words, but you knew she said it, and you remembered the discomfort that surged through you then—just like what you were feeling right now.

"Uh, what the fuck? I'm not yours," you spat. "And weren't you just saying, like, two seconds ago that you wanted to give me a shot at life? Because my ideal shot at life would include going home, with Alastor, right now, and not having to deal with anymore 'heaven and hell' crap."

Lilith shot you a burning look. "Oh, honey. I was obviously lying."

"I suggest you watch your words, Madam Magne," Alastor drawled, his gaze still narrow. "If my fingers so much as touch, you'll fall dead in the blink of an eye." So you were right. There was nothing stopping him.