a song of death.

[ 4 ]

   ☆ ??'s POV, present tense

The sky is red. Blood red.

I have to squint up at it to notice that there is a large, dark pentagram positioned in the center, ominously lurking over everything below it like a watchful shadow. A symbol of evil.

Did I do it? Did I really kill myself?

Cold shoots through my veins like an icy snake. I sit up. There are trees all around me, and I'm sitting in a road. A dirt road. Awfully normal looking for a place with a pentagram in the sky.

I stand up and go to brush my hands off on my pants, but notice with a sharp jolt that all of the skin from my wrists to my finger tips are on fire. Literally.

"AAAAHHHHHhhhhh... oh."

It doesn't hurt, and yet the flame licks at my skin, at the air, unsure of where it starts and where it fades away. Weird.

With a disgruntled sigh, I look ahead. There is a city far off on the horizon, but close enough to be a realistic walking distance away.

I can't help but wonder if she's there.

☆

☆ Second person POV, past tense

For the remainder of your time at Victor's, you and Alastor talked about Charlie and the hotel. Alastor seemed to enjoy gossiping about the new queen of hell, her hotel, and strangely enough, her friends.

"I heard Angel's been clean for a week!" Alastor said with enthusiasm. He was floating over the water on his back, staring up at the ceiling like he was sitting on an invisible floating raft.

"Good for him." You paused, treading water. "How are Husk and Niffty?"

Despite the gestures Alastor made with his arms as he spoke, he managed to keep floating with pristine caution. "They're phenomenal! Husker and Niffty are making great improvements upon the hotel, more so every day!"

You grinned, swimming up to him. "You sound pretty proud."

He lowered his voice. "That's because I am, my love."

You placed a kiss on his cheek as his face floated by. His grin broadened.

☆

On your way home, Alastor sang a sweet little tune, something old that you didn't recognize.

The range of Alastor's voice was impeccable. His voice contained so many different levels, each astoundingly beautiful. Hearing him sing made you feel like everything was okay—it made the air warm and sweet, and lifted your spirits like nothing else could.

He held your hand, and his touch was comforting, too. Every so often, he glanced down at you like you were the most important thing in the world—you swore that his eyes brightened a notch every time they met yours.

His touch, his voice, his smile. He was beautiful.

Once he finished singing, he took a deep breath. "Was today everything you had hoped it would be?" Alastor asked with a loving smile.

You shrugged and said very bleakly, "Meh."

Alastor paused, his eyebrows creased. "Meh?"

"I'm kidding," you inserted before he could go on with his complaining. "Just kidding. It was very pleasant."

Alastor laughed. "You got me there, Cupcake. Of course it was good—you were with me!"

You rolled your eyes, laughing along with him.

He was too beautiful. Everything was. Coming outside with no consequences in sight, having Alastor alive and well beside you after you had thought he was dead, being able to laugh without dreadful tears springing to your eyes at the memory of heaven.

It was too good to be true.

With the dawning of that thought, the air seemed to gain ten pounds, weighing on you like a thick blanket.

It was too good to be true—and it couldn't stay that way for long.

☆

☆ Third person POV, past tense

"Tell Angel I can't come."

Vaggie scoffed audibly, surely preparing to yell, but she managed to stop herself from barking and instead settled by simply saying, "No. You're coming."

Charlie was tired of staring at the ceiling and rolled over onto her side, blinking slowly. Vaggie, now staring at Charlie's back, allowed her frown to deepen.

"Charlie," she began again, her voice soft. "This is one of the biggest nights of your life. You're finally going to announce that you're going to be queen—doesn't it make you happy just to imagine everyone's proud faces? But you won't have to imagine them anymore, because tonight, you'll get to really see them."

"Nobody's proud of me, Vaggie. Don't be dumb," Charlie snapped.

Vaggie physically recoiled, taking a step back. It was like Charlie had slashed a knife across her chest.

When Charlie didn't respond for a solid minute, Vaggie sighed and looked down at her feet. "Fine then. Don't—"

Vaggie stopped talking when she heard it.

Charlie didn't move, but Vaggie swiveled towards the hallway. "Someone's at the door," she said, exiting Charlie's room.

She practically flew into the hotel lobby. She was eager for anything other than the thick depression that was radiating off Charlie, which was affecting Vaggie in more ways than she thought it could. Vaggie would even be excited to see Alastor at this point, which was really saying something.

Vaggie touched the doorknob to open the door, but the metal seared her hand. "Ow!" she hissed, yanking her burnt palm back and clenching it against her breasts.

Someone had to have heated the handle.

"Who's there?!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to burn you... uh, if that's what just happened," a boyish voice replied.

"I asked you who you were," Vaggie answered with impatience.

The doorknob began to jiggle. Vaggie whipped out her spear, practically from thin air, and aimed it at the opening door. She summoned every ounce of courage left inside of her in preparation for the stranger behind the door.

The door opened.

Although the boy standing there didn't look like much of a threat (he had round cheeks, a thin frame, and fluffy hair) Vaggie darted her spear even closer, directing it at the boy's neck. She could see now that his hands are on fire, which explained the warm doorknob.

"Who. Are. You."

The boy cleared his throat, looking like he might pass out at any moment.

"Um... my name is Nate. I was wondering if you could help me find someone."