Following our meeting in the library, I spent the rest of my day distracted, my mind wandering back to the phantom stinging in my fingers. Pain was a constant in my life, an assault on all my senses that even my best efforts could only dull but never snuff out. But this was something new, something unnerving and intriguing all the same.

  Whenever I remembered the ache in my fingers, they rose without warning to my lips, my tongue seeking the taste of blood that was no longer there. And in recalling of that sweet sensation, the Fiend Lord’s eyes, wide and wild, stealing a glance back at me flashed in my mind. An unguarded gaze that filled me with warmth but sent shivers down my spine.

  My body moved on its own, going through the motions of tending the garden and warming my plants, while my mind stayed frozen in that memory. The book, A Thief in the Night, weighed heavy in my hands as I read it voraciously.

  I wanted — needed — to know more. To better understand the man behind those eyes, a man who appeared only when speaking of stories, of Heroes, and Maidens, and Beasts, and the clashing of good and evil depicted therein. A man, not a Beast, who carried a profound anguish within him, one so close, but out of reach of my healing hands.

  My every thought circled back to the same gnawing question that had haunted my time spent within Castle Dreadskull: why had Genesis taken me captive?

  If he meant to avert the prophecy, then killing me, along with Vasco and Lucien, would have surely been more than enough. He had us all at his mercy, with nothing but a flick of his wrist between my brother and Oblivion.

  Why give me a garden? Why ask that Belial keep me content and ensure my comfort?

  There was more to my captor than mere villainy, of that I was certain. But to what end, I could not say. He was rigid in his views, he’d made that quite clear in our discussions. These were not mere stories to him, but a structure by which the world operated. Beasts destroyed and Heroes arose to slay them.

  Was I taken only to fulfill the role of Maiden in this story he seemed set on telling? Lord Beelzebub’s words — words not meant for me — whispered in my ears. ‘The Fiend Lord’s latest fixation.’

  “What is it you want from me, Lord Genesis?” There was a strange tightness in my chest, a discomfort I could not place. I thought of his claws grazing my fingers and the sweet sting that followed; his lips tasting my blood, the taste causing his mask to slip, if only for a moment.

  The heat in my core swelled; my chest tightened.

  That fleeting glance. Was I the first to see it, or just another in a list too long to name? Was there somewhere in the castle a Hall of Maidens — statues, or paintings, or some other sentimental reminder — depicting those fixations who came before me? If I was not the first, would I also not be the last?

  That thought was like a knife buried in my middle, twisting deeper the longer I dwelled on it.

  “Good evening, Fair Lady!” Belial’s lilting tone dragged me out of the depths of my thoughts and back to the present. “My Lord Master would like to invite you to dinner. Shall I take you there?”

  I closed the book and held it to my chest, hoping to still the twisting heat. “Yes, Good Belial. Thank you.”

  An elegant doorway, made of polished white wood with golden trim, appeared in the garden. Belial opened the door and bowed their head. I thanked them once more before stepping inside.

  ***

  I’d come to feel a hint of guilt whenever I joined Genesis for dinner. While the others struggled through the Dreadlands, subsisting on what little Mother could bring with them, I was treated to a lavish feast from cultures long gone by my captor.

  Tonight’s entrée was composed of broad sheets of what Belial called “pasta,” made from flour, eggs, and salt, folded around juicy chunks of sausage and drizzled in a savory tomato sauce. From the first bite, I was enthralled. Soup, salad, fresh bread, and an unending bottle of Snakebite ale accompanied the pasta, and after the mental exhaustion of the day, I was all too eager to try it all.

  Lord Genesis sat across from me, a stone-faced sentinel who watched but never partook in the meal, though tonight I noticed a softness to his features and felt the floor beneath my feet trembling whenever his weight shifted in eager anticipation. Though he tried to hide it, I could see the way his eyes flicked toward the book at my side.

  “Will you not eat with me, Lord Genesis?” I asked, as I had every night prior.

  “I will not,” he answered, as he always did.

  I paused to take a drink, breathing a sigh of contentment as I sat my glass down. “I can’t imagine you find my performance to be of particular interest. Would you not be more comfortable if you enjoyed the feast Good Belial has prepared for us?”

  A dangerous glint in his eyes; a low, rumbling growl, his message clear.

  “My apologies, I don’t mean to pry, good sir.” My glass was full once more, and I drank it gladly. Not for the first time, I wished to experience inebriation as I’d heard it described by others, though I feared what I might say with a bit of liquid fog between me and my better reasoning. “They really are quite a magnificent chef. Whence does this meal originate?”

  “A place long gone.”

  I waited for him to say more, but he’d proved to be rather tight-lipped regarding the nations he’d destroyed. All that I’d learned came from the library, and even that meager knowledge came from what I could piece together from the legends and tales he collected.

  My attempt at conversation thwarted, I finished the rest of my meal in silence. When I sat down my silverware and settled into my seat with a fresh glass of ale, the Fiend Lord’s eyes brightened.

  "You read A Thief in the Night, then?” There was the faintest hitch to his voice, the only hint of the eager smile I could see him fighting to restrain. It broke through his defenses when I nodded.

  “I did. I see we’ve returned to the pattern of Heroes, Maidens, and Beasts.” A sip of my drink. “What is it about this tale that fascinates you, Lord Genesis?”

  Genesis sat forward, a grin barely concealed behind his steepled fingers. “It’s the hypocrisy…the people of Clearbrook weep at the loss of the carpenter’s daughter, but said not a word for the countless other children abducted by the Thief. No, it’s only when the victim is connected to someone of renown that they even notice.” He snorted a puff of smoke from his nose and shook his head.

  I blinked and nodded. “Mm…all the while ignoring her bruises and black eyes in the days prior.”

  “Poor Alferion. To be met with such an awful truth at journey’s end.” Genesis laughed, but there was a harshness to his voice and a bitter scowl on his face. “He thought himself so noble, but he would rather slay the Maiden and blame it on the Thief, then to tell them it was she who asked to be taken.”

  “That was quite a chilling reveal,” I took another sip of my drink. The stolen children, unwanted and unloved by their home, were the ones who called the Thief and willingly became its servants just to feel wanted.

  “He returned to Clearbrook a murderer, carrying her body and sobbing as if it was not his blade that ran her through.” Genesis’s eyes burned darker. “They saw that she was slain by a sword. They knew…and yet they still called him a Hero and built a statue in his likeness. Then, they forgot all about the carpenter’s daughter.”

  As he spoke, the pain within him swelled. A thorny knot of agony that radiated to the tips of my fingers and got caught in my throat, choking off any response I might offer. I forced it down with another mouthful of ale, fingers gripping my glass so tight I worried it might break.

  “Why do you like such a tragic tale? The others you’ve shown me have ended in a Hero’s triumph, but this one…”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “It lays bare the heart of man.” He answered abruptly in a low, snarling voice. “They will buy into a lie, no matter how heinous, if it gives them the ending they so desperately crave. They never cared if the girl returned; they never cared for her when she was with them. What they wanted was a Hero, a story to tell.”

  I licked my lips and gazed into my glass. The ending lines of the story served as a cautionary tale, warning the reader of the corrupting power of the dark, how even the kindest soul could be tainted by suffering. It seemed to hold Alferion in high regard, painting his actions as that of a true Hero.

  But, I could not deny that I saw it as Genesis did. Glancing up at him, I bit my lip and took another drink. “I choose this. Of my own will, I choose, Alferion, to dwell in the dark because the dark already dwells in me.”

  The pain in his chest loosened. Genesis peered up at me with gently glowing eyes, and that strange, uncertain warmth returned, bubbling in the pit of my stomach, stilling my breath.

  “If it is wicked to embrace the only thing to ever embrace me, so be it, I’m wicked through and through.” He said, finishing the final words of the unnamed carpenter’s daughter. He wore a nearly serene smile for just a moment, before a throbbing heartbeat stole it away.

  Seeing his smile vanish, I could not stop myself from reaching out to him. “Lord Genesis,” the words came tumbling from my mouth, “please allow me to heal you.”

  The pain grew to blinding intensity.

  “There’s nothing in me that needs healed, Little Moth.” The baleful fire in his eyes returned, lips drawn back in a warning growl. A warning I desperately wanted to obey, but one a month of pent-up compulsion refused to heed. Starlight flickered on the tips of my fingers.

  “Please, good sir, I know it’s presumptuous of me to say so, but I can feel —“ But no sooner had the first word left my mouth, I knew I’d pushed too far.

  The floor trembled just a second before Lord Genesis rose to his feet and, with a swipe of his arm, sent the table and all its dishes crashing into the wall. Features sharpened, fangs bared and wings outstretched, he towered over me in the full guise of the Fiend Lord, the castle quaking before his wrath.

  The black of his eyes seemed darker than before, choking the blazing emerald flames within. Every hissing breath he drew through his clenched teeth raised the temperature of the room until a haze filled the air between us, and the searing floor burned beneath the soles of my boots.

  “If you’ve need of something to care for, you have your flowers, girl.” He stormed past me, giving me a wide berth to ensure my healing hands couldn’t reach him, tearing down one of the dining hall doors when it failed to open fast enough.

  I stared at the shattered obsidian, then my eyes drifted to the splintered remains of dinner. I could still feel him in the distance, now writhing in even greater anguish.

  Fists balled at my sides, I lowered my head and bit my lip until my teeth pierced through.

  ***

  “I fear I may have ruined whatever good will these discussions had earned me…” I frowned and shook my head, dusting the dirt from statue’s cheek. “But, I know that he is in misery. I can feel it! Why does he resist me so?”

  Instead of returning to my room, I took a detour down the hall to visit Giulio. He had become my sole confidant within the castle’s walls for discussions I could not have with Belial. And though the statue could not speak, I took some solace in imagining that he could somehow hear me within Oblivion’s embrace.

  I finished dusting and polishing the wood, then took a seat beside him, drawing my knees to my chest. “I’m at a loss, Giulio. There is so much pain in him, so much! But, he refuses to let me see it.” My eyes dropped to my feet. “Is it wrong that I want to help him?”

  Surely no one in this hall, least of all my fallen Father, would care about the Fiend Lord’s pain. Spoken aloud, it sounded ridiculous.

  “It’s just — and I know I sound mad, but I assure you, I am not — there is something there. Something he refuses to acknowledge. No one else will see it, no one else would care…” I released a heavy sigh. “I must do something...if I am the Promised Healer, then this is my duty, is it not?”

  But if things carried on as they had, I was more likely to drive him away than get him to open up to me.

  I needed to know more about him. But if he would not share it willingly with me…

  I glanced up at Giulio’s statue and a smile crept to my face. Rising to my feet, I stood on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for listening, Father. I think I know what to do.”

  ***

  My chance to get a closer look into the Fiend Lord’s mind came sooner than expected.

  Some nights later, after tending to my family’s wounds and spending time with them in their dreams, I was making my way through the Dream and back to the castle when a beacon of pain far to the south — too far to be Mother and the boys — stopped me cold. For the briefest moment, I considered ignoring it, but a second, sharper pang settled my hesitation.

  Flying as fast as my wings could carry me, I raced southward, crossing the Dreadlands in an instant to return to Willowhaven. The awe of seeing the Mother Willow again, her grand branches covering the length of the horizon in a verdant ocean, was quickly quashed by the scent of smoke and a crushing grip in my chest.

  “Forgive me, Great Lady.” I bowed my head to the Mother Willow, then flew toward the smoke. My flight was short, ending so abruptly I very nearly tumbled from the sky. “Sanctuary?” My hands flew to my mouth to smother my cry.

  The greatest and oldest of Willowhaven’s settlements, Sanctuary was home of the Seekers of the Rose and the center of power and governance for the valley. Nowhere, not even Champion’s Forge, was more fortified, housing the mightiest of the Valeguard’s soldiers and the senior Heroes.

  Now it was a blazing ruin. The streets, blackened by fellflame, ran crimson with boiling blood. Grand buildings, some two or three stories tall, lay in toppled heaps, tossed about as if they were a child’s toys. But despite the carnage, the pain was localized to a single point. The bodies that dotted the landscape — what little remained of them anyway — had gone silent, souls claimed by Oblivion long before I arrived.

  A deafening roar thundered over the chaos, shaking the ground and toppling the structures that yet stood. Its primal fury pierced me to my core, squeezing my heart until the weight dragged me from the sky. On hands and knees, I stared wide-eyed and trembling at the broken ground until the roar faded and the crippling sensation dulled to a barely manageable ache.

  “Lord Genesis?” Though my legs refused to heed my command, my wings were not so fragile. They lifted me from the ground and carried me deeper into the ruins.

  The beacon, had that been the initial assault? My flight had taken little time at all, yet not one soul remained. Had the best efforts of Willowhaven’s mightiest Heroes and Guardians, tens and hundreds of them, amounted to little more than minutes of resistance?

  As I drew nearer to the heart of the violence, I scanned the wreckage for anyone, anything, that may yet be saved. My eyes and ears strained, my heart open to even the faintest flicker of pain. If I could save just one…

  Another roar, closer and more terrible than the last. Too loud to think, with enough force to knock the wind from me. I fluttered to the ground on trembling wings and hid behind the nearby wreckage. Sweat streaked my face and stung my eyes, but I dared not blink, dared not take my eyes off him for even a moment.

  The fellflames raging around him — not around him, no. The fire poured from him, streamed from his eyes and mouth, and rose from his flesh to form an incinerating corona — burned the darkest shade of copper, drowning the landscape in its oppressive glow. With every roar, the Earth beneath his boots gave way, melting into bubbling slag. His wings thrashed, whipping up a storm around him.

  He turned without warning and swung his arm at the ruins of the Seeker’s Temple, a building large enough to house the entirety of Spring Hill. With a single thrust of his arm, not even striking the building himself, he reduced it to dust, leaving behind a charred scar in the ground.

  Genesis snarled, spittle spraying from his lips, then lurched forward, grasping his face with one hand, the other gripping his chest. His claws tore at his own flesh — my vision blurred and split as they sliced his eyes, my breath seizing in my chest as his was torn open — and another roar exploded from his mouth.

  “Lord Genesis…” His pain had never been more profound, more all-consuming. It latched its hooks into me, dragged me toward him. My hand raised, starlight heeding my call. But before it could grow bright enough to light up the dark, the scene distorted around me. “Wh-what? No! Wait!”

  ***

  I was once again in my room at Dreadskull. “Why? Why would you stop me?” My voice broke, rising to a shout as I turned to face the creature seated on my bed. “So much pain — why won’t you let me heal it?”

  Belial shook their head. “My apologies, Lady Celeste, my apologies, but had you approached the Fiend Lord in that state, you would have become the target of his wrath. An outcome he would most prefer to avoid, I assure you.” They rose from the bed and took me by the hand, leading me to it and motioning for me to sit.

  “That state…I’ve seen it before, but never like that. What is it?” The creature’s grip on my hand tightened ever-so-slightly.

  “His true nature.” Belial said after almost a minute of silence. “Though he resists it — I fear he may be cross with me for admitting this, but you deserve to know — he cannot fight it forever. Oh, no…there are times where he must sate the dark desires inherent to his being.”

  I trembled and hugged my middle, turning to look out the balcony door.

  Was that the real Genesis? A roaring beast that sought only destruction, not the man with a sinister sneer and a rough, growling voice. Not the man whose eyes lit up when their fleeting gaze met mine from across the room, who struggled not to smile when we spoke of fairy tales and children’s stories.

  No. I refused to believe that.

  “I must ask, not merely leave it implied, Fair Lady, that you avoid him in such a state in the future. Should he turn his wrath upon you…there is nought anyone in this world could do to stop him.”

  I brought my fingers to my lips and closed my eyes. The taste of blood lingered in my memory, drawn by a mere brush of his skin against mine. He laid waste to Willowhaven’s mightiest city in an instant; he could surely tear me apart without the slightest effort. A thought that should have filled me with dread, instead filled me with a strange exhilaration.

  If I could weather the storm, piece myself back together again and again, would that allow me to get close enough to reach the pain at his core?

  “I will do my best, Good Belial.”

  I turned to face the creature when they remained silent. Their head tilted to the left, then to the right.

  “Very good, Lady Celeste. Very good.” But in the creature’s tone, I knew that we both knew my best would not be good enough. If Belial was dismayed by the news, they made no point in showing it.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Feedback of all kinds is appreciated to help make the story better, improve my writing, and keep me motivated!