I didn’t know what to name it but I was reading and listening to some poetry and now I have strong feelings.
There is some comfort in the scent of incense
In the scent of camphor and spice and smoke
There is a room in my house dedicated to it
To an ancient carved stone my great-grandfather found purely by chance
This stone that I inexplicably have a connection to despite my general distance from the institution as a whole
A stone that feels sacred
Though I cannot remember the last time I spoke to the gods
Or when they spoke to me
Their magic faded when every attempt I made to reach them failed
When their power could not help me escape the tendrils of an institutionalized terror
Every step I took into a temple felt fraudulent
And every time I pretended that praying actually helped me, I could feel the gods slip away farther
I am no liaison for the colonizers and the gods
Their indifference
No
It is not just indifference
It is more
It is indifference and distaste
I could call it hatred but they will be reading this and I cannot find the energy to spite them any further
Their indifference and distaste irks me despite my own feelings
I cannot remember the chants and the hymns and many of the tales
But this is my culture
Something I want to pass on
It is more than religion
It is banging pots and pans and fresh milk boiling over
It is a pool of rose flavored syrup
It is incense and camphor and smoke
It is ghee and spice
It is more than stone gods and copper bells
It is mine
I can be part of it
I am the undying
That is my name
And I will rather burn in Yama’s chambers than let this die
This is an Angsty Reminiscing Dante Mood™ so here you go, prompt fill. I’d been listening to Ghost of You by 5SOS on repeat so... Blame them?
I write way too much angst.
Also, please check out sentence-prompts for easy, quick writing fun! (not spon) (just a good tumblr)
5 messages from Sofia
[Sofia] where are you? I’m worried
[Sofia] I asked Renata and she doesn’t know where you are
1 missed call from Sofia
[Sofia] Are you okay?
[Sofia] text me back or call me when you see this
[Sofia] love you
It had been exactly 70 years.
Dante swallowed down the lump in his throat as he looked around New York City. He felt so odd in his humanity, so vulnerable and hollow in this body.
If he was in the Underworld, he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d be busy doing administration or making sure everyone was safely hosted or managing curses or talking to all his half-siblings, but here, on Earth...
He could see the cemetery, a patch of green grass and trees amidst the warm tones of the old brownstones. Walking up to it felt like he was physically turning back the clock. His heart thrummed in his chest.
Walking into the cemetery felt like death. It was old, and the stones were worn. The grass was green, and some of the graves even had fresh flowers on them. Something warm surged in his chest at the site.
He was wearing a suit she would have loved. It was a muted gray suit, single-breasted and made of wool. He’d managed to keep it well over 70 years. He was wearing a hat as well, looking the perfect 40s gentleman.
Dante finally reached her grave, and stared at it. He set the flowers down. It was a bouquet of magnolias.
The weathered stone read Gwendolyn Adams, 1922 - 1948. He could remember her vivid smile, and he shut his eyes.
They met in a park. Dante was walking back with a bag of groceries because he was apparently self-sufficient now, and in her hurry, Gwendolyn had ran right into him.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” She immediately dropped down and began helping him pick up the groceries.
“Oh, it’s quite alright.” He had replied, a little stunned. “I’m sorry I didn’t move faster.”
He’d put most of the food back in his bag, and she handed him a can with trembling hands.
“Is that everything?” Her voice quivered just as much.
“Yes, I think so. Are you alright, miss?”
“I’m well, thank you.” She said quietly. “Well, I should be off. Goodbye, sorry again!”
“Have a good day.” He stood up and let her walk away.
They met again at a bar. She was smiling this time, and he struck up a conversation.
“Oh, right! You were the guy I ran into in the park!” She exclaimed. “Gee, I’m sorry, I was just tryna get home.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Dante chuckled. “It ain’t a big deal.”
She tipped back the rest of her drink and smoothed out her dress. “Say, how ‘bout I make it up to you? Dance with me.”
He took another sip of his drink, smiling wryly. “Aww, sugar, I’d love to, but I don’t dance.”
“What kinda geezer doesn’t dance?” She laughed. “Come on, I promise I’m a real jive bomber.”
“Sugar...” He trailed off, giving her a once-over. “I’m sure you’re a lovely dame, but I’m not so sure if I should dance with you. I don’t even know your name.”
She stuck out her hand. “Gwendolyn Adams. Now, are ya gonna dance or not?”
He took it. “Sure, why not?”
She beamed and dragged him out. Other people were dancing, couples, and nobody was eyeing them weirdly, which Dante liked. He knew what the humans thought of dark skin like Gwendolyn’s. It was abhorrent.
“Now, Mr Geezer, what’s your name?” Her smile was impish, playful.
“Dante Farese.” He said.
“Oh, you’re an Italian boy. Love your Mama so much you ain’t fightin’?”
“Nah, I was back in Italy for a while, before the war.” He said. “Went all ‘round Europe. By the time I came back, it was too late.”
“You come from money?” She asked, her hands moving a little towards his neck.
“Sorta, not really.” He shrugged. “What, you lookin’ for a diamond?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.” She grinned.
Dante opened his eyes again and blinked back the tears.
It had been so long since he’d forgotten her eyes. The Underworld erased your connections to humans, but this was so strong, formidable, even in her death.
But he could never forget that song.
It was Bing Crosby. Singing on a Star.
Gwen was right, she was the best dancer he’d ever met. She loved it. She was so sweet and carefree, even when her family was off at war and sent to die.
And then she died. She died before her family could come home to see her. She died and Dante barely had a second to mourn, a second to care, a second to sob his eyes out because he would never love anyone the way he love her. He could never see her again, never be with her lest the glamours collapsed under the sheer weight of human love and pain, and lest he fall in love with a dead woman.
The Cleïs whisked him away into Underworld affairs, and slowly, steadily, Gwen melted from his mind.
But why, why then did the sound of music from the 40s make Dante want to cry, and why did he want to burn magnolias and why did the feeling of wool suits make him want to rip them to shreds and why did New York City feel like a special circle of an apt Inferno created just for him?
Time heals all.
That was one thing Dante knew for certain. It was that time would heal all his wounds, would numb his pain and soothe his scars until he inevitably faded with nobody to remember him and no need for his existence.
And now, 70 years later, he felt like they had healed.
There he was. A young man who looked like he stepped off the set of The Godfather sobbing on his knees at a lonely grave in a lonely cemetery in the old parts of the city, feeling like he could finally mourn.
“Gwen!” He sobbed. “Gwen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hope they put you someplace happy. Someplace you’ll forget me and you’ll make new friends and watch your family grow. Someplace safe.”
He wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. “I wish I wasn’t the only one here when they put your body in a pit and covered it with dirt. But I’m glad your soul’s free. You’re a good woman, Gwen. A wonderful woman. I hope you know that.”
[Dante] sorry
[Dante] had to something important
[Sofia] Are you okay?
[Dante] fit as a fiddle
[Dante] hey?
[Sofia] Yeah?
[Dante] you know i love you right? and i will never leave you?
[Sofia] I do. And I love you too. I don’t plan to leave you.
[Dante] will be back 9:30ish dont wait for me
[Sofia] I’ll leave some takeout for you <3
[Dante] <3
I’m really happy with this and so I’m going to post it. Probably not going to post everything I write, but this is something I’ve wanted to for a long time. This does have a fair amount of Victorian Flower language because I’m a nerd like that, so all the meanings and shit are above the cut.
Hemlock (... small, dainty white flowers...) - You will be my death
Asphodel - My regrets follow you to the grave
Mock Orange Blossoms - Counterfeit
Red geranium - Stupidity
Checkered fritillary - Persecution
Nikola Lowell dreamed of weddings.
She was in a white dress, being led down the aisle, but she didn’t recognize a single face looking at her. Their features were marred and grey, the bare basics of their faces visible, nose, chin, eyes, lips, complete with shaky black ovals for eyes that looked like they’d been drawn on, flat and lifeless. When she looked back up, she saw the groom.
The groom had sharper features, still fuzzy, but she could make out the shape of regular eyes and a Greek nose, lips that were curved up in a smile that bordered on a smirk. He wore a boutonniere of small, dainty white flowers, and a red tie that matched her lipstick. Her bouquet was made of asphodel flowers), studded with mock orange blossoms. Someone hastily powdered their nose, and in the reflection of the compact’s mirror, Nikola saw her reflection. Red geranium blossoms and more mock orange blossoms had been woven into her hair, complete with a veil held in place with a diamond hairpiece. The veil was made of fabric so fine, she hardly noticed it as she walked down the aisle.
She couldn’t recognize the man leading her down, but he had an oddly familiar appearance, though blurry, albeit one that sent shivers down her spine. She finally looked at the officiant, who was dressed in the robes of a vicar, but she stumbled as her eyes trailed up to his head.
It wasn’t that he was ugly. Well…
The officiant had the head of a Satanic goat, complete with deep red eyes and horns that curved away from his face. A pentagram was etched into his forehead, an angry scar that was impossible to miss. The man leading her down caught her and she trembled at his touch.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, very quiet.
“Tripped on my dress.” She heard herself say, smiling sheepishly and straightening up. “Was it very obvious?”
“No.”
She straightened up and walked up to to the groom, though internally she didn’t want to at all, pointedly avoiding the reverse-satyr’s crimson gaze.
All around the venue, Nikola recognized odd flowers, something her mother had called checkered fritillary in her big book of plants. The goat-headed vicar began speaking, and Nikola flinched.
“Family, friends, and dearly beloved, we are joined here today to witness the union of Nikola Therese Lowell and…”
Nikola flinched as a sharp buzz pierced through her head, like TV static on steroids. As it passed, the vicar kept speaking.
“Who gives this woman to this man?” The vicar asked the man who was arm-in-arm with her.
“I do.” He replied. There was another sharp buzz as the vicar turned to the groom and began speaking to him. Time seemed to have passed as the pain surmounted, and suddenly their vows had been said. The groom was slipping the ring onto Nikola’s finger, and she stared at it.
It wasn’t gold or silver, perhaps closer to iron or steel. Nikola’s strength laid in botany, not metallurgy. It sent a bolt of electricity down her spine, and it almost hurt to wear. Nikola did the same to the groom, trying not to look him in the eye because of the shiver that ran through her every time she did, and not the good kind either.
“You are now legally wedded! You may now kill the bride!” The vicar announced, handing the groom a knife.
The church erupted in cheers but Nikola’s mouth gaped open, and the groom was leaning into her, she thought they were going to kiss, surely she’d misheard the vicar, and suddenly…
The groom stabbed her.
She stared down at her stomach, the ivory front of her dress pooling with crimson blood, and the pain hadn’t registered yet between the clapping and the leaning and the shock and you may kill the bride, but it was hitting her now. Piercing pain, blinding and hot, and her knees buckled, feeling a wave of dizziness hit her. Why did he stab her? It seemed… counterproductive, in the least, if she was getting married, but why was everyone else so calm? Didn’t they realize she was dying?
Killed at my own wedding.
The knife was admittedly beautiful, she thought to herself as she hit the ground, reeling from the blood loss and shock. Her vision was fading. The man who walked her down the aisle was kneeling beside her, but he didn’t seemed shocked in the slightest. He dislodged the knife and pain shot through her system, blood gushing out of the wound and staining her dress even more.
“She’s all yours,” Someone said, distantly, like she was in water and they were on the shore, letting her slip into the abyss.
And then Nikola woke up in her bed, covered by a cold sweat, and screaming while clutching her stomach. Her brother, Noah, burst into her room.
“Nikola, are you okay?” He rushed over. “What happened?”
She choked out a sob, staring down at her trembling hand, and she could still feel that pain in her belly, hot and sticky blood.
She looked up at Noah, feeling hollow and terrified. “I died.”
One of the stories I’m writing is called Daemonium, and it revolves around the lives of a pair of demon siblings, a pair of cursed siblings, and a girl who makes a deal with the Devil, set in the idyllic mid-American town of Springvale (no connection to any real Springvales). I did sort of... raze most of Hell down... So I’ll attempt to explain that in another post but for now, here’s the main cast of Daemonium!
Si vis pacem, para bellum. - If you want peace, prepare for war.
Dante Farese
Dante is one of the Devil’s sons, whose mother is a rich Italian demoness named Lillia. He is nicer to the humans than most other demons, and he finds them fascinating. He was last around at the height of the punk movement, and finds the modern mellower punk fashion quite appealing.
His father, the Devil, has him and his sister, Renata, watch over the newest victim of a Hellish deal, Sofia Gonzalez.
Sofia Gonzalez
Sofia is a human girl whose mother is in a mental institution for what is classified as awful schizophrenia and paranoia. Her father has a debilitating disease that only seems to be getting worse.
She attends the local community college, but works three other jobs: a cashier at the supermarket between 4 and 6 am, a waitress at a cafe between 4 and 7 pm, and as a dancer in the red light district between 7:30 and 11 pm.
Most of her money goes towards paying medical bills. She isn’t proud of her work, but the place she works at, Fleur’s, is slightly classier than the others, and the owner, one eponymous Fleur, is protective of her employees.
She makes a deal with the Devil to save her father, except she doesn’t know she’s cavorting with the Devil’s son himself.
Renata Farese
Renata is Dante’s older sister. She sees humans a little differently. She finds them much more fascinating but maintains some distance. She manages to get by as a filthy rich socialite. She is filthy rich, and she probably spends more money in a week than we do in a lifetime.
She’s a bit of a snoop and is quite sensitive to demonic energy, which is how she finds the cursed Lowell siblings.
Nikola Lowell
Nikola is Springvale’s most recent golden girl. She’s the head cheerleader, she gets straight As, she’s the blonde-haired blue-eyed girl next door of your dreams. She’s about as normal as normal gets, really.
Except she has terrible nightmares of a wedding gone terribly wrong. She feels like someone’s watching her, and it makes her skin crawl. There is some part of her that’s sure she’s going insane, but she can’t tell anyone.
It probably doesn’t help that she’s cursed.
Noah Lowell
Noah is Nikola’s adoptive brother. His story is complex, but his mother was a human and his father was a demon. When he was a few days old, his mother discovered his baby horns and left him to Nikola’s parents. Noah has no recollection of her.
His demon side was suppressed by Nikola’s mother, Carmen, who was a demon hunter in an organization called the Messorem. She was taken by the curse on her maternal line.
The protections she placed on Noah are weakening, and he can’t explain why he wakes up with blood on his hands, or the splitting pains in his head, or why he wants to kidnap his little sister.
