Lachesis: in ancient Greek religion, the second of the three Fates, Disposer of Lots, the measurer of thread.
Chapters: ¼ (Part II here)
You suspect there are things about the Devildom that are purposefully hidden from you.
It starts small. You’re warned at the beginning that other demons might eat you without thinking twice, but it’s never explained why. However, you can surmise for yourself that, beyond the possibility of humans tasting quite delicious, this makes perfect sense. As an exchange student—practically a diplomat, a representative of Humanity—you’re inevitably a prime political target for any dissenting parties among the Devildom’s subjects.
And there must be dissent, though you’ve never seen evidence of it. Lord Diavolo is handling a delicate political agenda; pushing for peace among the three realms implies the existence of discord. You’re not an idiot; this isn’t the first time you’ve studied in a college or heard of the politics of kings and warring realms, though the time for the former has, largely, long since passed in your world.
At first, you didn’t pay much attention, but the signs only grew and multiplied. Being allowed to attend every Student Council Meeting, before suddenly being barred from entry one Monday afternoon and being told not to worry—that the trivial politics on the agenda wouldn’t have interested you anyway—was the first time you really noticed. It happened at least once a month after that, afternoons ending with you bundled away to RAD’s library to finish homework or pawned off on Solomon and a handful of Little D’s to practice resisting demonic influence. On rare occasions, Barbatos would be waiting outside the doors to whisk you away for tea instead.
You try your luck one such day to find out more.
“This is the fourth time,” you say, before reaching for your cup.
“Yes,” the butler agrees amicably, the faintest trace of a smile on his mouth that never seems to change. He looks constantly serene, with a knowing glint in his eye that inspires frustration more often than not.
“I understand it’s political,” you try again, taking a sip. The tea is really remarkable; it always is when Barbatos brews it. You wonder if the ingredients are grown in the Devildom or if they have to be imported from the Human Realm.
He takes a sip, too. “Indeed.” One step beyond frustrating is infuriating.
