content warnings: graphic descriptions (with some creative liberties) of hanahaki disease as a lethal, malicious curse towards the end, blood, unnamed character death.
note: thought about trying something new but idk how to feel about this now that it’s done >.< inspired by the devilgram ‘the flower of love,’ where someone satan rejected sent him cursed flowers that almost kill him. satan, lucifer, and dolasach (my mc, she/her) are all in this but mostly just mentioned.
—
Flowers.
Often gifted to the object of one’s affection, they thought it would’ve been something innocent and inconspicuous enough to send to the House of Lamentation without raising any suspicions at the lack of a sender’s name. Seeing of the Avatar of Wrath slowly wilting with the cursed flower they gifted was indication enough to them that he’d received their gift.
Of course, it shouldn’t be surprising that their plan to give him a hard time for rejecting them several weeks ago didn’t pan out as well as they’d hoped. With his wit, knowledge, and the company of his brothers and the two human sorcerers, they should’ve known that Satan and the rest of them would catch on that the mysterious plant he’d been sent was cursed and bound to Satan’s life force. As it wilted, so would he. But they didn’t actually plan for him to die, all they wanted was a bit of payback for the emotional toil he caused them for not even considering them as a second partner after their heartfelt confession. And for a while they thought they’d get it.
They watched in annoyance as he slowly began to bounce back from the effects of the curse, silently regretting that they hadn’t strengthened its power enough for Satan to actually suffer before he’d figure out how to break the curse. What made it all the more frustrating was that it seemed that his partner returned from whatever kept her away from him to keep him company as he recovered, and the sight of the odd eyed woman greeting him with that disgustingly sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek made their blood boil with envy.
It didn’t help that they were sure that she was watching them for their reaction whenever they were in the same room, those green and blue eyes meeting their own before quickly looking away with a satisfied glint. The nerve.
They did their best to hide how upset they were, though. They were lucky enough that it that the worst that Satan doled out as punishment for what they did was to simply pretend that they didn’t exist—it still stung, of course, but it was better than all the other possible alternatives. They’d seen him read all those books on torture and rumor has it that his partner wasn’t anything to scoff at in combat. Thankfully Lord Lucifer didn’t seem to have any plans for them too—they’d rather die than live through whatever punishment he’d have for them. As much as he acted as though he barely cared, it was an open secret that no one messes with his brothers to that degree and gets away with it unharmed.
Perhaps the human convinced the seven brothers that being rejected then having their plan fail was punishment enough? Humans were soft and merciful like that, they figured, if the other human sorcerer was anything to go by. Their faint memories of her from when Satan’s lover was still an exchange student a few years ago told them that she was a lot nicer than she let on, and that she had each of the seven brothers wrapped around her finger. Maybe her humanity was rubbing off on the brothers.
Still, they had to question where their bravery came from when the sent the cursed plant. Oh well, things seemed to have worked out fine in the end anyway.
They glanced at the clock for the time as they sat in class, bored out of their mind as the professor droned on and on about the recent amendments Lord Diavolo made to Devildom Law, explaining a few processes that have now been streamlined to reduce turnover time and more importantly, the amount of work Lord Diavolo and Lord Lucifer have to do themselves. Why does Devildom Law have to be so dreadfully dry…
A growing itch in their throat brought them out of their thoughts.
Cough, cough.
The professor paused for a moment before continuing, calling everyone’s attention back to him as he resumed his lecture. They quickly covered their mouth with a handkerchief to muffle their coughing, excusing themself when the itch in their throat only seemed to be getting worse, even painful.
Cough, cough, cough.
They left the classroom and headed to the bathroom, eyes watering from the struggle to breath and the stinging sensation in their throat from each cough. Their coughing only let up when they were inside, and for a moment they were relieved despite still feeling like something was stuck in their throat… In fact, now that they thought about it, what was that odd taste in their mouth? And… What did they just cough up?
They uncovered their mouth and spat whatever it was onto the bathroom sink. It was a small, oddly shaped and bloody thing that they ran under running water until they could make out what it was. Red washed down the drain to reveal purple petals and green leaves.
A flower? And one they didn’t recognize?
They’d have to look into what it was later.
—
Take care. Danger lies ahead.
Hunched over a book on human world flowers in the library after class, they reread the passage over and over.
Monkshood—also known as wolf’s bane—is a flowering poisonous herb from the human world known for its purple flowers. In the human world’s language of flowers, it is often used to send the message that one should be cautions and mindful of incoming danger.
Each article they found, both online and in print, said the same things. A poisonous herb. Caution. Treachery. A warning.
Death.
But none of the articles they found both in the library and online said anything as to how or why anyone would be coughing it up so suddenly. It was a human world plant so it couldn’t possibly have the same danger that some Devildom plants posed should its pollen enter your body, and they were sure that they had never encountered the plant anywhere before.
They closed the book with a loud thud and slumped back into their seat. They sighed—a mistake, as it triggered yet another painful coughing fit that had one more bloody flower come up from wherever it came from in their body. The sudden ailment still made no sense to them as they spat the flower out and onto a tissue, tossing it into in a crumpled paper bag that once held their lunch. It was now full of red stained tissues.
They pulled out their DDD again, determined to at least find something about what was happening to them. The first few pages of search results yielded nothing, but that wasn’t going to stop them—surely some obscure website would at least have some kind of information as to what was going on, right?
—
It was on the thirteenth page of results that they found something, though they couldn’t help but frown deeply at what kind of site they were brought to.
A forum? And one on human world literature?
This is hopeless, am I really this desperate? They thought to themself. Surely this can’t be anything reputable.
But it was their only lead, and quite honestly, they found themselves shocked at how much it seemed to make sense as they read the thread.
Hanahaki disease. A fictional disease where someone begins coughing up flowers because of unrequited love they have for someone.
They scoured the rest of the thread for more information, their heart dropping as they continued reading and finding that more questions formed as they read through the answer they’d been looking for.
A slow, painful disease that develops over months and begins with coughing up a few petals. It grows in intensity and pain until the victim is coughing up entire flowers, at which point the disease has reached its final stages. If not treated, the disease is fatal.
They bookmarked the page before setting their DDD down on the table, their brows furrowed as they thought over what they just read. It sounded like what they had—the coughing, the pain, the flowers, the fact that they did have an unrequited love… But the rest was either worrying or made no sense at all.
There were no symptoms of this prior to today, which meant that either the disease worked differently on demons or that they actually were close to dying. That, and the fact that this was a fictional disease—this shouldn’t be happening to begin with!
After a brief moment of thought, they packed their bags and left the library, their legs taking them to the Infirmary.
—
When they’d described what was happening to them to the attending healer, they were met with the insistence that they contact and wait for Lord Lucifer for help—this was beyond anything the healers studied, and with how they hadn’t even heard of anyone suffering from this particular curse or anything similar in the most recent Curse and Hex Breaking seminars they’d attended, they were sure that it was a very recent creation.
“We’re sorry, but the best one to handle this would be Lord Lucifer,” the head healer said, already checking something on their phone. The faint buzz of a notification told them that they must’ve already contacted him. “He should be finished with his Student Council duties in a few hours. If you’d like, you could rest here until he’s able to come see you.”
They were about to take a seat on a vacant bed when one of the healers preparing a bucket for any flowers they coughed up remarked, “You must’ve really angered someone if it pushed them to create an entirely new curse just for you.”
Their eyes widened in realization, and before any of the healers could stop them, they were rushing out of the Infirmary and fell into another coughing fit as they sped through the halls.
They were doomed.
—
Perhaps it would’ve done them well to take a chance with facing Lord Lucifer after all.
RAD had long grown silent as everyone went home, likely including Lord Lucifer and his brothers with how late it now was. Even they themself were preparing to head home—after hours of researching and trying to develop a counter-curse for whatever they were cursed with in the library, they were finally asked to leave by the head librarian. Thankfully, they were allowed to take all the books they needed home—“Just try not to get too much blood on them,” they were reminded. They could sense that the librarian wanted to ask why they didn’t just wait for Lord Lucifer at the Infirmary like the healers recommended, but they were sure that the librarian understood that they had their reasons. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here.
Once they had everything safely packed, they began their trip back home, their throat aching and painful from all the coughing. They threw a paper bag filled with bloody flowers into the bin on their way out, stopping for a moment to cough up even more flowers into it. The monkshood came out in handfuls now, and the feeling of something being lodged in their throat never went away anymore, nor did the taste of their own blood in their mouth.
They were sure that they were even smelling the accursed flower with each labored breath they took too. How much time did they still have?
Would it be worth it to try and run to the House of Lamentation to keel over and grovel at Lord Lucifer’s feet for forgiveness for harming his brother? If they’d known that they’d be receiving this as retaliation, they’d have thought twice before letting their envy and wrath get the best of them.
—
They continued walking until they were out of campus, making their way through downtown towards their apartment. Every now and then they’d cough up more flowers, now too tired to even wait until they found a bin or dumpster they could spit them all into. The crowded, itching sensation in their throat spread down their chest and began to evolve into feeling as though something was trying to scratch its way out of their skin. They scratched back, the itch spurring them into getting home faster. But the sheer effort that breathing now needed kept them from going too fast. Slowing down to catch their breath triggered more coughing, which slowly evolved into heaving and gagging and gasping for air. The few passersby stared at them, though none approached. They hid in the nearest alleyway they could find and leaned against a wall for support as they hacked out more and more flowers, each bloody blossom dropping to the ground around their feet.
Dizzy. They were growing dizzy. Sharp nails clawed at their throat as blood trickled down their chin. They dropped their bags and moved deeper into the alley, shielding themselves from curious eyes in the dark. Isn’t this too much, they wondered. Satan didn’t go through anything like this!
They heard rumors of how sadistic Lord Lucifer could be with his punishments, but to create a curse based off of a fictional disease that was caused by unrequited love? And to torture them with flowers? That seemed too poetic for the eldest Lord.
As their legs gave out and their neck grew bloody with claw marks, their thoughts turned to Satan, which made the curse worse. What felt like stems began growing from the wounds in their neck, and they could feel tendrils spread throughout their body from somewhere in their chest. They pulled back their sleeve to see the tendrils writhing and bulging beneath their skin.
Did he do this? Was he that enraged by their attempt to hurt him that he made such a painfully mocking curse as revenge?
The tendrils burst through their skin, leaving a bloody mess of torn skin and muscle in their wake. Some grew outward and turned to stems, rapidly growing leaves and flowers that had petals redder and deeper than the purple they’d seen all day. Others wrapped themselves around their flesh and penetrated their skin, taking root deep in their body, winding and digging into bone. They wanted to scream but the flowers had grown thick enough that they blocked their throat and filled their mouth. At most, they could make muffled noises like a gagged, helpless animal.
They could only cry as their body was slowly consumed by the monkshood, their tunneled vision blurred by their tears. There was no denying it anymore—they should’ve accepted it from the moment they read that their symptoms were fatal that they were doomed. They should’ve done something more worthwhile in their final hours instead of having spent it all at a futile attempt at trying to undo the curse.
As they slowly blacked out from pain and suffocation, the last few things they saw were two cloaked figures. One stood tall, his eyes scanning their body which was now covered in roots and foliage; and the other much smaller figure crouched down in front of them, smirking as they picked off a flower from their body to admire. The dying demon could only make out the most striking features of the two—the taller one, as they expected, had scarlet eyes that looked down at them, watching with amusement and even pride as they struggled to remain focused. And the other… Ah. Of course.
Her eyes were green and blue.