Notes: i wrote this while high and didn't edit it so sorry if it's funky
WC: 792
Notes: Yandere, implied kidnapping, implied death (not of reader), nonconsensual kissing, Mahito being a menace.
“Look what I got you!”
The words that left Mahito’s mouth instantly have you on guard. You warily turn towards your captor, narrowing your eyes at the generic bag that he excitedly shakes in your direction. Anything Mahito gave you was never what it seemed - there were no gifts without strings, nor was anything given to you without purpose. Whether it was to terrify or to sicken or to make you beg for him to stop, there was always a reason.
Mahito ignores your expressions and bounds over to you, dumping the bag out all over the couch cushion next to you. It takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing, your eyes darting between Mahito and the pile on the couch.
Next to you sits a pile of various items, the one thing they had in common being their reason for existence: the celebration of 2024. The new year…? It couldn’t be. It’d… there was no way it had been that long. Mahito kept the time and date from you, but you swore you’d been somewhat accurate in counting the days that had passed. You want to ask him if this is some kind of joke, but no words make it past your scratchy throat.
You look up at him, mouth parted - and the unnaturally large smile that seems to span his entire face answers the words that refuse to pass your lips. Mahito’s hand comes to your face and for one millisecond you think it’s all over before he simply squishes your cheeks together with his fingers.
“Are you so happy you can’t speak?” Mahito presses his fingers into your cheeks upward to push your lips into a crude smile, only stopping when he presses so hard that you whimper. “There you go. If you can’t speak, you can at least give me a smile after I went to the trouble of getting you this stuff.”
Mahito grabs one of the accessories from the pile - a party hat with a generic New Year quote - and places it on your head, adjusting it so that the band under your chin is just so. He grabs a noise maker for himself and startles you by leaning forward to blow it in your face, leaning back to cackle when you jolt away.
“You know, this is one of those human holidays I don’t really get.” Mahito waves the noise maker as he speaks, specks of glitter falling to the floor. “All the humans I took this stuff from seemed to be having fun. Especially the couples.”
The humans…? Your blood turns ice-cold in an instant. While Mahito rambles, you force yourself to look back at the pile. You hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a faint, metallic smell in the air. It was different than the sickeningly sweet stink of rot that clung to Mahito.
It smelled fresh.
If you looked hard enough in the pile, there’s no doubt that you’d find several things spattered with blood.
Mahito startles you out of your shock when his hands are suddenly on your shoulder, the icy cold chill of his skin biting even through your clothing. “Hey. Are you listening?”
You nod, still unable to speak, but Mahito doesn’t retreat from your space. He presses in forward until his lips nearly rest against yours, and you struggle not to recoil at the scent of iron that clings to his mouth.
“We were supposed to kiss at midnight, but since you don’t know what time it is, now is as good as ever.”
Mahito places his lips against yours, surprisingly chaste, and pulls away. “I forgot to tell you. You’re the only person I’ve kept long enough to see a new year go by with.” He gives you no time to react before he leans in again to capture your lips in a domineering kiss, ignoring your groan of discomfort when he wrenches your mouth open with his inhuman tongue and licks the inside of it. He stops again, pulling back in full this time.
Mahito places his hand on your shoulder like you’d seen him do before to the many humans he’d mutilated and forced you to watch. Paralyzed by fear, feeling ridiculous with the hat on your head that had most definitely belonged to a now-dead person, you finally manage to squeak out a plea for mercy. “Mahito, please don’t hurt me!”
“Calm down, cutie. I just wanted to wish you a proper new year for our first time together.”
Mahito lifts the noise maker he’d shoved in his pocket to his lips and blows it hard, giggling like a child when he pulls it away from his mouth.
“Happy New Year! And if you’re lucky, you’ll be here next year too~”
In the first ten minutes Eva has been clocked in, she’s made herself a coffee and begun to review her trainees’ records for the day. One of her girls she’d left off with on a bit of a sour note the night before, not something she ever liked to do, but tensions had been high, both her and the trainee’s nerves had been frayed in different ways—Eva, with frustration; the girl, with fear. Neither one of those made for a good combination, and Eva elected to let the girl have a meal and a shower and rest up for the night, and they would pick up again where they left off.
Eva had spent the night after reviewing her work. It had been the girl’s organization day, but she couldn’t quite grasp organizing objects by color. Eva had her own shower and a meal, and realized in the process that the disconnect was in the way she was teaching the girl. She knew what she wanted Violet to do, but something wasn’t quite clicking in the girl’s head. Something in the instructions wasn’t making sense to her. And that wasn’t her fault, it was Eva’s.
Not unlike dogs, Eva thinks. You may know what you want the pupil to do, but if they aren’t delivering the desired results, more often than not, it’s not them—it’s you. What needs to change is how you teach them. Luckily, the trainees here could talk. Dogs, not so much.
With a quick tap, Eva marks the girl down for breakfast. No sense training on an empty stomach. Then she’ll take the girl to a neutral area and discuss yesterday’s lesson. It’s highly unorthodox, but Eva is all about getting the best results in the most effective way possible. Pain and punishment has never been her speed. She’s all about reworking and adapting and learning. If there’s someway she can help Violet learn better, she’ll do it.
She takes another sip of her coffee, then finalizes her sheet for the day. No sooner does she open her second trainee’s sheet does her phone ring.
One glance at the number, and she has it to her ear immediately. This isn’t a call she’s going to tempt fate by ignoring. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Handler Bronsky. I take it you’re in the building?” One does not ignore Director Corrine Haverson if they know what’s good for them.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I need to see you in my office immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Haverson hangs up on that note. Eva locks her tablet, takes the chance to finish off the last of her coffee—cold coffee is no good and throwing perfectly good coffee into the trash is not an option—and makes her way to Haverson’s office. The walk there isn’t long in distance so much as it is in time. Getting to Haverson’s office requires Eva to go down the hallway from the breakroom, to an elevator that hasn’t worked properly in weeks, despite promises from the electrical company that they would have it up and running at full strength in a few days, up three flights, and then down another hallway to a pair of solid oak doors.
Eva pauses to check her watch at the door: ten minutes it took her to get from the breakroom to the office. All because the elevator takes more time to get down to the proper floor and get up to the proper floor than it takes Eva to get through town with a red at every light. But such is life. Eva enters the office ten minutes later than she wants to, noticing immediately after seeing the pleasant calm on Haverson’s face the manila folder that sits on the desk in front of her. It’s a folder Eva knows well, after her fifteen years at WRU. Haverson is giving her a new trainee.
“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Haverson says, leaning back in her chair casually. “I take it the elevator held you up?”
“It always does, Director,” Eva says. She steps into the office, toward the front of the desk, but doesn’t sit, and won’t, not until she’s been invited to by Haverson.
Haverson tsks softly, not at Eva per say, but at the circumstances that led to her lateness. “I shall have to have another word with the company,” she says thoughtfully, frowning ever so slightly. “They have a new hire, as I understand. A young man. Perhaps I could convince them to repair the elevator sooner lest he offer his services to us in more useful ways, hm?” It’s a joke, a morbid one at that, but Eva doesn’t smile. Sometimes she doesn’t know if Haverson intends for such things to be taken as a joke or not. There’s a shine in her eyes regardless.
“That aside,” Haverson says, “I have a new trainee for you.” She hands Eva the envelope, invites her to sit, and gives Eva a moment to review the information given.
Eva leans back in the chair. It was only a few weeks ago she’d had to do this very thing again, but the process feels as though she’s doing it all for the first time. It always does. First page of the file is the standard intake information: height, weight, eye color. There isn’t a picture of the girl yet, that will come later. For now all Eva has to go on is the simple descriptions of her new trainee as noted by Tobias Matthews. That the girl has albinism comes as a surprise. Trainees with that condition come through rarely; Eva can’t recall such a trainee being in the system during her time.
The girl, officially designated 657128, doesn’t have a pet designation yet. She’s being held under the Nonproductive Pet banner. It doesn’t surprise Eva. Pets with 657128’s condition take months, sometimes years, to sell, and no one has ever seemed to find it necessary to put them into a designation immediately. Why put so much work into a pet that might not even sell?
Involuntary. Eva bites the inside of her lip. The only word in her career that has ever made her skin crawl with discomfort. She doesn’t read the specifics.
“She’s extralegal,” Eva says, not without a hint of apprehension.
“Yes,” Haverson concedes. “I am aware that you prefer not to work with the extralegals, but I feel this girl in particular will benefit from your touch.”
Eva holds back a sigh. Maybe it makes sense but that doesn’t make it better.
“She hasn’t signed her contract,” she says instead, looking back down at the file. Not unusual, given the girl’s extralegal status and her arrival a mere two days ago.
“No,” Haverson confirms. “Though I have hopes she’ll be an easy sign. I want you to evaluate her. If she’s fit to sign today, do it. If not, so be it. I trust your judgment.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eva answers. That’s rare praise from Director Haverson. She’ll take it when she can. She tucks the papers back into the folder and closes it. “I’ll have Bridget on standby if she’s ready today.”
“Very good. Dismissed, then—go enjoy your new trainee. She’s in Isolation Room Twenty-Five.”
(A/N - Hoooo boy. We finna be getting into the opening of this; beyond this point is proooobably gonna be the last warning: the following fic will be containing themes not suitable for a younger audience. If you are under 18, do NOT fucking traverse any further. Seriously. Here there be nasty. Here there be NSFW. In the infamous words of The Inferno by Dante Aligheri, 'Abandon hope all ye who enter.'
But for now, enjoy the next installment of The Descent Down Below! I actually will be labelling the different rings after this point, for literally my sake and yours knowing.)
-3:29 am-
With the board set out in front of her once more, she felt silly for even fishing it out again to begin with. Maybe this was a waste of time, but she knew she'd feel no better until it was certain she could do it.
After all, how else would she know until she actually did it?
It only made sense!
Dressed in a long, silken champagne-colored nightgown that came to below the thigh, she made herself comfortable at the dining room table and straightened herself up.
"...Erm...Icarus? Icarus! Are...are you there? If you are...might you please give me a sign?"
At first, no response came from the near-blind man she'd just met during the seance. All that replied was the thin air in front of her. There was nothing...not at first.
It took another time of calling aloud his name before she eventually could get something back from him. A shiver of the air, the lights that barely illuminated the room flickered somewhat, as if to indicate the arrival of the phantom. While most would blame faulty wiring, Celeste knew for a fact this was not so much the case.
Ghost and spectral entities alike had a distinct aura to them—some benevolent...and others malignant. This, as well as the scent of the air, changed. The aroma was that of a young man's earthy cologne and sage, which was enough to comfort Celeste into believing that when Icarus’s name was called, the man in question answered her.
Still, all that remained was a deafening quiet over the room.
>I AM HERE.<
Her hands gently moved over the letters, guided by another pair that were no longer visible. The force behind them was gentle, but noticeable on her skin. Warm, but enough to make her feel more comfortable with the situation. It definitely felt like the hand of a man, and not that of an undead spirit.
Now...came for the part she dreaded having to do a second time around: pricking her hand for blood. Drawing the dagger from where she sat, she pressed the metal tip to her palm and let the blade sink into her skin, drawing dark blood once more. The liquid dribbled onto the glossy wood, lighting up the engraved letters, and as soon as her hand touched the board—it was as if a connection was made.
She could see him. Clear as day, standing at the table and staring back at her. The same eerie, visionless eyes that bore deep into hers...but they belonged to him and him alone. For all their beauty, part of Celeste felt horribly unnerved by them.
Why, she wasn't entirely certain of...but she could only hold eye contact with him for maybe a few moments before needing desperately to look away from him. However, it didn't matter how she tried to look away from him, as his eyes were completely on her. However, when she looked up at him again, it was clear that after the moment had passed after he’d been summoned and made visible to her…his confusion as to what he was doing there changed to being taken aback by what she was wearing.
"...I...woman, what are you WEARING? Of all things you choose to contact me in, you pick that?!"
Faint amusement befell her features. He couldn't have been serious, right?
She was certain that Icarus was blind, or rather legally blind—meaning he could see, but it wasn't like how she or anyone with 20/20 vision viewed the world around them. So, at the most, he could see shapes and outlines, but nothing more...so it may not have been too out of line to say he knew…
It likely made sense since it was about 3 in the morning, so she would've been dressed for bed...
"It's only a nightgown, love. Y' act as if i'm completely naked! And why would ye care anyway?! Surely, ye can't see it, right?"
The man scoffed, which further surprised her. He didn’t have this level of confidence or audacity before, so why now of all times? “Vaguely, but even still! It’s only the mere principle that i’m sitting before a—”
Celeste then slammed her hands on the table in frustration and anger, now having completely enough of the sudden impudence of the other. She let out a vaguely draconic snort, narrowing her eyes in his direction.
They glowed a vibrant shade of emerald, and she flashed her fangs at him.
She normally wouldn't have dared allow to show this to any other, but because Icarus was unlike any other (mainly because the man was dead), it wasn't entirely as though she cared much.
"Finish that sentence carefully…i guarantee ye if ye finish that sentence, ye ain’t gonna like what comes next of it…’cause i can and i WILL send ye straight back down into th’ depths of Tartarus."
With this, Icarus scrunched up in his place, staring back at the now semi-feral woman. Those words alone were enough to simmer the growing flame in him, and his mostly sightless eyes flicked away from her shamefully.
He sighed, letting himself shrink down in his seat.
"...I was going to say 'lady'..."
"Good choice, Mr. Icarus.", and thus, Celeste did as well, gesturing for the man to take a seat before her.
He did, pulling out the seat and sitting down before her. "So...with all that excitement out of th' way...might i offer anythin'? Tea? Wine, if that's what y' like? Anything at all? You are my guest in all'a this, i suppose it's right i make ye comfy while yer 'ere."
"No, ma'am. Thank you...i...apologize for that display. You'd be slightly disgruntled as well if you were summoned so suddenly on short notice. Like being awakened at an early hour of the morning..."
"But, of course.", she responded, "So...what was it that ye did in life?"
Icarus's eyes lit up with delight. "Spectrology and Mediumship. I studied in the paranormal and all it's workings, from harmless phantoms or poltergeists and their malignant counterparts alike; i dabbled in both, you see...but the latter appears to be how i met my end."
"As is typically th' consequence for fooling wi' means ya don't understand. Y' say it was possession tha' lead t' yer demise, no? Now, how could'ja 'ave possibly—?"
He stopped her, his answer quick and blunt, but dripping with light annoyance. "Simple. Communicating with a spirit that lied about its true nature, as i stated in our last meeting. You'd be surprised by how many demons do this just to have their way. And playing with the hearts of humans is one way to do so...betrayal is an act as old as time, Ms. Valentina."
Celeste was silent, allowing his words to sink in. To have been so passive about it earlier made her earnestly feel so guilty about it, but he was truthful. It was the oldest trick in the book, but humans—as she learned—never really learned their lesson the first time about. So, naturally, the demonically inclined would use the trick repeatedly. When humans became wiser to this was when they'd stop.
"...I see."
"And i assure you...you'll find my reasoning for my actions understandable, and not as asinine as you claim..."
"Then...go on. You've piqued my curiosity tonight..."
It was then Icarus began. He was silent at first, as if carefully trying to establish how he wanted to tell the story, like it was a game of chess and he was strategizing his next move. Or, rather, his next words...
"I...I had lost the one dearest to me two weeks prior to my demise. Scarlet fever, i believe, i can never quite remember—it was SOME type of illness...but one thing i do...was the night i attempted to contact her. With my heart shattered and nothing else to do to quell the pain, all i wanted was to have closure, Ms. Valentina; that's all i ever wanted! And this...this creature...it feigned her personality and mimicked her so flawlessly, i knew not of what i had done...", Icarus explained, voice wavering in and out of steadiness, as if he might break down and weep there before Celeste.
"She offered to 'let her in' and that 'i would never have to be alone'...a lie. What it wanted was nothing more than to have a puppet to control and cast aside once it was done with me...it...it didn't get to for very long. Whatever it was...it was strong. Before it could even get its hold upon me, i think i passed...or maybe i blacked out and something else caused my demise, I’m not too sure..."
Well, Celeste did...but she wouldn't dare explain it to him. It had to with forcible contortion of the entire body...a morbid detail that was too sickening, even to her, to explain unless she wanted to be sick at her stomach for the rest of the night.
"...It's not fair, is it...?", she began in a slow, soft tone. Her gaze turned away from him, and her brows furrowed, "T' lose th' one ye cherish...it is a pain i know all too well, my dear Icarus. Y'...ye aren't th' only soul who 'as been wounded in such a way, an'...for that, i'm sorry tha' even in death, ye must suffer like this..."
Icarus perked up, intrigued by this statement, and leaned forward to listen more to her. "Oh...? And, how...how, pray tell, do you know of this...?"
"...Because my own husband died in such a way...of course, i...only saw th' end results o' his death, an' it...w-wasn't quite as gruesome as yours, but it was cruel. He 'adn't deserved, no...but alas, Fate is a cruel bitch, she is. There's...more t' this horror tale i could ramble on f'r decades about, so i'll spare y' th' details...", Celeste quietly explained, a rising nausea filling the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she craved a glass of wine, just to make her forget the rushing memories that flooded her head with him and HIM.
Those burning, bright red eyes that scalded deep into her soul and those hands that left bruise upon bruise on her skin if she disobeyed him, as if she was nothing more than a slave to him.
However...she was just this to him...a slave AND a trophy. Just something to look at and call his.
Her hands suddenly shook and grow cold, even numb at the fingertips. "I assure y'...i'm aware o' th' sentiment. I've seen possessions before...but never did i dream o' one day seein' th' i loved an' swore at th' altar 'Til death do us part' dead at my feet t' th' hands of a jealous demon o' a man..."
"Oh, I’m sure, Ms. Valentina...not a pleasant sight, I’d imagine. Seeing the body warped and twisted until it's nothing like it was before. I'm sure that's what the constables found of me the morning after.", Icarus chuckled, reaching a hand over to grab hers, kneading his fingers soothingly into the clammy skin. "The only thing I regret...is ever picking up that damned board to begin with. My whole life was ahead of me...and i cast it aside like it was garbage."
"P...Perhaps so...but i...i would've...n-never 'ad this opportunity t' meet...someone like you...wh-who...w-was jus'...l-like him..."
Now, his heart broke for the poor woman. Was it really that big of a deal to her just to see him, or was this for show? By the frigidity of her hands and trembling of her entire body, it didn't seem so; this type of anxiety was one that Icarus knew couldn't be faked easily. His hand squeezed hers in a slow, pulsing rhythm—in time to that of a calm heartbeat.
Maybe it would calm her down...? If it helped with his nerves when he'd become restless and nervous, perhaps it'd do the same to her...
"P...Perdoname, mio tresoro...perdoname..."
Italian...? Icarus, at least, recognized it to be this. Mixed with the woman's deep Cockney accent, it was beautiful coming from her lips, but saddening that not only did he know the context, but what it meant in her language. But, probably, what was the most hurtful to him—he felt—was watching such a regal figure of a dark Queen shrink down into a shivering, scared, and distressed mess.
It didn't feel right of her. Granted all he'd seen...but he knew it was better to let her have this moment of remembrance for the one she lost. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her properly, but there was only so much that could be done with the positions he was in.
He was dead...and she was not.
"I think...the point I’m trying to make, Ms. Valentina...was that i desire nothing more than another chance at life. As any spirit does, i'm sure...but for me, this is not an empty want; i truly wish to be among you. To walk with you. To be HERE. Is that asking too much...?", Icarus asked in a soft voice, rubbing lazy circles into her skin.
Celeste was tacit for a moment. She knew of a way to possibly make that wish so, but...she wasn't sure if the one she was thinking of would even allow her to do such a thing. To bring back a shade from the Dead, especially from Hell, was a long and arduous journey that was dangerous to most souls who were foolhardy enough to take the challenge.
Unless you possessed a strong will, were proficient enough with magical prowess, and had a clever wit to prevent the sinners and demons that lurked about from making a slave out of you, there was no chance at survival or returning alive. On top of that...only a few could actually send you down to the 'starting point' of sorts.
And Celeste knew one of those few souls that might do it, depending on if she was willing enough to do it...
"...I...I believe...th-there is...a way, dear...but...I’m...I’m unsure if she'll...go along with it..."
"You do, now? Well, that's wonderful...but enough of that. You can worry about this in the morning...i'm more concerned about you, Ms. Valent–"
"Celeste. Pl...Please, jus'...call me 'Celeste'...enough of th' formalities. You know who i am, so jus' u-use it..."
"...Celeste. My apologies.", his other hand then followed suit, now with both resting on her hands and giving a gentle squeeze.
He was certain of one thing, and that was even if she disconnected the ritual tie that allowed her to see and touch him...he would definitely continue to watch over her. He knew the curse of anxiety well. As a medium, thousands of dead voices bombarded his ears all at once in life, so as the deafening and irritating roar of sound got to be overwhelming—as did the grip that panic did over him that forced him to wall himself up in his room for days upon days.
However, he didn't always have the warm comfort of someone soothing him down from this sensory overload.
If it meant giving her the solace he didn't have whilst alive, then so be it...
-Santos Residence; 4:37 pm-
Tanned knuckles rapped gently on the massive wooden doors leading to the inside of the Santos estate.
She just only hoped that now wasn't a bad time for her to be visiting, as Mercedes was one for her space and her husband was usually out about this time of the day at work. The office was only downtown, only about 20 minutes from the mansion they owned, but most of his day was spent making sure orders came in and project deadlines were met in a timely manner.
Celeste waited, hearing the soft footsteps of another growing louder and louder until they reached the door. It pulled open, revealing the replicant; it was actually not Mercedes, but the assistant to the woman and Mr. Santos. A young, red-headed boy who couldn't have been no older than 20 in a long-sleeved red and green striped sweater and faded jeans stood before her, leaning on his cane. Bright, innocent blue eyes stared up at her, glimmering in surprise at the visitor before him, before an equally radiant smile tugged at his mouth.
"Well, i'll be damned, miss...i ain't seen ye in a while now! Wi' this stupid leg, 's been a pain in th' arse t' leave th' house. But...usually a bit o' morphine fr'm th' Ol' Yes Man does th’ trick, give or take a few sessions."
A smile soon followed from Celeste; both knew well of Ash's work at the hospital, so it was definitely a pleasure to hear about the good doctor again. It’d been actually a while since she’d last seen or heard from him. "Come in! Mrs. Santos is actually in th' kitchen, cookin' her Mole Poblano as we speak. I'll let 'er know it's you, ah?"
"Thank ye, Gallus; that'd be wonderful...let 'er know as well i need t' speak wi' 'er, please?", Celeste responded.
"Absolutely! Though, expect th' missus t' take 'er time...once she starts 'er cookin', she won't stop 'til 's all done. I know fr'm experience; woman prides herself in her kitchen work. Enough t' make Martha Stewart fume wi' envy."
And that sadly wasn't wrong of the boy to assume, remembering all the times she'd ever helped Mercedes in the kitchen. Here, Celeste thought her kitchen was massive; Mercedes's was almost significantly bigger. Yet, it was only sensible, as she lived in a massive home that would only have the highest end appliances and decor.
The profession that Mr. Santos made a grand income, granted if the contractor he was assigned to paid him well.
A low, alto laugh bubbled forth from Celeste, "I know, Gallus. Fully aware o’ that, really. La Reina Negra ‘as always been stickler with food; as a mother, it's only second nature t' make sure the ones ye love stay fed, i assume."
"I guess. Coffee?"
"No, lovey. Thank you. Can ye let 'er 'm 'ere?"
"Aye, ma'am, i can. One moment—"
With that, she followed Gallus into the home patiently, for she knew how difficult it was for him to have to move about with that cane. Seeing that made her feel horrible that, at this point with the injury to his Achilles tendon, she could do very little for him, except maybe keep him out of pain.
The story he'd told her upon meeting her was also not too far behind in eliciting her sympathy for him: not just for his disability and limited mobility at such a young age...but the curse that came with it. As a high schooler, just shy of graduating, Gallus had been attacked and scarred to high hell by a strange dog.
Nothing that a trip to the ER and subsequently, surgeries and physical therapy to regain his ability to walk didn't fix...well, somewhat.
To this day, he still had to have a cane, and occasionally, a wheelchair to get about with. But, this was the least of his concerns...
The next few nights a month after the attack that followed were both the strangest and most terrifying he'd ever experienced, for it was at that moment that that was not just a 'strange dog' as previously thought. On the night of a full moon, he'd go into quick bursts of pain before suddenly blacking out, only to wake up in a place he didn't recognize with an even stranger taste in his mouth and aching all over.
Celeste sat down on the couch and allowed herself to look about.
The fireplace was just next to her, and while it was fake and could've easily been taken out by a handyman, it was Mercedes's decision to keep it around. Something about having it made the home feel warm and safe to her, so Mr. Santos opted to keep it around, even if they had no practical use for it besides just decoration.
There, above the brick mantle, was a bouquet of white carnations and red roses next to the couple's wedding photo. In the golden frame stood a short Hispanic younger woman in a long, princess-like dress with a single red flower in her hand and her veil back to expose her face and eyes to the cameraman. At a distance, Mercedes's eyes were a soft hazelnut shade of brown, but as you'd approach, the eyes would change color from brown to red—as if by an illusion.
While subtle, the demonic nature and aura she gave off didn't detract from the unsettling beauty The Black Queen possessed. With features like that of a sculptor's finest work, like Pygmalion crafting Galatea, it wasn't entirely hard to understand why the likes of her husband would fall for the fallen angel's grace.
Standing beside her was a man she easily presumed to be Luciano Santos himself.
A tall man of about his early 50s, who still appeared to be in his mid-30s...as strange as that looked to most, with there being such a stark difference in age. Oh, if only one knew the reason for his almost youthful looks.
"Es hermoso...isn't it, Celeste? I remember it as if it had happened just last night..."
The dulcet, accented tone of Mercedes rang out clearly from a few feet behind her, enough to startle Celeste from her trance. The ravenette swung around from the couch to glance behind her, and there she was, just as she appeared in the picture. Instead of her long, pure white gown that she stood in for her wedding, Mercedes was dressed in a silken off-white blouse with a black and red skirt that just barely reached past her knees, all covered by a white apron.
Long, wavy hair was tied back low, and presumably out of the way so she could cook.
Arms folded before her, there was a noticeable yet soft smile from her, eyes trained on the same picture as Celeste's were.
"Yes...how long 'as it been now? 15 years?"
"Ay, has it? I can never remember...how sad is that? But alas, despite how this old woman looks, i am just that. So, dates and I have been estranged friends for many centuries...",she responded, eyes glimmering with a soft fondness, before she was then pulled back to reality as if remembering that she had a guest before her.
"But enough of this...El Perrito says you needed to see me, yes? Won't you tell me while i start the tea? I was just about to start the pot."
"Yes...you're...prob'ly th' only one who knows 'ow t' go 'bout this without lookin' at me like i'm a Looney Tune for it."
A thin, brunette brow quirked at this statement.
"With how you put it, mija...you almost make it sound like I’m going to disagree with you. Pero, adalante, por favor...you have my curiosity."
With that, Mercedes gestured for her to follow her into the kitchen, the smell of peppers and spices filling the air. Whatever she had prepared for dinner that night smelled heavenly—strong, even, but true to most foods mixed with a lot of spice, there was almost definitely going to be just as much of a kick in terms of taste.
"...I was wonderin'...since 'm sure it's possible...would ye...grant me entry into Hell t' return wi' a mortal soul?"
CLANG—!!
Mercedes almost lost her grip on the pot and plate she had in her hand, and caught it before it could shatter on her ceramic tiled floor. "Chinga tu MADRE, tu quieres hacer—", she growled in mild frustration before drawing a quick, calming breath, before allowing her eyes to fall upon the inquirer. Rather than angry, she was more addled and perturbed by the question itself.
Did Celeste even know what she was asking of her?!
"You...Celeste. Querida...you want to do WHAT? Do you have any idea the repercussions of what you're asking me to do?! You, a living being of flesh and blood, wish to traverse the depths of Hell to retrieve the soul of an individual that you just met, who—for all you are concerned—could be lying about their intentions. Lying about what happened to them! You don't even know if they're demonic and using it to illicit your sympathy! Most a sinner, with enough manipulation and charisma, can do it and have.", she retorted in a warning tone of voice, "This is no tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, amor. This is serious, and one that, if you are not careful…you will not be fortunate to walk from…"
"But...it c'n be done...right? Mercedes, when i met him...an' y' c'n even ask Lucinda an' Josie, this man...he was no demon. Not a hellish aura in his soul...his death was a fluke; don't you understand?! I...I don't think 'e was meant t' die—"
Mercedes barked a cold laugh, "Don't be silly, Celeste. Fate asks not when you want to pass, nor if it is into either arms of Him or at the feet of Lucifer. She only goes by your actions and the integrity of your soul. Only Fate decides where you go. He likely had his reasons for being in whatever Circle Minos decided for him."
Celeste was quiet for a moment, thinking over her next set of words carefully, "...Y' would to if it was for...well, him. You 'ave before...haven't ye...?"
The woman before her's eyes grew wide and angrier with the question posed. How DARE her—?
Another barrage of Spanish and demonic curses flew from her mouth, the latter causing a wave of cold to fill the air and the glass in the windows to begin cracking under the magical pressure.
"Don't you DARE bring mi esposo into this! He has nothing to do with this little 'suicide mission' of yours!"
"But it IS true...isn't it? You brought back ol' Santos from th' dead when 'is heart gave out, jus' as an added 'Fuck you' t' th' God who cast you out after you so 'ad a right t' lash out at th' fucker who was unfaithful t' you. YOU took 'im back from Death after that, no? Or are you jus' special like tha', Mercy? I dare ye t' answer 'yes' t' that. Go on. I fuckin' DARE ye."
A rise of dark aura swirled in the air, mixed with the growing anger and frustration in the other's demeanor. Mercedes tensed up like a defensive jungle cat, watching her opponents every move with vigilance, as if preparing herself to fight. But...she had made a decent point. For her to deny Celeste of what she wanted to do would only make a hypocrite of herself, for after all, the story she had told was nothing but the truth.
When Santos had passed that night, she did everything possible to regain him...even if it meant swearing herself to Lucifer as one of his courtiers.
So, for Celeste to basically sacrifice herself to wander the brimstone labyrinth that was Hell...? It was selfless AND selfish all at once. Selfish because should she fail, it would doom her to remain there for eternity, but selfless because it was an act of sacrifice true.
And, for that, Mercedes found respect in that...and it seemed very much like the Draconian woman to do anyhow.
She relaxed, narrowing her eyes in contempt, before scoffing. "Perhaps so...if you are so insistent about it...and your intentions don't appear to be of ill-intent...i'll allow it. But...not without a guide. Hell is already tricky to traverse anyhow, and most have been there so long that it would take another damned soul to even convince another to give you the correct information you'd need..."
Relief washed over her at that moment; not only did she not have to possibly fight The Black Queen (and she really didn't cherish the thought of that battle; this WAS Mercedes she was thinking about here), but now she had the woman's consent to attempt the journey into Hell.
"Thank you. Really...ye 'ave no idea what this means t' me right now, Merce. I'll pay y' back; however ye want, i'll do it."
With that, Mercedes's smile returned. "Marvillosa~...now...hopefully, you have what you need, no? This is a spell that MUST be done immediately, so please...please be certain you have what you need to make the journey. Stay on the path, and please take no offers nor deals with ANYONE you meet. To do so would be putting your soul for sale for a discount; it's tempting."
Celeste only shook her head. The bag that she had slung around her shoulder practically had most of what she needed in it. A spell book, a few magically imbued pieces of jewelry, a piece of her own clothing for tethering purposes to not lose her mind whilst down there, and some water that would hopefully last her the duration of the trip.
She only hoped that this would work...
"I...I think I’m good, Mercy. Whenever yer ready...'s all that matters."
A flash of the eyes, followed by a wicked grin upon her lips. Something about the look on her face both terrified Celeste...but enticed her further in. Upon a step forward, it was all Mercedes needed to follow—before the woman lurched forward at her. Shortly before Celeste's vision went to black, she could’ve sworn that for a moment...she saw Mercedes warp into something else.
Instead of the beautiful young woman and one of His fallen angels, who'd dare to take vengeance that she felt was so rightfully due the night her first love gave into his lust, there—staring Celeste in the face—was a tall, bat-like humanoid with a woman's shape. It had all the same curves and form of one, but it didn't look right.
It was as if she had seen the God Camazots himself morph before her and come from the House of Xibalba for her head, just as the Twin Gods had done in mythos. She couldn't scream or fight back; instead, she stood motionless as her vision warped and dissolved to nothing.
Whatever had been done to her, it left the smell of brimstone and wet earth fresh in her nose...
