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It was still early, the pentagram that passed for Hell’s sun having risen over the horizon less than an hour before. Alastor had always been an early riser out of necessity, and the habit had stuck even after death.
Early mornings in Hell could almost pass for those of New Orleans. Quiet, empty streets, aside from those unlucky few whose work sent them out early or kept them late. With the occasional late night reveler, stumbling home or blackout drunk on the sidewalk, to add some zest.
He’d spent much of this window of time exploring the Pride Ring as a newly minted demon. It had been safer then, back when his own soul was all he held. It had almost guaranteed he remained unmolested and unchallenged due to his prey-like appearance. Not that those who’d underestimated him made the same mistake twice.
Now that he’d been dead for a little over a year, he’d vastly grown his power, even if he’d yet to show his hand. He had several former Overlords under his belt now, along with the souls they’d owned, and had just started getting his feet under him in terms of making his own deals.
His radio show had surged in popularity too! Though, for now, it was limited to the screams of his prey. He planned to formally introduce himself to Hell’s denizens soon enough.
As it was, he was satisfied to have already made a name for himself regardless. The Radio Demon! The moniker had been bestowed upon him by the papers, accompanied by article after article on his exploits and speculation of who (or what) could be behind them.
Oh, the chaos and fear sweeping the Pride Ring on his behalf were absolutely delightful! Even better than when he’d made the papers while living because here he didn’t have to concern himself with the authorities! And his privacy remained intact, as journalistic integrity was all but absent in Hell. The journalists were doing more than he was to muddy the waters as to his identity!
It was almost too easy!
As Alastor neared the outskirts of Pentagram City, other demons became even farther and fewer between. His walk today was geared toward reconnaissance, though he’d long since mapped out the entirety of Pride. Still, he liked to keep himself apprised of any changes, which were all too common in the chaos and violence pervading Hell.
It certainly didn’t hurt that he was now powerful enough to tap into any radio he pleased, if he was close enough. There wasn’t much gossip or intelligence to be had at present, which was why he had strayed so far from the more populated areas. He was diligently working on broadening his reach though, reaching out through the waves to see how far he could go.
Alastor had just begun to wonder where he might stop for breakfast (likely in the delightful Cannibal Town), when he spotted the strangest sight up ahead. Cocking his head to one side, he slipped into his shadow, skirting the length of the sidewalk and resurfacing behind a child of all things!
The little girl in question was seated on the edge of the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. She wore a lovely pink dress, her blonde hair pulled back into a thick braid. She looked utterly miserable, tears filling her eyes though none seemed to have fallen yet.
At first he assumed she was one of the children from Cannibal Town as, to his knowledge, Sinners couldn’t reproduce. Odd, since she couldn’t have been further from Cannibal Town if she’d tried. Then he got a closer glimpse of her face and realized she was missing the mouthful of fangs and hollow eyes so common amongst the populace there.
Not from Cannibal Town then. Which left only one other option, as ludicrous as it seemed. Why, after all, would Princess Charlotte Morningstar be out at this hour, let alone unaccompanied? It was no secret the king and queen were wildly overprotective of their daughter. They were in Hell, after all! They were also adamant about maintaining her privacy, which meant it was exceedingly rare for anything about her, especially a photo, to make its way to the public.
Alastor could only assume her parents weren’t yet aware of her absence. Otherwise he had a feeling that the morning would not be nearly so peaceful.
He was debating on whether or not to approach her when the little girl suddenly turned to face him, sniffling. Her eyes widened, panic sparking in their depths. She lurched to her feet, the yellows of her eyes bleeding red and horns sprouting from her head. She bared her little fangs at him, crouching in a stance that indicated she had at least some education in the art of self-defense.
Alastor grinned down at her, arms folded behind his back. She studied him for a long moment, gaze fixed on his ears, before she calmed down, her more demonic attributes vanishing.
“Oh, you’re just a deer,” she said, sniffling again. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
That actually startled a laugh out of him. Goodness, he still had quite a ways to go with ridding Hell of the ridiculous stereotype! Though it was so entertaining to watch the horror and realization dawn on his would-be attackers that he was not, in fact, the prey in their predator/prey relationship.
“Not at all, my dear! I’m made of much sterner stuff than that!”
Her eyes widened as he spoke, likely due to the radio filter overlaying the words. He’d had a rather unique voice in life and it had similarly manifested in Hell.
“Oh, okay,” she said, the pinched set of her features easing at his reassurance.
“It’s quite a fine morning, wouldn’t you say?” he asked conversationally. “Not so much as a hint of acid rain!”
She turned her attention to the sky, frowning up at it.
“Why the long face, dear?” he asked, crouching down to be closer to eye level.
Charlie blinked, remeeting his gaze. “…my parents said I shouldn’t talk to Sinners.”
“You shouldn’t!” he cheerfully agreed. “There’s no shortage of depraved individuals out there who would love to eat you up!”
Her eyes widened at his words, but she didn’t step back. “…you’re not going to eat me, are you?” she asked, now taking stock of all the sharp teeth he so proudly kept on display.
Another startled laugh escaped him. “Oh, Heavens no! I’m afraid I’m not a fan of sweet things, so you’ll just have to keep all those little fingers and toes of yours! My sincerest apologies!”
She giggled, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.
Ah, much better! However, he’d caught a hint of dimples and was now determined they would be displayed in all their glory. After all, this was the future ruler of Hell! It was high time she acted like it!
“Would you like to see a magic trick?”
Charlie sucked in a sharp breath, nodding enthusiastically. Alastor grinned, giving an exaggerated flourish of his empty hand and presenting her with a blood red rose.
Her eyes went wide as saucers and her jaw dropped as she clapped uproariously. “Was that real magic?! I didn’t know Sinners could do magic!”
“Hmm… A magician is never supposed to reveal his secrets…”
She clasped her hands in front of her, staring up at him with a pleading look that could have softened the heart of an Exorcist. Alastor was normally immune to the purported charms of children, but even he felt compelled to indulge her when confronted by such guileless hope.
She must have gotten that trait from the formerly angelic side of her parentage…
It was like seeing a rainbow on a clear day. Oddly mesmerizing and warranting a closer look.
“Well, I suppose I could make an exception this once. But only if you meet the qualifications to become an apprentice magician yourself!”
“Yes! Yes! I want to be a magician! Please teach me?”
He continued to hold out the flower until she took it, immediately tucking it behind her ear with a shy ’thank you.’
“Well, the first requirement of magicianhood is that you must always smile! So, why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
She broke into a huge smile as directed, her entire face lighting up.
“Hmm,” he murmured, making a show of examining her efforts. “Why, I dare say you might be a natural, my dear!”
“Really?!”
“But of course! I have an eye for these sorts of things!” he said, tapping the spot just beside his monocle.
“What else? What else!”
“Your posture is quite good! One should always walk with their back straight and their head held high! But when performing, you will want to lean forward onto the balls of your feet. Ah, not quite that much! There! It draws in your audience and looks much more dynamic!“
Charlie nodded enthusiastically, all but bouncing in place with pent up excitement. She somehow managed to maintain the stance despite that.
“Now, do you have a stage name?”
Her brow furrowed and she gave a quick shake of her head. “I don’t think so? How do I get a stage name?”
“You’re in luck! I also happen to be excellent at coming up with stage names!”
“Really?! What’s yours?” she asked with nothing short of pure, unadulterated awe.
His grin widened. “Why, it’s Alastor!” He extended his hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you! Quite a pleasure!”
She shook his hand with a giggle. “That’s not a stage name! That’s just your name-name!”
“Oh? Well, I’m rather fond of it! My mother gave it to me, you see.”
Charlie’s dimpled smile faded into a frown, her small hand still wrapped around his gloved one. “Your…mother?”
He tilted his head, waiting for her to continue.
“Sinners have mothers?” She chewed at her bottom lip. “Do they have fathers too?”
“It takes two to tango, as the saying goes,” he replied, his own smile dimming a touch.
“…my mom and dad are…”
“Hmm?” he prompted, the ever present static around him growing more pronounced.
Surely she wasn’t about to say what he worried she might. Then again, this was Hell. Why wouldn’t its ruler be just as abominable as his subjects?
He wasn’t so cocksure as to target the King of Hell at present, but if he was hurting his daughter…
“…I don’t think they love each other anymore,” Charlie finally all but whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
“Oh? And why is that?” he asked, radio filter dropping.
Charlie reached up with her free hand, rubbing at one of her eyes, only to smear her tears across her cherubic cheek. “We never do anything together anymore. My dad’s always in his workshop. He almost never comes out. And my mom…” She sniffled. “She used to ask him to come out, to have dinner with us and to play with me. But…”
Alastor waited patiently for her to continue, his blood lowering from a boil to a mere simmer.
“…he stopped coming out. And she stopped asking.”
“I see,” he murmured, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Well, I’m sure that’s been very difficult for you, my dear.”
“I’m not worried about me!” she protested. “I’m worried about them!”
Ah.
“They’re your parents. Their responsibility is to you, not the other way around.”
Not that he had much personal experience in that regard.
“But…”
He withdrew a red handkerchief from his coat, holding it out to her. She took it, scrubbing at her face.
“…they’ve been together forever. But now I’m here and…”
Alastor chuckled and her expression immediately morphed from despair to outrage, her hellish attributes surging back to the surface.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded, the most adorable demonic resonance accompanying the words.
“Why, you, my dear!”
Her anger vanished just as quickly. She reared back as if he’d slapped her.
He didn’t like that.
He liked it even less knowing he was responsible for the reaction.
“My dearest Charlotte, may I offer you a word of advice?”
She looked like she wanted to say no. To run away and pretend this conversation had never happened. But she didn’t run away. Instead she gave the tiniest of nods. Some of her hair, already mussed from the comings and goings of her horns, slipped from her braid, falling into her face.
It made her look even younger.
“If your parents genuinely hated you or blamed you for whatever is going on between them, you would know.”
Her brow furrowed as she desperately searched his face for further reassurance.
“Has your father ever hit you?”
She reared back again, horror filling her eyes. “No! He would never do that!”
“Has he ever cursed at you?”
She vehemently shook her head, more of her hair escaping from her braid.
“Does he give you the things you need? A roof over your head? Food in your belly?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t he?” she asked, oddly appearing more concerned than relieved.
“And what does he do when you’re upset?”
Her lower lip quivered. “He holds me and sings to me and tells me everything will be okay.”
Ah, how mawkishly sentimental! Then again, perhaps those were promises someone with Lucifer’s power could actually keep, rather than optimistic delusion.
“Then why would you think he resents you or blames you for this?”
“But if it’s not my fault, then…why?”
He hummed softly, considering his words.
“Well, I imagine he has his own troubles and deficiencies. It’s also possible that your parents are no longer in love with one another.” If they ever had.
She sucked in a sharp breath, tears rolling down her cheeks and splattering onto the hot sidewalk below. “But why?!”
He shrugged. “Who can say? Love is a fickle thing, my dear. It can come and go, much like the wind! Sometimes the unrest is just a gentle breeze, while other times it can and will destroy everything in its path! Though, in this instance, it seems safe to say your parents’ love for you is more enduring.”
Charlie’s expression softened, her little brow furrowing. “…that sounds really sad…”
He chuckled. “Why, not at all! It’s simply the nature of life itself! You’ll find more often than not that love is rarely unconditional!”
She studied him with an intensity that left him oddly unsettled.
“…did your mom and dad love you, Alastor?”
His smile became close-lipped. “Hmm?”
She didn’t repeat the question, something dangerously close to pity now shining in her eyes.
His eyes switched to radio dials and his antlers began to branch out over his head. Despite the cloudless sky above, the immediate area around them darkened as if heralding a rapidly approaching storm.
Charlie didn’t run away like he expected and intended. Rather, she stepped forward, wrapping her small arms as far around his shoulders as she was able. His eyes widened, reverting to their usual red on red on black while his antlers shrank back down.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her words muffled by the fabric of his coat.
As if her childish question had actually wounded him.
“It’s okay if you need to cry,” she continued. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He opened his mouth to tell her what she could do with her misguided pity, but the words died on his lips.
Suddenly he wasn’t crouching on the sidewalk with her anymore. Instead he stood in an achingly familiar kitchen. The wood floor was chilly beneath his socked feet, the cotton of them worn thin over the years. Regardless, they were the warmest pair he owned.
The side door of the little house opened and closed, quiet footsteps approaching him. His heart lurched in his chest. He wanted so badly to look over his shoulder, to see his mother’s tired, yet smiling face looking back at him.
It was better that he didn’t.
Better to pretend he could still remember what she looked like.
A warm hand rested on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that brought tears to his eyes.
“We’re in luck! Mame Anne-Marie just killed that no good coq of hers!”
Alastor kept his gaze firmly fixed on his feet.
“Alastor?”
His eyes and throat began to burn.
“Alastor? Mon petit cocodrie?”
She set the fresh meat and her shawl down on the counter before stepping around him. She knelt down in front of him to get a better look of his face. He was too stunned to stop her from taking his chin in hand and tilting it up.
He gasped, eyes going wide as she studied him, her brow furrowing with concern. He frantically took in her features, trying desperately to commit them to memory. Because it was her.
There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind.
His mother tilted her head as she looked back at him with soft, hazel eyes. There were bags under them due to her working from dawn to dusk to support him and his deadbeat father. Despite her clear exhaustion, she was smiling at him. She was always smiling at him.
Even when he’d held her in his arms in this very room, her face battered beyond recognition and the life draining from her broken body. She’d used the last of her strength to smile at him and tell him she loved him one last time.
In his memories and his nightmares, her mangled, unrecognizable features were all he could ever recall.
She’d still been smiling when he was forced to shovel dirt over her body. And her smile had been the last thing he’d seen after his father had thrown the few photos he had of her into the fireplace. The edges of the final photo had blackened and curled as it was consumed.
Alastor had tried to snatch it from the flames, badly burning his hand in the process. His father had beaten him half to death for risking his hand, ironically permanently damaging his vision in his right eye in the process.
He undoubtedly would have died that day, had his father not needed a new source of income after butchering his cash cow in a fit of rage.
He was pulled from those darker memories as his mother cupped his face in her dry, callused hand. He tilted his head further into it, relishing the half-remembered rasp against the softer skin of his face. She pulled out a threadbare handkerchief with her free hand to gently dab at the tears he could no longer hold back.
“Alastor?” she asked.
Her smile began to fade in favor of concern. He threw his arms around her, holding onto her as tightly as he could as he tried in vain to stop himself from crying.
He didn’t want to worry her. She had too much to worry about already.
His mother returned his embrace, gently rocking him back and forth as she sang a song he’d long forgotten in a language he’d mostly forgotten. His father had insisted on English only under his roof.
“Ohé, il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je t'oublierai. Ohé, il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je t'oublierai.”
Somehow he understood the words.
O-hey, so long I've been loving you
I'll never forget you. O-hey, so long I've been loving you. I'll never forget you.
As the memory faded (if that’s even what it was), Alastor slowly came back to himself, crouched on a sidewalk in Hell with its Princess holding him. He was stunned to realize he could still hear his mother’s slightly off-key voice in the air around him. Coming from him.
He’d been experimenting with preserving the screams of his victims for his broadcasts with his burgeoning powers. Much easier to record and replay them with himself as a proxy than to try and ensure they maintained good microphone etiquette while he slaughtered them.
Now he used that new muscle to ensnare this snippet of his mother’s lullaby. He replayed it to ensure he’d been successful, not realizing until then that tears were freely flowing from his eyes and soaking into the princess’s hair.
Charlie leaned back, gently dabbing at his face with the handkerchief he’d given her just moments before.
“Was that your mom?” she asked, voice quiet. Reverent.
Alastor took a moment to gather himself. Despite his efforts, his voice was still thick as he simply said, “Yes.”
“She’s so pretty! What was that song? It’s pretty too!”
“…I don’t know the name...”
“That’s okay,” Charlie insisted with a small smile. “She loved you lots, huh?”
He gave a tight nod.
Her gaze grew distant as she absently worried at her bottom lip. “…I should go back home. I don’t want my mom and dad to worry about me.”
“Allow me to accompany you there?” Alastor asked as he straightened from his crouch.
Charlie handed him back his handkerchief, nose scrunched as she considered the offer. “On one condition!”
“Oh?” His ever present smile softened into something real for the first time since he’d awoken in Hell.
“Will you tell me more about your mom while we walk?”
He pretended to consider her proffered deal before finally offering her his hand. “Well, I suppose I could.”
Charlie beamed up at him as she took it.
As they started toward the palace, still visible in the distance, another powerful wave of emotion threatened to consume him.
He could still picture his mother’s face as if she were right in front of him. From the freckles scattered across her nose, to the slight gap between her front teeth.
The moment he dropped the princess safely back at home, he vowed to return to his own so he could sketch the image while it was still so clear in his mind’s eye. He would never forget what she’d looked like again.
He would never forget the gift little Charlie had given him either.