daughter of hell

daughter of hell 6

This is to remind you why Luci is now in the bathroom after her fight with Seth.

("You don't know anything about me, so do not pretend you do." Disgust was the only emotion showing on my face. I pushed him away. Surprised he stumbeled backward, not much though. "Now fuck off and mind your own business." I felt a familiar burn on my shoulder blade, but I was too far gone to care.)

Switch P.O.V. (Luci)

I turned the key so nobody could enter the bathroom. I dreaded pulling off my T-shirt and seeing... Bile rose in my throat thinking of it. I still needed to be sure. The burning had dissapeared, but that didn't mean anything. It always burned in the beginning, but the scars stayed visible for a good day. Demons, I hated this part of my life. It was foolish to think I had left it all behind. My T-shirt fell to the ground, slowly I turned around and looked over my shoulder in the mirror. I gasped and felt my knees buckle. You could clearly see the outlines of a thin whip, three thin strings with great skill intertwined. The strings were threaded of silver thread, embroiled with miniscule pieces of gold. The thin scars started at my upper shoulder blade and bended gracefully down at the base of my back, where it circeled my waist two times before stopping right above my hipbone. It was distatesful. And it hurted like shit. Every time the tatoos came to life, it felt like my skin was being split open. And materializing the weapons caused me even more pain. A normal angel only got one weapon tatoed on his or her skin, by birthright. They received their heritage after long excessive training. I don't even know how my mother got away with giving me thirteen different weapons. It was dangerous and not done for a reason. An angel called upon his weapons when strong emotion, or feelings of threat were experienced. Imagine the pain when the lenght of your entire leg is being split open to materialize a sword from it. That has got to hurt, right? Now, imagine that happening on thirteen places at once. I can tell, you'll wish you weren't immortal and able to die. I hated my life back then, I was pushed past my limits every day, and always looked at like I was vermin, ready to be exterminated (without Arnold Schwarzenegger). Back then I was more dead than alive on the inside. On the outside I healed, even the scars went away at night, even if it was to appear again at my moringbreakdown. I had been working on mastering the art of Erato when I found my salvation. Of all the places where people find liberation, I found it at the backshelf, completly forgotten under a huge pile of dust, at the libary.

(flashback)

'Erato is the Muse of lyric poetry. Her name means 'desired' or 'lovely', being derived from the same root as Eros.'

Eros, symbol of love. Love was the thing I heard about every fucking day of my life. I had swallowed so much of it with a golden spoon, that one more bite, was going to make me barf. I had yet to expierence this fable. Unconditional love was what you saw in fairy tales, and everyone knew fairies didn't exist. But this book was something different, it wasn't filled with the usual crap about 'love will find a way', 't is love that makes the world go round',... Fantasies, that is all there is to love. Hoping, dreaming and everything that comes with it, it had only brought me disappointment. But this book was different.

'Eros, third son of Chaos, born without intercourse.'

I had to laugh at that. Come on, the god of love, born without doing the actual deed?

'Brother of Erebus, god of deep Darkness.'

I suspiciously looked around, I was pretty sure this was a forbidden book. I didn't know how it had survived the great 'cleaning' fire of all dark books, but I was happy for it. They could pretend all they wanted, that darkness didn't exist, but it did. Demons were real, I was the living prove ot that.