MIRIFIC ... a.lightwood [2]

↣ Chapter Twenty Five ↣

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C H I L D H O O D 

M E M O R I E S 

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Dante already had his own thoughts about Hell and the way it was structured. Christopher knew of this Inferno that he was meant to be entering, and the screams that he would most likely encounter and he was frightened, as any young boy would be going to a far off, distant land he had never travelled to before.

But when he stepped through the portal his real father - Lucifer, the Devil, the King of Hell, Balthazar, Beelzebub, the Prince of Darkness, he had so many names. Christopher, however, was going to call him father - created, he was met not with level after level of burning bodies, screaming with pain due to their sins. Instead, he was in a castle. The walls surrounding him were black marble, as was the floor he stood on, and the stairs that led up to the throne. And what a throne it was, Christopher was sure that George III - the current King of the United Kingdom - would be jealous. The throne was as black as the walls and floor surrounding him, except it's darkness was from the blood that held it together, and dripped down the marble steps. When Christopher looked down, he noticed that maybe the marble wasn't actually black, and had been stained such a dark shade by the blood that came from the skeletons that made up the throne.

He turned his head, looking out the large arched windows. The sky was orange like fire, and the ground was a deep red and dusty. Christopher thought of Egypt, which was also a faraway land, as he had heard that Egypt was full of dust. He noticed the flames that licked the sky, rising tall and wide. Except the flames did not make his body burn, instead they warmed him, like when he sat in front of the fire and read. His father was already sitting on the throne, one long leg crossed over the other. Christopher, only nine, looked at him, and then looked behind him at the large doors that obviously led out to the rest of the castle. They were ebony, and dripped with blood like the throne. Black blood. Demon blood.

"Christopher." The voice rang in his ears and the little boy turned back around. His father was watching him, his eyebrows raised and his cane still in his hands. Christopher turned rigid at the sight of the cane, it was a black wood and had a silver skull glinting at the top of it where his father held it. He was reminded of his stepfather and the way the man had beat him with his own cane. "I am not going to hurt you, my son, come here, to me, let me get a good look at you."

Christopher looked around the dark room again, there were torches on brackets beside each window. The flames were small yet bright, lighting the way as Christopher made his way towards his father. The King of Hell smiled down at the child, he wore his human face so as not to scare him. Christopher was glad at that, and smiled back, cerulean eyes dancing in the firelight.