From beginnings as the daughter of a high-ranking Cooperative agent to Princess of her father's kingdom, Melanie Langdon has always been privileged. Is rising to inherit the Antichrist's throne in her destiny? [Sequel to 'King of Hell'; AU Apocalyps...
Misty seemed to be asleep for weeks – aside from feeling her soul travelling down to its rightful place, no other sensation came to her. All of her muscles were completely lax and still as her head and back rest upon a bed that felt like a firm cloud. She was still clad in the same nightgown she gave birth in, but it was free of heavy blood stains. She slowly and gradually opened her eyes and looked around, noticing she was not longer at the academy with her Supreme and sister witches – this was the dark, yet cozy part of hell that was claimed by Michael as his domain. A fire crackled in the background, and before she could blink, she saw Michael walking around the bed, looking down at her with a strangely sincere smile.
"I'm seeing you again so soon," he said softly with happiness. Her bright blue eyes looked over and saw that he had a small bunch of flowers. As she tried to slowly sit up, her golden curls framed her diamond-shaped ethereal face, and when she was sitting, she said her first words since waking.
"I know I'm dead," Misty stated emotionlessly.
"I'm so sorry, Misty," he said sincerely, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her and staring into her eyes deeply. "I did not want to cause you pain. Tell me, how do you feel?"
"I... feel better," she said slowly, her deep Southern accent lulling him. "My God, I was in so much pain, I was prayin' for swift death."
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He looked at her, putting the small bunch of flowers in her hands; she noticed they were white lilies with a single pink rose in the middle. "She's beautiful, Misty."
"The baby?"
"Yes."
"Cordelia said it was a girl," the swamp witch said, her eyes fixed on the impeccable, lively petals of the flowers Michael gifted her.
"She has your eyes," he said with a smile, caressing her cheek softly and leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. "She is quite calm. She doesn't cry very much. She seems very happy."
Misty smiled at the thought of her baby girl, looking genuinely happy despite her soul's condition. She gently touched him on the sleeve of his black dinner jacket and began to speak; "d-do you have her with you? Can I see her?"
He sighed sadly and shook his head; "no."
She was taken aback by this – "why?"
"She is too young to travel down here," he said. "She was just born two weeks ago, after all."
"But... she is half of what you are, Michael," she challenged. "Why can't she? I wanna see my baby."
"You will see her," her husband said, touching her soft blonde curls. "Don't worry."
She couldn't believe it – her baby, half-human and half-demon, couldn't accompany her father to the underworld just yet. Had she survived such a brutal ordeal of giving birth to her daughter, she would have seen her and maybe even raised her up on earth with Michael. She even speculated that maybe being contained in the underworld half the year would be null and void had she survived and was able to raise the baby with him. Alas, she didn't. She was stuck in this nether realm for all eternity. She wouldn't be able to see her daughter grow, nor hold and cuddle her. She wouldn't be there to mentor and guide her, nor teach her how to use her powers, whatever of which she was to develop. She wouldn't be able to pass on her love of Stevie Nicks and teach her how to twirl with a shawl. It was depressing.
