Y/N gets more than she bargained for when getting to know the mystery creature that's been living in her shop silently for the past few years. She never would've imagined the sort of adventure he would lead her to, nor did she expected to be close w...
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We enter the throne room with linked arms, and I was certain Phil could sense my trembling as we travel across the long, red rug leading up to the cage in the back of the room. Like in my nightmare, I was overwhelmed by a heavy and unwelcoming atmosphere that sent every nerve of mine on edge. In my head, I kept repeating that I'll be safe with Phil by my side, but if he wasn't here, you can bet I'd be out the door by now. Soft, ethereal humming emit from a figure seated on one of the red couches, who's back is turned to us. Nimble fingers belonging to a muscular arm, that is stretched across the back of the couch, tap gently at the wood frame in time with the tune. Though I could not see their full figure from where I stand, I can make out a head of light blonde hair, equal to the color of sunshine.
"Ah, you're finally here," speaks a smooth, masculine voice that was like honey on the ears. It was an odd, friendly tone that offset the tense atmosphere, which relieved me. "And you brought your pet with you, I see. Please, come in." I didn't understand what was happening when Mephistopheles stepped forward towards the cage.
I saw no door leading in, but apparently, we didn't need one, for we walked straight through the bars, as though they were nothing but a projection. I stare in awe as we pass them, trying to figure out the sorcery of the prison, but was quickly brought back to the situation. I still can't help but wonder what the purpose of the bars are if you can just walk right through. Decoration? No, that didn't seem right.
Phil gestures me to sit on the sofa, across from the mysterious man, and only then was I able to get a good look at him. To say I was blown away was an understatement. He sits with perfect posture, one leg crossed over his knee with his chin up. The man has a sharp nose, a narrow face and a strong jaw, his built, upper body exposed, allowing me to see how riddled with scars and burn marks he was.
The majority of the left side of his face is cursed with these same disfigurations, along with a few scratches on his chin, but these injuries could not hide the beautiful structure of his face that was almost godlike in appearance, though intimidating. Two, observant eyes scan me up and down. The left is glazed over and covered in a milky, white haze with only a faint image of an iris and pupil, leading me to believe he might be blind in that one, while the right burns a vibrant gold with flecks of fiery orange that seems to emit a faint glow in the dimly lit room like candlelight. A pair of massive wings are sprawled across the couch, even hanging off the armrests because of their great length, but they are severely damaged.
