• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫.

Your halo had broken two days after Alastor's death. Sharp, thorn-like claws had pushed from the bend of your wings and the tips of the feathers were now tainted black. Your bed had been the most comfortable place in the hotel during the past couple of days, but his scent still lingered, and it hurt far too much. Your heart throbbed in your chest, your insides aching painfully, the only thing on your mind being the horrible repeat of his death.

Now you had no one. At least in Heaven you had Gabriel, but he was the one who ruined everything. He was the one that made you want to lay in bed all day and sob.

The odd feeling of heavy regret weighed you to the mattress like the anchor of a ship and wouldn't let you up. You hadn't eaten these past days, even after Charlie came upstairs and left you some leftovers from lunch.

You simply could not find the strength to do anything. You never really did think it was true, the broken heart thing, you meant; but it was exactly like people said. It felt as if a hole had been torn in your chest where your heart lay and was ripped straight out of its cage, dropped on the floor where it beat with more effort imaginable before being stepped on, the heel of a shoe pushing deep inside the crushed muscle. Now it rest lifeless in front of your eyes. Black and broken.

Never had you felt such pain. Not with Damien. Not in Heaven for that century. Not even when you had found out the merciless killer Alastor truly was. Never, but now you were experiencing it and it fucking hurt. It really fucking hurt.

Your face was buried in his pillow, his scent filling your nose like the welcoming aroma of a bouquet of roses. You'll need to wash the sheets soon, your mind growled, to which your body reacted by pulling the pillow closer to you. Your whole form encased it, tears staining the white fabric.

Time moved slower than ever while you were laying in that room; the silence would have been deafening had it not been for your incessant weeping. Zandor lie next to you on the bed, his red gaze locked on the ceiling while one of his icy cold hands rested on your back.

You hadn't let him speak, not wanting to hear a word that came out of his mouth. Despite their differences, they were agonizingly similar, and you wanted nothing to do with him. On that note, he just stayed near you, making sure you were alright. It's what Alastor would have wanted.

Your eyes screwed shut, all energy that once roamed your body had now vanished. You were left alone in your wallowing pit of darkness, lungs aching each time you inhaled your shaky, despairing breaths.

Your eyes were red, burnt and stung from the tears that fell endlessly from your gaze, which was constantly blurred, and the same question remained scorched into your mind each time you replayed your lover's death in your mind: why?

Why had he done something so cruel? Why had he taken the one thing you loved away from you? Why did he make you hurt so? Alastor's scent was slowly fading from the sheets. You hated thinking about that.

One day he would be completely gone, the only thing remaining being a memory. A fucking memory. Your teeth sank into the pillow's fluff; a poor attempt of stopping another wave of crying. Zandor silenced you, rubbing your back and whispering hushed nothings in your ear after rolling over so he could have his chest pressed to your back.

He was awful, yes. A spirit of power and destruction. A prince of vile creatures that were not to be trifled with. But this woman — his host's lover, he could not watch crumble to dust. That would be too much, even for him. Your weakness made him want to feed off you like a leech, but those natures were shoved away from him, locked in the back of his mind. "It'll be alright," he finally spoke. Much to his surprise, you said nothing. Normally you would have snapped at him, but this time you were just limp. Limp like the night he buried her.