As the world destroys itself, we are no more than caged souls wanting to either escape or join in. Maybe we don’t always have a choice regarding which side we are on, but rather walk on the path already paved before we were born. A shame, having your destiny decided before you first open your eyes. Nevertheless, when destiny has spoken your sentence there’s little chance to change. After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Demons are made to make people suffer.
Demons are made to want pain and despair.
Don’t they?
War doesn’t discriminate between the sinful and the holy. It tears both, limb for limb.
Destiny has favorites. Destiny is as cruel as a mother killing her child for being ugly.
If you asked Rimon, she’d say she preferred the ugliness of war and death. It was gruesome, but real. No gentle smiles hiding layers of inequity.
Her feet trampled the scorched earth. It crunched under her boots like crushed skulls. Every step sent a sharp pain shooting through her leg and up the spine, cursing her to feel the stabbing even after the enemy had long perished.
With a calloused hand, she wiped the dirt off her cheek. She lingered in place, gazing into the thick fog.
Shouts and screams rose into the air, twirling around the heavy bodies slamming into one another with a force that couldn’t be well intercepted from where Rimon stood. She merely made out black silhouettes intermingling in a murderous dance.
A child’s humming, barely audible, passed by Rimon’s ear. The voice was faint, but stood out like ink on a piece of white paper. It sang hauntingly, and Rimon couldn’t tell whether she imagined it. No trace of a child around, as far as Rimon could see through that blinding fog. It didn’t matter, because Rimon couldn’t risk her skin to protect it anyhow. Children got caught up in battles every day. Angels wouldn’t spare even the young.
Her own vision went blurry after the hits she’d received. The dazzling light of the angel blades seared her senses. She had to retreat before they found her in this sorry state. She glanced back once, for a split second, thinking she had seen a familiar face through those blazing golden fires. She shook her head and left the battlefield, carelessly stepping over a burnt doll.
The road was long and peppered with exhausting obstacles. She dragged her feet like a wounded animal through the ash, on the pavement, through the tall grass reaching past her ankles. Her hand rested on her abdomen, veins bulging with effort.
She almost made it. She could see the house hidden by the flowering tree branches.
Rimon found herself staring at the door in front of her for more than ten minutes, wondering if she should knock or stay with her hand propped against the chipped wood till sunrise. It wasn’t like a monster waited for her on the other side, though she would have preferred it. Monsters she was used to facing. That soft smile bit harder.
She took a deep breath and knocked three times loud enough for the other to hear and let her come inside before she could change her mind.
After only a few seconds, the door opened to show Rimon’s old friend. A lovely lady in her late twenties with long, chestnut hair that fell neatly on her shoulders, tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of gentle grey eyes, looking at her as if she were expecting her visit.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Ophelia.”
The girl shook her head and smiled, lightly grabbing Rimon’s wrist in order to pull her inside.
“Don’t be like that, you know you’re welcomed anytime,” she replied while walking to the kitchen and carefully picking one of her too many jars, smelling the herbs before dropping a spoonful into the boiling water.
Rimon, strangely, loved the atmosphere of the little house. Nothing about the picture seemed remotely familiar to her. Fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, plants in every corner, gems scattered carelessly as if dropped by a crow mid-flight. The ever-present scent of incense and baked goods couldn’t be more at odds with the nauseating smell of death.
Rimon felt sorry for ruining the pink couch with the dirt etched into her pants. She sat as close to the edge as she could until Ophelia waved at her to sit properly, sensing her distress. The way Ophelia could read her like an open book was both freakish and outstanding.
“So what brings you here?” Ophelia asked. Hot tea filled her flowery-detailed white cups. She placed both cups on the small coffee table next to the sofa and sat down, looking curiously at her friend. Wetting a small towel, she began wiping her face with a tenderness hardly describable.
Rimon didn’t answer at first. Her concern was getting the best of her, even with all the thinking she had done. Nothing seemed to come out the way she wanted. Like words couldn’t quite come together well enough to make the situation sound less troublesome.
“I’m pregnant,” Rimon blurted. Quick, just to get it out there and cut the tension with a knife.
Ophelia didn’t respond, and Rimon didn’t want to look at her, not yet. She didn’t expect her to lash out and torment her about her stupidity, which would be fair and right to do. She expected disappointment to weigh her soft features, and worry to thicken her voice. Rimon had always beaten herself up when she’d draw storms inside such a peaceful home.
She felt Ophelia’s warm hand cover hers, sending a chill through her entire body. She slowly raised her head and met her comforting gaze that seemed to wrap you in all the love and support you needed in life. It made Rimon feel even worse.
How could she tell her the whole truth now?
“Well, congratulations! That’s great, isn’t it?” Ophelia exclaimed in a cheerful voice. Rimon turned to face her better and shifted her position in a rather restless manner with an unsettled expression on her face. She drifted away a few inches from Ophelia, trying to sort out her thoughts.“I just really…fucked up.”
Ophelia furrowed her brows and tilted her head a little, loosening her grip on Rimon. “What do you mean?”
“You...You remember Nataniel, right?”
“Yes, that angel- “, Ophelia started, but before she could finish, she let out a gasp, slapping a hand over her mouth in shock. Her body completely froze. “Rimon…?”
Rimon nodded, too ashamed to even speak. She buried her face in her hands to hide as much as possible. Her behaviour was childish. After everything she had done in her life, all the monstrous acts…she couldn’t bring herself to put her heart on the table for once and explain everything to her friend. She half-wished Nataniel had been there. He would have explained the problem with such grace, keeping his posture straighter than a pole and voice ever so polite. The poise he exuded that drove Rimon nuts at times could have at least wrapped such an ugly situation in a more appropriate packaging.
And yet, Nataniel wasn’t there, and the nerves were swallowing Rimon whole.
Ophelia grabbed Rimon’s hand once more, squeezing it harder this time. Rimon felt her moving closer, but she didn’t fight back, embracing her warmth. She peeked through her fingers, still hesitant. Ophelia grabbed one of the cups and held it in front of Rimon. “You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. We can just sit here in silence if that makes you feel more comfortable. But, if you do want to tell me what happened, I’m all ears.”
“Thanks,” Rimon muttered and grabbed the tea, sitting up straighter. “I suppose there’s not much to say. I foolishly fell for an angel and now have to pay the price.”
“But?”
“But?” Rimon asked.
“Isn’t there more to it?”
“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you mean. I loved him then and still do now.” Rimon swallowed the lump in her throat to give herself a minute to recompose. Even uttering it outloud to another person made her skin crawl. The feared and hated Rimon being capable of love? Laughable. And to love an angel at that….
Ophelia didn’t rush her. She never did. Oftentimes, Rimon got frustrated with her patience. How much of it could be stored in that small body?
“Children? Surely if anybody were to find out, they would be killed. And that scares me more than being tortured for centuries,” she concluded.
“They?”
“Twins. Both girls.”
“You can tell?” Ophelia asked, intrigued.
“Nataniel can,” Rimon answered, smiling slightly.
Ophelia kept listening, smiling here and there, otherwise keeping a focused expression. Her smile looked strained at times, usually at the mention of Nataniel’s name. Rimon ignored it. How could she blame her? Her situation was a mess, and she must’ve been disconcerted, especially having warned her. Ophelia would remember to take a sip of her tea once in a while and flinch at the feel of it burning her mouth. As much as she looked like she was spacing out, Rimon knew she was analysing the story and searching for solutions that would pull her out of the crap she was in. And mountains piled on her back at the moment.
“I’m guessing, because you came to me, you want to keep the babies?”
It would have been easy to get rid of them on her own. Truthfully, Rimon didn’t know which path to take from then on, so another perspective might have helped. Not only that, she needed extra help from somebody with a different set of powers.
She needed a witch’s advice.
“I do want to keep them. But even you understand how impossible that is- hiding the pregnancy, hiding the babies from the countless demons who can’t wait to tear them apart or tell somebody in a higher position,” Rimon replied, losing all the hope she had with every word spoken. She had stay focused and remember it was crucial not to give up. “And I’m worried they’ll come out as…”
“Hybrids.” Ophelia finished the thought for her.
Considering the parents, their children would share a mixed DNA, come out as some sort of hybrids: half-angels, half-demons. Myths about these kinds of creatures had been circulating for centuries- old ones that don’t give much information. The only thing to be sure of is that a half-angel, half-demon child could possibly be the most powerful being besides Caeles and Nox. Angels and demons are created to be polar opposites. It could lead to mass destruction, troubling the Earth’s balance.
Ophelia went ahead and took off her necklace, carefully holding the pendant in her hand. The pendant measured the length of her thumb. It was round and divided into two halves by a curved line. One half of the circle painted white, and the other black. The yin and yang symbol.
Ophelia held it out in front of Rimon and gestured toward it, making an invisible circle with her finger.
“This is their power as a whole. The Yin side is their demon half, and the Yang side is their angel half. They need to coexist in order to bring balance, but we can separate their powers,” Ophelia explained as she broke apart the two halves of her pendant.” One-half goes to one twin, and the other half to the other twin. No one would be able to feel any strange traces of power within.”
“Ophelia, this…”
Was perfect. Dividing the powers and assigning them to each of the girls would solve this problem once and for all. Nobody would know about their roots, about the connection between the two or their parents. They could live without the fear of getting killed if their origins were to be found.
________________________________________
Truth be told, when Rimon had agreed to the freaky ritual, she had barely expected pain to be involved.
That had been way before she was all tied up behind Ophelia’s house, standing in the middle of a sigil drawn all around her with a mixture of dirt and blood made to trap her inside as long as the circle stayed intact. She was covered in varied liquids of unknown origins. The wind growled so loud she could barely hear her own screams, only feeling the soreness of her throat while her voice was dying out, stolen by the act.
The brownish liquid slid around her bare waist like a snake ready to tighten its grip. It slithered steadily and precisely, leaving trails of symbols in its path. The route was being dictated by Ophelia’s imposing voice. She stood tall next to her, reading from a book so worn out that the pages were nearly ripped by the strong gushes of wind circling them. Their stab was ferocious, but Ophelia remained unmoved. It may have been a trick of the light, but Rimon could have sworn Ophelia’s eyes glowed purple. Rimon found herself mesmerised.
She barely heard Ophelia shouting the incantation. Making up the words was an insignificant endeavour when she felt like her insides were being torn open, her organs ripped out of her and stabbed endlessly with an angel blade. Droplets of sweat slid down her forehead to her chin and neck. Invisible whips tore open her burning flesh. It drove her senses mad. Her hearing sank in ghostly laughter and the faint crying of a baby. Rimon could have sworn a pair of eyes was ominously watching them from the woods.
She had never wanted to curse at her friend more. The gratefulness she felt for the risk Ophelia was taking stopped her. Witches and demons shared bad blood.
Despite their shared hatred, they shared many similarities too.
Selfishness. Ophelia told Rimon her kind developed a sense of stinginess to protect themselves from harm. Every creature came to ask for their help. Or better yet, expected their help. Witches became a tool, an accommodation. They’ve been used for centuries until they decided to put an end to it by staying within their own circle. Ophelia’s family held this rule very close to heart, so they never knew of their friendship. Ophelia insisted Rimon wasn’t using her as long as she offered her help and, in her words, her resources were being put to good use.
Tears filled her eyes from the agonising strain. She might have heard Ophelia telling her to hang on, that it was almost over. Or perhaps she didn’t. It was difficult to tell.
She closed her eyes and focused on the one thing that mattered- her babies.
Her life until that point had been nothing but a hole filled with sorrow and pain like every other demon’s. Nothing had mattered to her until Nataniel entered the picture, and her eyes had truly been opened.
Their children would live a better life. They had to.
________________________________________
Nine months had passed since the ritual had been successfully completed. The big day came.
The birth itself was terribly painful, but after that cursed ritual that almost made her intestines explode, giving birth was a piece of cake. A piece of cake that gets stuck in your throat and almost kills you, but still a piece of cake nevertheless.
It was all worth it, in the end, the moment Ophelia handed her the two girls, as healthy as ever. And most importantly, alive.
Their cries filled the otherwise quiet room, along with the cold wind howling, carrying the snowflakes to the window and blocking the outside view more and more.
Nataniel stood still, trying his hardest not to bawl his eyes out. He gently sat beside her and took one of the girls in his arms, caressing her small face with a finger. She stopped crying almost immediately, like she was under a spell. Left behind were only her doe eyes, lighter than the blue sky.
“I thought Rimon should have been the one to get emotional,” Ophelia admitted with a cheeky smile on her face.
Nataniel laughed and wiped his tears with his sleeve. ”Yeah, me too. I just can’t help it.”
“Have you picked any names yet?” Ophelia asked.
Nataniel looked down at the baby he so gently handled. He kept quiet for some time, considering his choices very well. After all, names are sacred.
“How about we name her Emma? It’s a name used a lot for female angels, but human enough so it won’t stand out.”
Rimon nodded, knowing well that he had been thinking about this name for quite a while. It fascinated Nataniel how a name for high-class female angels was so common in the human world for no apparent reason. With that in mind, Emma seemed like a safe choice.
It was Rimon’s turn to eye the baby she had been holding for a while. She wasn’t crying as much as her sister was, but was surely making up for it by screaming and kicking right and left like she begun fighting for her life in the first fifteen minutes of being born. Being held seemed to calm her down a little bit. She was more interested in staring into her mom’s soul with her impenetrable black eyes.
”We’ll name her…Evil. Short for Evilyn.”
“Are you really gonna name our demon daughter Evil?” Nataniel asked, half playfully but still eager to figure out if Rimon was joking or not.
She rolled her eyes at him and kicked him with her leg, careful enough not to hurt him.
“Yes, indeed, I am. The name belonged to my grand-grandmother, the one who fought an army of angels and managed to kill every single one before she died during the rebellion. She was also Nox’s right hand for a good amount of years before Dahlia came back and got into her head, demanding she take the position my grand-grandma had.” Rimon sighed,” And it’s also a really badass name.”
“Your grand-grandma was a badass woman,” Nataniel agreed. ”Would have loved to meet her, had she not been so keen on killing angels.”
Rimon adjusted her position and looked at Nataniel with a raised eyebrow. ”She didn’t kill every single angel; she just killed the ones that became a threat to us.”
Nataniel shrugged. ”No hard feelings, I’m sure she would have loved me.”
Nataniel’s weary sigh could be heard. His expression became more gloomy, looking at the newborn babies he just met and had to abandon.”I guess we have to leave soon, don’t we?"
Rimon’s mood went down in less than a second when hit with the realization that roamed in the back of her mind from the very first day she had found out about the pregancy.
She and Nataniel couldn’t raise the girls. Their existence was strictly forbidden, and there was no place in Ferox or Lux where you could keep two babies away from the public’s eye.
Even if Rimon and Nataniel each took one of the twins and raised them separately, the war wouldn’t spare them.
But there was a place where they could have a chance at a peaceful life.
The human realm.
“Ophelia…,” Rimon said, voice cracking.
Ophelia stopped her as soon as she started. ”I know, darling,” she reassured her, kissing her head.
They had talked about it. Right after the ritual, Ophelia offered to be the one taking care of Evil and
Emma, offering them somewhat normal lives among other people. It was the safest option for both of them, and there was nobody Rimon and Nataniel trusted more than her.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Nataniel asked, concerned.
“You have my word. I’d give my life to protect them. And besides, they sure seem like sweethearts.” Ophelia added, glancing at the girls who seemed to have a serious staring contest.
“They do,” Rimon chuckled and got up carefully, feeling the pain start to lessen by the second thanks to her rapid healing.
The parents said their goodbyes to the girls, hugging and kissing them lovingly one last time before they headed back.
“Live long, happy lives, girls.”