Ten years ago
“Girls, breakfast!”
The muffled clink of glasses from downstairs was accompanied by the sound of music from Ophelia's antique vinyl. The smell of fresh pancakes and herbal tea drifted through the air, reaching the bedrooms of the girls who were just waking up from their slumber.
Or, at least Emma was. Evil had been up for hours, destressing in the way she knew best: drawing.
Finals were near. High school was coming up with rapid steps, and Evil couldn’t care less. She had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. Things that normal students don’t usually use as an excuse for not turning assignments in on time.
Her coal-coated hand mindlessly traced lines on the paper, as her mind drifted a million other places. The pigment from the pencils scattered all over the desk made its way to her forearms, giving her pale skin a tint of color. Evil always used art as a form of escapism. At last, a distraction from the aspects of her life that she felt she had no control over. Nowadays, too many of them.
Most of the time, it was pleasant. When painting, she felt like the weight of the world disappeared- all the stress, all the pressure, the pain, the fear .
Other times, drawing induced fear. She’d pick up the pencil and her hand would gain a mind of its own. Evil’s consciousness would be pushed to the back, and, almost as if possessed, her hand moved without the will of its owner. Movements so rapid and rough that the paper would tear, leaving behind only a mess of lines revealing the faces of the creatures hunting her. The worst of them.
Evil tried everything. She had even been sent to the school counselor a couple of times, thanks to her grades rapidly dropping. She did as she knew best and tiptoed around the real problem at hand by referring to her vivid hallucinations and demon encounters as “harmless nightmares”.
The counselor, a bubbly woman in her mid-thirties, who dressed in such a colorful way that you might have said a rainbow threw up on her, wasn’t much of a help. Her syrupy tone grated like nails on a chalkboard, and her ideas weren’t as revolutionary as she believed them to be.
Upon finding out that Evil liked drawing, she had suggested hanging the pictures on the walls in order to face her fears. What’s outside her head, on a piece of paper stuck to a wall, can’t hurt her.
That’s why the multitude of monstrosities kept her company at night now. In more ways than one.
Evil sighed, letting the warm air brush against her now swollen lips after she kept biting them, trying to concentrate on the piece. She let the brush, loaded with paint, slide into the water jar sitting beside her, attempting not to drop some of the diluted red onto her carpet. Her mother wouldn't be too happy about it.
She looked down at the newly born piece of art and took a piece of tape to hang it on the wall, just above her desk.
“Welcome to this fucked up family.”
The sound of the twisting doorknob startled her from the little initiation ritual. She prepared herself to stand up, letting out a little whine in the process, thanks to the sudden strike of pain in her lower back. She had been sitting in the same position for too long. Was it...two hours? Maybe three?
“You awake?”
“You forgot to knock,” Evil responded in a rather teasing manner, earning a smile from her sister in response. She let herself fall back into the chair with a leg propped up.
“That’s my bad,” Emma said, remembering to close the door behind her.
Her steps were calculated, trying as hard as she could to cross the labyrinth of paint tubes, paintbrushes, dirty napkins, and some lost pencils here and there, thrown all over the hardwood floor.
She made her way to Evil’s bed and sat down, the mattress barely creasing under her weight.
“You’re gonna have to clean this up.”
“The state of your room reflects the state of your mind, my dear sister,” Evil quoted one of the infamous lines her counselor liked to use with a burning passion.
Emma let out a laugh and shook her head, letting herself fall back on the pillows. “Sounds like a line coming straight from a sleep-deprived person trying to be deep.”
Evil agreed, nodding.
Emma’s gaze fell on her sister’s new addition to the wall. “Who’s that?”
“That,” Evil got up and dramatically pointed at the painting, “is Henry”.
Emma let out a livelier laugh this time. With a hand, she removed a strand of hair falling over her eyes in order to see Henry better. “What kind of a name-
“I don’t accept any critiques. He looks like a Henry.”
Emma looked unconvinced, but Evil was confident that a goat with snake arms whose head was decorated by purple horns and blood dripping out of its mouth suited a fancy name like that. Her hand fixed Henry in place and added two more pieces of tape to secure the poor thing to the wall. It must have been scary to be an ancient demon living on a teenage girl’s wall and be about to fall at any given moment.
“Have you…seen this one yet?” Emma asked quietly, unsure if she should enter that territory.
Evil sighed, eyes still on the wall. “Only a glimpse.”
Seeing a glimpse of a “new character” in a dream often meant seeing it in real life soon after, depending on a series of factors such as how clear its image was or how real the interaction was. Henry was a first in her realm of dreams, surrounded by this strange essence of death and dark magic that made your eyes water, like smelling alcohol.
Evil preferred not to mention any of those details to Emma. It was pointless to worry her. She and their mom were already worried for her all the time.
Evil had had a difficult time when it came to her powers since forever. Her abilities were turning against her, tricking her own mind into seeing things that weren’t there, feeling pain caused by nothing, bruises left by nobody. Having to hear her screams, comfort her, and patch her up daily wasn’t an easy task for her family, and Evil’s guilt was reaching its peak.
“Let’s head down, Mom’s waiting.”
The wooden table carried the weight of countless bowls and plates full of fruit, nuts, and homemade jams. Ophelia hummed to the tune of the song playing from an ancient vinyl as she stirred the rose-colored tea. Her steps were quick and gracious, like those of a dancer.
An open book lay on the table, forgotten after she had to get up and take care of the food. A dried flower lay between the pages, marking where Ophelia had left the story unfinished.
The girls made their way down. Emma hopped gingerly to her seat with quick and light steps. She uttered a cheerful "morning" and picked up her mother's abandoned book, wanting to read a few pages. Her honey skin seemed to shine under the gentle golden light caressing her through the curtains.
Evil was left behind, walking sluggishly to her chair with heavy steps and visible bags under her eyes. She echoed Emma's "morning" in a monotone voice and propped her head in her hand. In contrast, her pale complexion looked even more sickly than usual.
With the other arm, she reached to grab the novel from Emma.
"What's that?"
"Don't!" Emma lightly slapped her hand away, pulling the book closer to herself. "You're dirty."
"I showered!"
"You have charcoal on your arms!"
"I don't!" Evil retorted, pulling down her sleeves to hide the obvious dark pigment stuck to her skin. "Mom, tell her I don't! I just wanna see the book."
"Emma, give it to her," Ophelia said calmly, flipping the last pancake of the batch.
"She's gonna have to wash her hands!" Emma said matter-of-factly.
"You're a bully," Evil rolled her eyes and grabbed a wet towel to scrub her skin.
"You're talking?!"
"That's enough now." Ophelia's gentle but categorical voice stopped them from their usual bickering session. "Go ahead and eat, you don't want to be late."
"Late for what?" Evil asked, already stuffing her mouth with the sweet dough.
"You forgot? The educational fair?
Evil rolled her eyes.
Their school was hosting an event before the finals. Representatives from different high schools were invited to present their curriculum and programs, and lure kids to their demise by using colorful leaflets. Their big smiles and empty words were enough to convince anyone that they have the best facilities in the whole city, and any other option would lead one down a path of misfortune and poverty.
“I don’t wanna go,” Evil mumbled. “ Why should I waste my time on those wanna be salesmen? I already know which high school I wanna attend."
“It’ll be like two hours at most!” Emma retorted, carefully arranging the slices of strawberry in a neat shape on top of her breakfast. “Besides, it won’t hurt to consider a few more options.”
“What is there to consider? I’ll go to an arts high school.”
“Maybe you won’t like it. Mom, can I have the jam?”
Ophelia stirred two teaspoons of sugar into Evil’s tea. “Go with her, dear. At least keep your sister company. Perhaps you’ll run into some art teachers, ask them a thing or two about the application process.”
Evil pulled her cup closer, feeling the warmth spread under her permanently cold skin. She nodded, defeated.
The event took place outside in the absence of space and proper air conditioning. Nonetheless, the organizers tried their best to make the space presentable. The Headmaster was chatting with a group of teachers, all huddled together in a sister image of the teenagers standing in tight circles and laughing loudly. Muddled words and giggles mingled in the air- a strong ease of wine, energy drinks, and tobacco.
The crowd radiated energy. The groups passed by the girls in a rush. Some muttered quietly, some screamed to cover the noise. It was hard to believe people could be that animated on a Friday evening, but Emma was happy to be proven wrong.
None of the stimulating energy was reaching Evil. Engaging with any of their classmates was too dreadful of an act. She preferred to stay at the back with a hood covering most of her face.
“Come on, be a little…more excited,” Emma said, poking her shoulder.
“I’m dying of excitement to be stuck with a bunch of dumbasses outside school hours,” she responded in a sarcastic voice.
Emma sighed and pulled her hood back. “What’s up with you?”
Evil frowned deeply and shielded her eyes from the blinding sun, pulling back the material over her burning eyes.
Emma tilted her head slightly and softened her voice. “Hey, you okay? Are you feeling sick?”
Evil quickly shut her down with a dry “I’m fine.” Emma decided not to insist on it, although her concern didn’t vanish. With her sister, it was always uncertain if feeling sick meant a headache or meant the Ferox would break loose.
Her train of thought got interrupted by the headmaster stepping on the little make-shift wooden stage. He carefully adjusted the old microphone. “Yes, yes, welcome everyone. I’m glad you could make it. I’d like to apologize for the wait. You know, technical difficulties.”
“Technical difficulties,” Evil parroted and huffed a laugh. “That microphone is centuries old. It might start crumbling while he talks.”
Emma smiled and rolled her eyes, signaling for her to be quiet.
Evil obeyed and began scanning her surroundings out of boredom. She had felt ill from the moment the two of them stepped out of the door.
Her powers manifested against her will, like an implosion after the pressure rose, as if her own energy flowed through her body like poison traveling through her veins and, and once it accumulated, it burst out in the form of the most sinister creatures lurking in the depths of the Ferox.
She discerned the symptoms from miles away and stupidly decided to ignore them, hoping, praying they would go away. What a childish thing to do. Praying never worked for her.
Her agitation grew slowly, like a leaking pipe, filling the bucket below one drop at a time. After a while, just waiting in itself made you want to pull your hair out. Standing there, in the midst of the people, Evil could feel the unmistakable presence of something that had no place among humans. A dark presence.
Evil knew it was only in her head. So many things came to be figments of her imagination. It became hard to discern what was real. Perhaps the entity was herself. She had no place among humans.
Human life was, for her, a mere play pretend she could never get fully used to. Her sister’s life, although both were brought up in much the same fashion, couldn’t be more different. She blended in. She fed on positivity. She relished in what life had to offer and bathed in the praise humans had for angels, be it unfounded or unearned.
Evil was born with a darkness inside of her that fought to get out. She had known, even as a little kid, that she had only two paths: let it eat others or have it eat her. Either way, it would get what it craves, in the end.
Her skin itched terribly. It tickled like bugs marching under her skin and needles pecking her body. Evil peered around and saw only faded silhouettes. The awful hum of the talk gave her a headache. The constant gulping sucked all of the moisture from her throat, leaving it as rough as sandpaper.
She wanted to run more than anything, but she knew all too well that she had no escape. Where can one hide from themselves? She peered at Emma standing next to her, attentive to the presentation, and found herself wishing she could live without worry for at least one day. Not trade bodies with her, because she wouldn't let Emma share her pain in a million years.
Just…a faint taste of relief.
A cold hand touched Evil’s shoulder. No one around to take responsibility.
She frowned and turned to face the stage, trying to hear what the headmaster was saying. She noticed quite quickly that the murmur didn’t come from those around her any longer. Their mouths were sealed shut, creating a bizarre sight under the hum of mysterious voices.
The whispers in her ears fastened, harder to decipher. She shook her head as if trying to chase away the unwelcome thoughts. She looked down, folding her hands.
A growing red stain soaked the grass under Evil's converse. She yelped, jumping away from it.
“You okay?” Emma asked curiously, turning her head.
“What on earth is that?” Evil stared in horror at her feet, crinkling her nose.
“What?” Emma looked straight at the mysterious liquid with no apparent reaction. She looked right through it.
“The grass! It’s red. Look!” Evil tried one more time to enlighten her sister by showing her the exact mark that had grown twice in size in the meantime.
“There’s nothing there.”
Of course.
“Yeah, I must’ve…doesn’t matter.”
“Evil-”
Evil blinked, and the scenery in front of her changed altogether. The crowd, her sister, the school, the stage -everything gone. She was in front of a familiar lake by which she passed on her way to school every day. Nothing special, seen from afar. Just a lake, stagnant water like any other.
Dead bodies floated on that lake, now.
Fear invaded her body unannounced. Her pulse hammered in her throat, loud and painful.
“What…,” she managed to let out a strangled sound, before her lips glued tightly together.
A figure rose up from the water; slender and tall, towering over the corpses. It wore no clothes and was only somewhat covered by long locks of black hair. Her graceful movements were reminiscent of a gazelle, but her features reminded one of a lion watching its prey. Evil’s nails dug deep into her palms as she took a step back, realizing the figure watched her . Through the dark curtain of hair peeked two irises void of emotion, floating in a pool of crimson. Not only did it watch, but it approached with steady steps.
The elegant walk of a graceful doe turned into a morbid crawl on all fours. Its limbs overlapped one another in a grotesque and unsynchronized manner while its head remained lifted to look at its target.
Evil’s hands lifted to cover her face. She couldn’t look at that face any longer. The face coming to get her, which she recognized so easily, was her own. The creature wore her face, and painted over it was the eeriest smile carved monstrously into her cheeks. It stretched so wide- too wide, giving the impression that the pressure would crack her jaw.
The bloodshot eyes stared at her; Evil could feel them mere centimetres from her face. Her hands tried their best to protect her, but… Her skin was touched by a puff of hot air from a breath that wasn’t her own.
And without warning, she found herself back at her school, surrounded by the same crowd, next to Emma. Nothing changed, and it seemed like no time had passed. The man continued the idea started before Evil's sudden departure. Evil rubbed her eyes, disoriented.
Emma watched her with worry, waiting for Evil to answer a question she didn’t get to hear.
“I said, ' Are you okay? Is it another…?”
Evil opened her mouth to deny, but was stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She swallowed the bitter bile, surveying her surroundings like a rabid animal. The feeling of being watched weighed heavily on her , even with the voices gone. Maybe her senses were readjusting to the real world.
“Whoa, hey,” Emma grabbed her forearm, stabilizing her. “Talk to me. What did you see?”
“Someone is watching.”
“What?” Emma’s skin prickled at the gravity of Evil’s voice. “No one is watching.”
The masses moved to and from stands, exchanging brochures and casual conversations. Evil pulled her hand from Emma’s grasp. Emma kept uttering soothing words, but Evil didn’t hear them. She knew- she felt it. She felt an uncanny, malicious intent bigger than her own delusions waiting to be noticed.
“I have to get out of here,” she started, walking towards the exit.
“Wait, I’ll come with you!” Emma shouted over the uproar of the crowd.
Evil turned to her sister in a rush, grabbing her forearm with more force than intended. As she pulled her out of the mob, she locked eyes for a split second with their headmaster. A little man in his late fifties, usually so innocent, held an unusual malice in his features.
The gaze remained on Evil for a short while, invisible to the naked eye. However, Evil felt it had lingered a second too long. A little too heavy. Goosebumps spread over her arms like wildfire.
Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her again, but she wouldn’t stay long enough to find out.
The girls arrived home an hour later. After much prodding from Emma, Evil locked herself in her room without any further explanations. Emma knew it was about her powers again. Just as she knew, Evil didn't want to worry her. But how could Emma offer her a helping hand if Evil vehemently refused?
The years of adolescence were hard on Evil. She wished teenage drama to be the only pain lingering during that period. Emma would have done better with advice on romance than beatings with demonic abilities.
Emma was stuck between a rock and a hard place- her responsibility as a sister, and the need to focus on her own life. On her own destiny.
Evil didn’t understand her, never had. Her urge to piece everything together so they live happily, away from creatures and ugly battles. Perhaps this was nothing more than her trying to ensure a better outcome for things, having grown up surrounded by so much darkness.
Analyzing life from a mundane point of view, with simple aspirations, represented somewhat of a safe space for her. Something she could hold on to during the storm. Bad attributes are attached to the burden of an angel as well.
Being a source of good in a world drowning in sin isn’t easy.
Having to see the cruelty, the hatred, and the pain upped by a thousand with your hands tied behind your back. Being an angel in a world of humans is a cruel fate.
Pretending that part of you doesn’t exist, letting yourself forget about it…it’s freeing. The ability to look towards a better future symbolized an escape. The hope that things can be normal. She wished deeply to share with her sister this small mercy.
It was a hard pill to swallow- the fact that Evil didn’t have the privilege of forgetting about her true self by putting on a mask.
The Hesperus claimed that angels are protected in the name of Caeles. Creations made by her hand, pure and good to the core.
But then, there was the other side of the coin. Demons were made to hurt people and be exterminated by angels, and forced to never leave the Ferox. And it only made sense for it to be that way.
If only her sister weren't one of them.
It was difficult for Emma to wrap her head around the concept of her sister grouped with those monsters. She knew Evil better than her own mind. The lines between where Emma ended and Evil began blurred each day.
She had dealt with humans more rotten than a pure-blooded demon.
Two years back, she had been the butt of the joke for some kids at school. Emma never fought back. She had promised to live by the rules of Hesperus and behave like a proper angel. A proper angel would never inflict pain upon the humans they were created to protect. A proper angel wouldn’t dare blame the obliviousness of a mortal.
Close to the end of the semester, those classmates of hers blocked the way to the cafeteria and approached with vile expressions on their faces. She hadn’t stopped walking up until pain had struck her shoulder. She found herself hitting the wall after being shoved.
The laughter echoed in her mind louder than other sound. She doesn’t remember much else, amongst the distorted smiles and blurry faces mercifully erased by her tears.
Frustration boiled in her veins, but within, she forced herself to rationalize their behavior. Don't get upset. You know they have their own problems to deal with. They're just taking it out on you . Forgive and forget. Like angels do.
Emma found it harder to experience negative feelings without dread following up like a whipping after doing the wrong thing. Of course, she felt them, but it was like she had been programmed to redeem any negative thoughts that popped into her head by having false positive quotes play over and over again like a broken record.
She wanted to stand up for herself without feeling guilty.
In situations like these, she relied on Evil, who acted like a personal bodyguard to her pushover of a sister. By all means, she was grateful.
The next thing she remembers is her sister staring deep into the eyes of the girl who pushed her, wearing a grin on her face, while the girl struggled to breathe. Evil hadn’t cut the invisible string strangling her until she had managed to mutter a hoarse "I'm sorry" under her breath. After that, she and her friends never looked in Emma’s direction again.
“Get up," Evil had ordered Emma, gaze still on the troublemakers who were running out of the building.
Emma had to promise Evil to never keep secrets from her again. With a withered smile, she gave her a one-shouldered shrug.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this.”
With Evil, everything ends in flames.