The Dark Lord.
Whatever you want to call him, he’s still the Devil. The one creature in myth, legend and folklore, even on TV or in books that is evil, in every single one; he’s the one you never want to meet. They all say the same. They may even describe him as looking different from one book to the next, but they all have the same common denominator: he is evil and to get into a deal with him meant terrible things. I had thought exactly the same; I knew the same tales, the ones of deals with the Devil, the way people thought the dealers to be witches, warlocks, wizards, even mentally ill to be in such a pact. I watch shows where Lucifer is just as evil, wanting to take over Earth, bringing demons into the world, making deals and winning.
Except for the fact I’m supposedly engaged to the Devil, to Lucifer, the Antichrist, as part of a deal. I’ve been doomed to die since I was a year old; prophesised to be taken down to Hell to live (if that’s what you can even call it), to marry the Devil and become the Queen of Hell.
I stare in front of me, the question interrupting my thoughts. I stare at the man ahead of me, thinking about everything that’s happened since Lucifer came into my life and think about what is ahead of me. It’s strange how everything can change in a mere four months.
I can feel the stream of warm, salty doom running down my cheeks from the waterfall of my eyes, the only giveaway of my real emotions as I realise I have to answer the question and get this over with.
Without looking directly ahead of me, straight into my future, I look down at my feet and nod slightly, sniffing back the tears, knowing there is nowhere to hide anymore, nowhere to run to, no one to hide behind, nowhere to go but forward. Maybe if I don’t look at anyone, they won’t know the truth that’s in my mind. As I’m pushed forward, towards the doomed future ahead of me: the one I thought I could change, the one I was both looking forward to and dreading.
But here I am, facing it, walking forward and towards it and now it’s in front of me, literally and figuratively, I’m not sure I want it. I want to turn and run, but I know there’s no escape.
I watch the sly smile lighting up Lucifer’s face as I walk towards him slowly, making him wait for me. I watch his eyes light up with amusement, triumph and pride. I know deep down, somewhere, it makes me proud and amused to see him like this, but right now, I’m in too deep with the disappointment, devastation and pure hatred of him for letting this happen. I’m too angry at myself; I’m too bitter. I shouldn’t be doing this, I should’ve fought harder. I know that much. But even as I walk even further towards him, I know that in reality, this was always how it was going to be. Doesn’t matter what I did, what I tried, what I looked up, or even what I didn’t do. He was right all along, and I didn’t listen or even comprehend who he is, what he can do. Nor did I consider the singular phrase he’d often repeat; that he always gets what he wants.
I glance back down at my feet, thinking about my past, and everything leading up to this in the past months; who I was, who I am and who I will be from now. The taunting truth that I can never have that back stabs me, forcing the truth into my heart once again; I can’t have any of it ever again.
This is my life, this is my future, this is my destiny, my dream, my nightmare; this is my façade, my dance. It’s my dance with the Devil.