The Color of Grey
War consumes everything: light, dark, good, and evil; all is devoured. The war, its very nature, its very existence, is a romantic dance between two lovers, its essence found in every molecule on the fingerprint of life. After centuries of ravaged earth, the trail of destruction could be seen throughout, and the ashes and lost souls could be seen. In its path, it left a twisted and broken future for humanity. Like the phoenix, new hope and light grow in the encroaching darkness, but now the lines and distinctions of what is good and evil, who is the hero and who is the villain, are all blurred and grey. The question is now, who will rise from the ashes, take up the mantle, and bring peace, but at what price? Price... what kind of price is there to give peace to those caught in the devastation of the world? Peace, a whisper on the wind, a fleeting mirage, a word that has lost all meaning in this shattered world.
Serenity sat tense in the car, the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof a constant companion. The storm raged outside, mirroring the tempestuous emotions of her colleagues. Their faces, usually masks of serene perfection, were now etched with lines of anger and frustration. A flicker of lightning illuminated their features, revealing a hidden intensity in their eyes. It was a chilling sight, this glimpse into their true selves. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the silence heavy and oppressive. A slight pang of pity shot through her as she watched ordinary people scurrying for shelter. It seemed every mission was accompanied by a downpour as if the heavens conspired against them. Outside, the city hummed with a damp energy. People hurried along the rain-slicked streets, umbrellas raised like colorful shields. Taxis splashed through puddles, their tires kicking up spray. The neon signs of a shopping mall glowed defiantly, cutting through the gloom. Amidst the chaos, Serenity felt a sense of isolation, a solitary figure caught in the whirlwind of a city that never sleeps. She watched humans run along like puppets on a string.
Humans, the fulcrum upon which this celestial war teetered, were a fragile and fickle species. Unlike angels and demons, eternally bound to their celestial allegiances, humanity possessed a soul with a precarious essence that could balance or tip the scales of good and evil. Each soul, a hidden treasure within a mortal chest, was swayed by the whispers of charismatic leaders, the fear of impending doom, or the allure of a promised utopia. The Seraphim, their radiant wings a beacon of hope against the encroaching shadows, sought to guide humanity toward the light. Yet, a single doubt, a moment of weakness, could send souls tumbling into the abyss, embracing the darkness offered by the demons. But what if the demons were not as monstrous as they seemed? What if they were merely misunderstood, victims of a cosmic misunderstanding? Who knows? Serenity shivered, a chill running down her spine. She yearned for a simpler time before the celestial war had cast its long shadow over humanity. She longed for peace, for understanding. But for now, she was caught in the crossfire, a pawn in a game she didn’t fully comprehend. A silver ran down her spine at the thought of meeting demons and their allies in person; she does this every time.
The opposite of the angels’ sculpted perfection, the demons were monstrous parodies of life. Grotesque figures, their hulking forms rippled with inhuman musculature. Twisted horns sprouted from their charred brows, and smoldering embers glowed within their reptilian eyes. The stench of brimstone clung to them like a shroud, a constant reminder of the infernal depths from which they hailed. The angels, with their propaganda machine, painted the demons as bloodthirsty monsters bent on devouring human souls. Yet, the truth was more complex. While the demons possessed a fearsome reputation earned through a millennium of war, they were not without their code of honor and a deep-seated desire for freedom. Vampires, werewolves, sirens, and trolls, each with their unique abilities and dark secrets, fought alongside them. There was talk that someone or something could change the hands of power. The genomic hunger for control was prevalent in the air and the car. Serenity shifted in her seat under pressure, and the insatiable thirst for power engulfed her like a whale in the deep ocean. For some reason, the angelic leader wanted to know if the whisperings of a few nameless angels were true.
As these thoughts crossed her mind, the car drove past a gigantic white horse statue, and its hopeful aura couldn’t erase her unease. Its glistening white marble glowed against the stormy sky. The horse made her think about the freedom it gets to run wild across fields and pastures with no problems to worry about. It was pure, innocent, and potent, but within Serenity’s world, it was more of a false hope among the truths. As they pulled up to a massive skyscraper, its dark presence only solidified my unease, and the anger the rest felt grew as ominous as the building. It ripped the hope of freedom, and its oppressive dark stone drained any compassion from the air. The rain saturated everything, and this matched the unease she felt. The cold and wet ground through the closed doors of the town car made a shiver run down her spine. With a final sigh, the last car arrived. Serenity watched, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach, as her companions disembarked- a phalanx of six men and three women, their expressions as unreadable as the monolithic building before them. Together, they entered the sterile lobby, the silence broken only by the echo of their footsteps. She could have cared less about who she followed; none of them cared if she was there; she was nothing more than a tool, a weapon against the angel’s foes.
Their footfalls echoed in the hallow-looking lobby; the lobby, of course, looked nice but looked very bland. Even the receptionist’s desk looked uninteresting, but the perky and flirtatious woman who sat at it made the hall full of color. The receptionist stood at attention; surprisingly, she was a human, her business suit undisturbed by dirt or dust. She looked at us with utter admiration, and as she jumped around excitedly, Serenity couldn’t help but notice how the receptionist’s assets bounced and moved with her. How could a human woman no less work for demons? I’m sure that answer will come up sooner or later; besides, the angels were on their superficial soap box with the woman. They spoke of duty, sacrifice, and the greater good. However, their words, devoid of emotion, sounded hollow and insincere. It was like witnessing a perfectly choreographed dance routine without genuine feeling or expression. Serenity didn’t know why the angels were disgustingly perfect. They were shallow and hollow, like their words and fake dance routines. Serenity didn’t understand why she felt this way about the angels they had raised her after removing her from the orphanage that abused her for so long, but even with that, she didn’t feel like she belonged. A nagging suspicion lingered in the back of her mind, a whisper of doubt that she couldn’t quite shake. Was she one of them, or was she simply a pawn in their game, a weapon to be used and discarded when it was no longer helpful? Weapon flooded her mind; that’s all she was to them. She was a weapon and had no choice but to be used as one. She had to pay back the family for raising her.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a sleek, chrome interior. Like static electricity, a jolt surged through her as she stepped inside, leaving her breathless. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her. This was how she always felt around them, an alien among angels, different, wrong. Their flawless and smooth skin seemed to absorb the light, while hers felt rough and imperfect. She pulled her arms in front of her, the fabric of her coat brushing against her skin, a barrier against the suffocating perfection surrounding her. The receptionist looked at Serenity with confusion but didn’t say a word, instead with a smile as the elevator doors closed on the perky-faced woman. Serenity hoped that the ride-up would end soon. Serenity looked at her hands before her, gloved to avoid touching anyone. She didn’t wish to hurt the perfection around her, no matter how much she secretly hoped to; their arrogance and clouded misconceptions made her sick, and she wanted nothing more than to again be like the white horse, free. She knew she wasn’t welcomed in Heaven Corp.; most found her gifts toxic and incurable. The angels felt Serenity was tainted by evil and should be locked away. She stared at the doors, hoping, praying for them to open soon; she could feel the disdain for her like ice freezing on a lake. Tainted by the evil, they say, a prodigy of demonic powers, she often wondered if she was every time she was stuck in a room alone with any of them.
Finally, with a sigh that echoed in the confined space, the elevator doors slid open. Serenity emerged, blinking against the assault of color. The bland sterility of the elevator was replaced by a scene of opulent luxury- a rich tapestry of crimson and gold. The warmth that suffused the air was a revelation, a forgotten sensation that sent a shiver down her spine, not of discomfort, but of something... forgotten. But the indulgence was fleeting. As quickly as it appeared, the vibrant spectacle dissolved, the colors leaching away, replaced once more by the sterile monochrome she knew. The warmth vanished like a phantom ember, leaving behind a hollowness that echoed the emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
Why was this familiar to her? All she had ever known was the angels and the orphanage. The orphanage was nothing short of hell on earth, from the meager meals, if given at all, to the beatings for simply breathing too loud. It was never a secret that even humans didn’t like her; it was almost like she had an aura about her that sent everyone into a fit of rage. The orphanage was a prison; though rescued from a place full of depravity, all she did was go into another. The angel’s perfection and the demand for unity blended to become homogeneous. It was suffocating, and while trying to blend in and not cause more problems, secretly, she wished not only for freedom from the celestial blight but freedom to be herself, whatever that may be. Because of this, Serenity couldn’t endure the touch of others, and trusting people became even more difficult. At the same time, it may seem like she completely trusted the angels and obeyed their actions, but that wasn’t the case. She constantly questioned everything. But is that a bad thing? She couldn’t give trust, not even to disgustingly perfect angels. But this familiarity she couldn’t remember; it was locked away inside her mind from a long-forgotten past.
She pushed the strange sensation down, schooling her features into a mask of indifference, and approached the desk where a grotesque figure hunched over a mound of paperwork. The grotesque figure behind the desk didn’t spare Serenity a glance. A long, finger-like appendage, glistening with a sickly sheen, emerged from beneath a mound of papers and stabbed toward the double glass doors at the far end of the room. Serenity looked back at the disappearing hand, and instead of disgust, an innate feeling of curiosity filled her body. She wanted to know what the rest of that slimy hand looked like, but the disapproving grunts and clicks of the angel’s tounges discarded her curious mind from looking. As much as she hated their disapproval of her and the discontent for anything different from them, the punishment for not remembering her place was severe enough to keep her from acting out. Serenity turned to await instructions from anyone and found more than the small group that came in with her. It would seem there was already a group here; they must have heard something or the demons must have done something to cause her to be sent. In other words, the group with me is more my handlers than anything. As she waited, she looked at the doors, the appendage pointed at, and thought about their design and what lay beyond.
As she gazed at the intricate designs on the frosted glass, she wondered, Where did those doors lead? A knot of apprehension tightened in her gut, and before anyone noticed the look of discomfort on her face, she pushed it down and remained a silent figure in a room full of perfection and imperfection. She waited and heard the angels click their tongues in distaste at the disgusting thing behind the desk. A shrill bell rang out before they could return to their soapbox again, breaking the tense silence. One of the Angels, face contorted in a mask of displeasure, fished a glowing phone from a pocket and answered the call. Serenity watched, every nerve on edge, as the angel listened intently, their brow furrowing with concern. What did the call mean? Was their mission already compromised, or did it change completely? The angel then passed the phone on to one of the others who were already there, and she recognized the angel immediately- Micheal, the golden boy with a steely glint in his eyes. Every inch of him spoke of power and control- the way his impeccably tailored suit draped over his broad shoulders, the immaculate blond hair that seemed to defy gravity. Yet, beneath that polished exterior, a flicker of something sharp and calculating danced in his gaze. A shiver snaked down my spine. Despite the years spent by his side, an unsettling truth clawed to the surface- I barely knew him. The simple truth she knew about him was he was obsessed with her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about a man so hell-bent on making her his trophy. As he hung up the phone, he whispered orders to a few angels, and they stood on either side of the doors to prevent them from being disturbed.
The frosted doors loomed ahead, their surface glinting with a cold, opaque sheen that seemed to hold secrets within. Serenity felt a shiver of intrigue ripple through her as she approached, each deliberate step amplifying the tension in the air. Alongside the unsettling curiosity was a stark reminder of who accompanied her—Michael. His presence was a harbinger of trouble, a shadow that deepened her sense of foreboding. At that moment, it became clear that his intentions were aimed squarely at her, and the weight of that realization pressed heavily on her heart. At least, that is what she assumed in her already conflicted mind. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a sight that would curdle the pure, holy blood of even the bravest angel. A colossal obsidian desk, like a sacrificial altar, sat in the center. Encircling it were... things—creatures vaguely familiar from her nightmarish past, yet undeniably different. An aura of unspeakable power clung to them like a shroud, a profound darkness that seemed to devour the light itself. A tremor of disgust ran through Serenity, a primal reaction honed by years spent battling similar denizens of the underworld. But these... these were something else entirely. A cold dread seeped into her bones, the enormity of their presence a suffocating weight on her chest. She remembered the orders she was given this morning; they reverberated in her brain, and a silent wish she thought captured the rest of her mind: Please let me leave. I don’t want to be here. The order weighed heavily on her, and a silent plea echoed in her mind: ’Please let this meeting be uneventful.
As Serenity followed the group into the conference room, a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, momentarily grounding her. Michael, his face sickeningly perfect but attractive, steered her towards the obsidian table. His warm and moist breath brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Father wants you to watch them closely, Serenity. Every twitch, every flicker of their eyes. Let me know if they’re feeding us lies.” Serenity met his gaze, a storm brewing in her own. He watched his hand travel down her arm like he intended to remove the garment to get closer to her. His lips brushed against her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Why must he touch me, Serenity thought.”
A shiver ran down her spine, not from the chill in the air but from the intensity of his touch, the possessive glint in his eyes. ‘Why me?’ she thought, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. ‘Why do I have to look at them?’ Stomach churning, Serenity watched as Michael strode to the head of the obsidian table. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory, as if savoring the power he wielded over her. Her gaze darted across the gathered figures, each a grotesque parody of life. Festering sores marred their pallid skin, and their eyes, burning embers set deep within vacant sockets, seemed to devour the very light in the room. A wave of revulsion washed over her, so potent it threatened to bring her to her knees. Yet, amidst the uniformity, a single figure stood out. Seated at the head of the table, it radiated a subtle aura of power, its glowing red eyes fixed intently on Michael. Captivated by this figure, Serenity didn’t even notice the creature’s gaze returning to hers. Her cheeks warmed as she adverted her eyes away from it and sat in the seat provided away from the table.
A strange pull drew Serenity’s gaze to the figure, a sense of fascination and dread washing over her. She didn’t understand why she became so captivated, but she knew she couldn’t afford to be distracted. The words from her training echoed in her mind: ‘You are their weapon, Serenity. Engage yourself fully.’ Failure was not an option; failure meant pain, and Serenity had had enough of that from the last failure. The memory of that past failure, the sting of its consequences, spurred her to focus. She would not fail again. The memory of the last mission had a bitter taste in her mouth, the weight of lost lives a heavy burden on her conscience. The scent of sulfur hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of fear. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and a chilling loneliness seeped into her bones. The room was a cacophony of sounds - the hushed whispers of the creatures, the creaking of the obsidian table, the distant hum of the city outside - all amplified by the pounding of her own racing heart.
After a while, Serenity stifled a yawn; her eyelids felt heavy, the numbers on the oversized projection screen blurring into an indistinguishable mass. For the past hour, the room had been a battleground of tariffs, quotas, and the soul-crushing tedium of celestial, demonic, and monster-like tax regulations, laws, and reparations due to the angels. Lies and truths swirled around the table, each word a naked truth laid bare before her. Serenity was on the verge of falling asleep when the sudden crash of glass broke behind her. Angels brought in an angry male pixie and shoved him to the floor. He got up, hoping to run away, but angels held him down, waiting and watching. The pixie’s eyes were wide in a panic, and Serenity noticed his white knuckles and intense breathing, which meant he was caught off guard and terrified of being brought here. As Serenity watched the pixie squirm to break free from his captors, she wondered why he was there. What could he have done to catch the angel’s attention so badly? However many questions she had, one statement broke her thoughts: how typical of them to bring in someone to oppress these denizens of the night. A look of disdain crossed Serenity’s face, and she subtly rolled her eyes in the presence of such dramatics. Why use such dramatics for something that could be handled better; the pixie alone looked like it hadn’t seen sunlight, let alone a good meal.
On top of that, it would seem it put up a good fight before being caught, or worse, they already tortured him to get whatever information they sought. The injuries were shocking, a grim testament to the ferocity of their impact. Pixies have always been neutral in the ongoing war. Serenity wondered why this particular pixie was being brought here. What had he done to warrant such harsh treatment?
“What is the meaning of this,” the intriguing figure asked in a deep, commanding voice.
“This thing committed a crime that violates the peace agreement, and he said he got them from you,” Michael responded curtly. We will do it here to get accurate answers. Besides, she has gifts that we have found helpful. She prevents us from doing such decrepit acts. What is the matter, you demons afraid of a bit of bloodshed?”
Serenity hated it when she had to “interrogate” something, especially one who was neutral or an “enemy.” She understood, even if she hated every bit of it. Memories of her doing interrogations over the years sent a harsh, cold jolt down her spine like Father Winter froze her spine. What she hated the most was each and every time she did; it was as if the angels got pleasure from watching it happen. Their cruel pleasure defies their perfect nature. The intriguing being sat back in its black upholstered chair and waited with a hateful growl that made everyone stand in attention like at any moment he would pounce and end Micheal’s pitiful life. Why did it always fall to her, serenity thought.
The pixie looked up at Micheal and smiled, with its blackened teeth sharp; it spoke in a creepy voice, “The hearts were lovely, the soul sweet and filling. Rosco is as Rosco does; no one more devilish than an Angel who can’t love.” With that, he started to laugh with a sinister complexion.
Micheal’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. He leaned closer to the pixie and asked with a stone face and demanding voice, ” Did you consume a human?”
The pixie smiled and responded with a happy chirp, “If Roscoe did, it would be so sweet to eat, a sweet treat, but did Rosco fill his belly with sweet meat.” He continued to laugh manically, his laughter echoing through the room. Michael’s jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ground together, his eyes narrowing to slits, the blue of his irises almost disappearing.
Serenity stood, nausea filling her belly, and her eyes danced in a haze of brief dizziness from the guilt she felt. Her eyes moved from one being to another until she locked eyes on the intriguing figure, seated, fist clenched like he was restraining himself. A faint glint of sorrow filled his eyes, casting doubt about their nature, only for a mere second, but it was there. The intriguing one with a deep voice asked why he ate it. The pixie turned in fear toward the being and shrank in its presence. A growl from one of his cohorts is heard throughout the room, and the pixie squeaks in terror.
He answered quickly, ” Rosco’s a good boy but so very hungry; the fat wings from the sky starve us, leaving us nothing but scrapes. A man came and gave it to me. I told him it was not ok, but he said no, that’s a lie, he cooked it in front of Rosco, and the smell was so sweet, must eat if it is sweet, pixies like sweet things”.
Micheal’s anger radiates from him as the pixie laughs more; he asks in anger who the man is. The pixie only laughs and refuses to answer. Micheal looked at the dark beings and asked if they had anything to do with this and, if so, all of heaven corp would descend upon them like the rain outside.
The deep-voiced being said no, a low growl rumbling in his chest, ’By the laws put in place by the angels elected “God,” those on the side of “evil” cannot interrogate anyone who the angels themselves can.
Michael sighed, the frustration evident in his voice. “She will get the answers from him,” he declared, his gaze hardening.
Serenity recoiled, a wave of pain washing over her and sending her head spinning briefly. The thought of inflicting pain, even on this creature, filled her with a profound unease. But the order was clear, and disobedience was not an option. Death was not an option. She ordered an angel to bring her a chair and sat facing the pixie, her heart pounding in her chest. The dark figure at the head of the table sat up quietly, a flicker of interest in his eyes. The pixie, however, only stared at her with wide, confused eyes.
“I have a few gifts you should know about,” Serenity began, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “The first is I can see anything; I have a strong sixth sense, if you will. The second, well, the second is that I can make you feel anything. So how this is going to go is very simple: you tell me the truth, you will feel pleasure, but if you lie to me, you will feel unspeakable pain.”
Serenity slowly removed her gloves, her movements deliberate and controlled, and asked the pixie the first question, ” What is your name?”
The pixie turned his head and answered, ” This pixie’s name is Rosco.”
Serenity put her hand on his leg, and instantly, the pixie smiled and cooed with happiness. She removed her hand, and the pixie whimpered for more. “Are you a pixie?” The pixie gladly answered yes and laughed at the pleasure he felt.
“Did you get the human from the man,” Serenity asked sternly. The pixie hesitantly answered yes, and pleasure came again.
“Who was the man who fed you?” Serenity demanded, her voice cold and unforgiving despite the shame she felt in the actions she was forced to take.
The pixie started to sweat and shake in fear but replied, ” Rosco got it from a demon king.”
The word’s lies swept through her brain, giving the pixie his prize. His screams could be heard all over the building. The torment he felt is unimaginable. Serenity repeatedly asked him who the man was, and the pixie lied each time. So, the pain kept coming repeatedly, and finally, the pixie begged for pleasure and mercy after what seemed like hours in a constant state of derogatory actions but were only mere minutes of wasted time.
“Then tell me who the man was,” Serenity asked for the final time.
Rosco finally told the truth and said it was a human hunter named Rollo. Serenity looked up at Micheal, and the pleasure he felt from watching this act sickened her even more. Serenity averted Micheal’s malicious, lust-filled eyes and looked to the ground, awaiting instructions from him.
A small, quiet laugh filled her ears, but it sounded hollow and empty as the deep-seated voice spoke behind her, “Efficient. Precise. A fascinating display of control,” he observed, his voice a low, measured drawl. “A novel approach to persuasion. I wonder what other applications this ‘gift’ might have.”
“That is none of your concern,” Micheal spoke, lost in his desires and pleasures.
The intriguing figure leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Perhaps you should concern yourself with controlling your own impulses, Archangel.” Small laughter could be heard throughout the room as the anger swelled in Michael’s eyes.
“Again, this is none of your concern,” Michael spoke, his voice a low growl. “This is a matter of divine justice. Perhaps you should concern yourself with something more... stimulating. Your detachment seems to be affecting your judgment.”
The “intriguing figure” leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Or perhapsyourjudgment is clouded by... other distractions. Your focus seems to be... wandering.”
Before Micheal could respond, the pixie sprang up like a drug addict, finding his fix, and grabbed Serenity’s hand. A hopeful plea was across his face to get more of a high from the pleasure he was given. As Serenity struggled to get free from the crazed pixie, the pixie pushed her hard enough that she fell and landed in the lap of the dark figure. Serenity forced out an immense pain through the pixie, and he fell to the floor, reaming in agony. Michael’s guards surrounded the pixie, and while his screams ripped through the air, Micheal ordered him to be taken to headquarters for “treatment.”
“I... I apologize,” she stutters, her gaze flickering towards the “intriguing figure,” her face flushed. “I didn’t mean to... intrude. I... I seem to have caused quite a stir.” Still reeling from the events, Serenity found herself unexpectedly close to him. As she lay in his lap, she couldn’t help but notice the warmth radiating from his body, a surprising contrast to the chilling aura he usually exuded. It was a strange sensation, encountering a being of such immense power yet feeling an unexpected sense of... comfort. Suddenly, a strange pull, a dizzying sensation, drew her closer. Her gaze was drawn to his eyes, those dark, emotionless eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets. She felt his hands firmly gripping her leg and waist, intensifying the heartbeat drumming in her chest. And then, to her astonishment, she found her lips on his. It was only a brief kiss, but even as she moved her head back in embarrassment, she still felt his lips on hers, so soft, so human-like.
“Intriguing... unexpected... and perhaps... unsettling.” He paused, his gaze lingering on her face, observing how her breath hitched and her eyes widened. “Though, not entirely unpleasant. Intriguing... unexpected... and perhaps... unsettling.” He paused, his gaze lingering on her face. “Though, not entirely unpleasant.” He subtly adjusted his position, pulling her slightly closer. “And quite... unexpected. This unexpected... intimacy... provides a new perspective on the situation, wouldn’t you agree?”
A blush crept up Serenity’s neck, staining her cheeks crimson, unsure what to say to him. Before she could respond, Micheal grabbed her by the arm and screamed, “What in the name of the heavens do you think you’re doing?!” Michael roared, his face contorted in rage. He lunged forward, attempting to pull Serenity away from the intriguing figure. The figure’s grip on Serenity deepened, and he refused to release her.
“Come, now, Michael,” the intriguing figure said, a low rumble in his voice. Such... volatility. Perhaps a bit too much... passion for a being of your supposed divinity.” He paused, his gaze shifting from Serenity to Michael, a faint smile playing on his lips. What a distraction, indeed. Perhaps I should show her how a demon loves. Most girls are dying to get into my bed. Or is your judgment not so clouded with such a delectable distraction? I believe she’s enjoying herself quite thoroughly, don’t you?”
Serenity’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, mirroring the shock that seemed to have paralyzed everyone in the room. Like a shift in the air on a summer morning, the figure holding her on his lap shifted closer. With a gentle grip on his hand, he turned her head to him and kissed her. Serenity didn’t know what to do. Did she back away and leave? Did she slap this creature of the night and jump into Michael’s sadistic arms? Did she deepen the kiss and see what happens? All she knew was lips on hers that felt more human-like than demonic, and she liked how it felt somewhere inside. Though only mere seconds had passed, it felt like hours when he pulled away. In the deep recesses of her mind, she wished he hadn’t pulled away, leading to her confusion even more.
“As much as I would continue this engagement of ours,” he whispered, seeming like it pained him to push her away, “it would seem it is time to go, little flower.” As the last words fell from his mouth, he helped her to her feet and finished with a light and sweet kiss on the hand.
“This is not over,” Michael hissed, his voice a low growl. “You will regret this.” He then abruptly grabbed Serenity by the hair, his grip surprisingly strong. Serenity gasped, pain shooting through her scalp. Without another word, Michael turned and stormed out of the room, dragging Serenity behind him, leaving the “intriguing figure” sitting calmly amidst the stunned silence, a faint smile playing on his lips.
