Once upon a time...

In a land far far away.

A Boy met a girl

and the boy

fell in love.

But the girl...

didn't give

a fuck.

She

was doing

her

own thing.

Saving dragons.

Making friends with bumbling bears; the

victims

Of a home invasion.

Rescuing hapless bachelors.

From tyrannical fathers who kept them

locked

Chaste

In tall

towers

Pointing

hard

into to the sky.

Or stopping wandering royalty who try to

Kiss teenage girls

As they lay asleep.

But this girl.

She's not real.

Just a fantasy too.

Just like all the other fairy tale princesses.

It's just what the boys dream about

Today

Is different.

Much worse, he thought to himself, flicking ash off his cigarette and stepping out of the shadows to follow Angela. But he could live with doing a little worse if it meant getting revenge on Carlos.

James Burns was never supposed to be born. As unnatural as a frigid inferno or a planet orbiting around a black hole, he belonged neither in the human world nor in the demonic underbelly. A hybrid who shared compassion and cruelty, a lust for creation and a lust for destruction; he had to hide his true origin for as long as he remembered. His existence alone was a defiance to the laws governing earth and his mother was the one who paid the price. He never met her, for he was condemned to kill her as soon as he took his first breath, but her voice still echoed in his mind, singing lullabies while still in the womb. He remembered the warmth of her love when she’d rub her belly and read fairytales to her unborn—it was the blessing and curse of his duality and the nourishment of his hatred. Yes, James Burns was prepared to do anything to get revenge on Carlos; the creature who sowed him, the demon who bestowed a taste for murder on him, the father who gifted him the thirst for blood, and soon the half-breed would return the favor...

James would watch the earth burn and be reborn again if it meant fulfilling his life’s purpose. He had waited an eon for the perfect candidate, the missing piece, the correct pawn to set his plan into motion, and, of all the minions his father leashed, Angela was far the most promising. She nurtured the right amount of aversion for James to exploit in convincing her to switch sides and the rebellious personality to encourage her to fight back. He had to find a way to summon her. Tiptoeing between the world of the living and the kingdom of monsters came with limitations. No mortal could come within arm’s reach without feeling the chill of corruption in their hearts. As for a mortal who carried the Mark, he was as bare to their gaze as the shadow of an atom under a microscope. Should he ever approached her without permission, should she ever saw his true form, Angela’s sanity without a doubt would be ripped to shreds and then she’d be useless to him.

He trailed her back to her house and lingered outside, contemplating on his next move—if she kept rejecting his card, he’d have to try a different way—when, through the walls, his eyes caught a glimpse that seemed imperceptible to everyone but the marked human. It crackled with energy that tingled his skin. It called to him but at the same time stung like a porcupine wiggling inside his brain. His mind circled back to the exchange he witnessed in the dark alley, the mysterious box and the golden lock, and a gear snapped into place, forcing a gasp out of him. It couldn’t be... He couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to have stumbled upon the Possessor, right?

”Good girl,” the demon on the phone praises her. “I’ll see you soon.” Angela stayed motionless in the hall long after the phone clicked off.

How did that fanfic put it again? “A presence of an emotional gun in her head.” That’s what this phone felt like in her palm; a gun. She wondered if she would have pulled the trigger right now.

Then she wondered if it would have killed her after that call anyway.

Her perspective on the world before her took that familiar, violent shift to monochrome. She felt The Mark coming back, she felt it sear into the side of her face along her temple, spreading from the phone still at her ear; the inescapable curse of Carlos.

Angela turned away from the pain, without trying to hide The Mark, knowing better - from the last time - that no one would be able to see it. Knowing that no one would be able to help her. It was a job Carlos had branded to Angela and Angela alone. “A forbidden story to tell. And a truth escaping from hell.” sometimes she wondered if Carlos was the author of that story, she wondered if it was another one of his sick jokes to haunt her. She cursed under her breath in spanish, pocketting her phone and swiping a sweaty hand over her face and through her hair. Angela was a strong woman, no one would see her tears.

Could she cry anymore though? Did she have tears to shed?

For as long as it took to complete this job, as long as this invisible mark was here, she was the demon, and she would commit to any level of demonic actions to finish up this mess and get back her humanity.