Chapter 2
Lucia
The first thing I noticed was my hair. It was unravelled from its braid, spilling loose over my shoulders like a sinner’s veil. I lifted a hand to push it back, and that’s when I saw the gold ring glinting in the thin morning light.
A hiss cut through the silence.
I froze.
Coiled on my floor was a jet-black snake, its tongue flicking between needle-sharp fangs. Its head was broad, hooded like a cobra’s, obsidian scales glistening with an unnatural sheen. Venom dripped from its jaws, sizzling where it struck the wood.
I stumbled back, my legs hitting the bed.
The snake slammed onto the floor, its body writhing in jagged, unnatural motions—too fast, too fluid. It didn’t slither. It pursued.
I shrieked and scrambled onto the mattress, clutching a pillow like a shield. My breath came in ragged gasps as I scanned the room, waiting for it to strike.
Then the stench hit me.
Sulfur. Rotten eggs. The acrid reek of something not of this earth.
My gaze darted to the wall—and my blood turned to ice.
My crucifix hung upside down.
I dropped to my knees on the bed, the snake forgotten, fingers clasped in desperate prayer. I clutched my rosary beads from my nightstand, rubbing one of the wooden balls as I began to pray.
“Lord, deliver me from evil—”
A laugh echoed through the room—low, liquid, amused.
“Oh, Lucia—” The voice curled around me, a serpent’s tongue in my ear. “Stop that. It tickles.”
My breath hitched. I cracked open one eye.
The room was empty.
No snake. No shadow. Just the wrongness of the inverted cross, the stench of hell clinging to my skin.
“Lucia.” The voice sang my name this time, a taunt.
“E-Evil b-begone!” I stammered, my voice breaking.
A whisper against my neck. Hot breath where there was none.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I clawed at the ring, my fingernails drawing blood. The gold burned hotter the more I struggled—a brand sealing my fate.
“E-Evil be—”
A solid hand, cold as a corpse, slammed me face-first into the mattress. My rosary beads snapped beneath me, scattering like broken vows.
“Begone?” The demon’s laugh slithered down my spine. “Sweet Lucia. You summoned me the moment you slid my ring onto your warm, willing finger. You signed for this in a past life.”
“No,” I gasped in disbelief.
His weight settled over me, impossibly heavy, yet I felt no body—only pressure and the stench of sulphur and spoiled sacrament wine.
“Let’s not pretend,” he purred, a claw tracing the curve of my hip through the rough fabric of my nightdress. “I can taste your history. Your manager’s hands on your thighs. The sacristan’s mouth on your—”
