“Let me know if you need anything. I think it’s best if you stay here for the night. We can do a tour after breakfast tomorrow,” Lilith suggests with a polite enough smile. I nod but don’t say anything else. My thoughts are running a million miles a minute, and it’s nice that the only voice inside of my head is my own.
At least, I think so.
No, it’sdefinitelyjust one voice.
I’ll need to keep my wits about me in Hell. After all, we’re all demons. I mean, I knew I was a demon before, and I’ve come across many during my time on Earth. But there’s no doubt in my mind that someone could attempt to hurt me in some way. Eventually, I’ll build up allies, but right now, the only person I can trust is myself.Trust no bitchis the new motto. I’ve somehow survived all this time by relying on my instincts, and that’s exactly what I’m planning on doing now.
I’m also planning on having some serious fun.
Too much time has been wasted hating my life or just surviving. I’m so ready to finally live, and if playing nice is what gives me the opportunity to actually figure out who I am, and to enjoy it, then so be it.
I’ll be the spawn of Satan that everyone wants me to be. Playing the obedient, eager to learn, and semi-sane daughter will be easy as cake.
Especially since I’m now hot as fuck.
There’s a full-length mirror made of gold in my massive bedroom. I drop the sheet I was wrapped in and take a good look at myself.
“Damn,” I mumble. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely possessed some hot women back in the mortal realm and had a ton of fun. But having my own body? My fingertips glide down my chest, and the sensation feels tremendous. I don’t even touch myself in a sexual way, just as a way to learn my new form.
Each sensation feels a million times more significant than any touch ever did when I was in other bodies. I still have the dark hair I remember as a child, and my eyes are a light blue, unlike Lucifer’s and Blair’s—another way I’m different.
I might be whole again, but part of me knows I will never truly be what either of them wants. There’s no point in even deluding myself into thinking I’ll meet their standards, it’s just not who I am. I feel like the spare of the family, the daughter who was forgotten and went mad on Earth. It’s clear that my father’s love for Blair goes deeper than what he will ever feel for me. I shake the thoughts from my mind, which are getting muddled with my memories of being a disappointment—no matter what form.If I stay on this trajectory of thinking, I know resentment is going to bubble over the next time I’m in their presence instead of yearning for a connection.
The only person I need to worry about pleasing is my-fucking-self, and that’s what I’m going to live by. This body is a gift I only ever dreamed of. The plan had always been to possess Blair’s body and take my rightful place on the throne. I’m not sure if I still want that title, but I’m not opposed to it either.
Forgiveness isn’t earned in a day, and a lifetime of suffering can’t be swiped under the rug just by Lucifer calling me darling or telling me he loves me.
Pfft, I’ve never had someone tell me they love me. How do you know he isn’t lying?
He’s definitely lying. He doesn’t even know me. How can he love me? I don’t even truly know me, nor do I love myself. So, how can someone else?
I stop those thoughts and look back into the mirror.Maybe I could learn to love myself.In order to do that, I need to figure out who I am first. I’m certainly not going to figure that out by standing naked in front of a mirror or staying in this room all night.
Rules were meant to be broken, and I’m far too energized to sleep. I think it’s about time I see what Hell has to offer, anyway.
I open a door to my left, which is a massive closet filled to the brim with clothes. I have no idea who they belong to, but seeing as they have deemed this my bedroom, I’ve decided they now belong to me. The selection is vast, and I’m grateful that I actually get to choose what I want to wear. Sometimes, the people I possessed wore the ugliest, cheapest clothes.
Every outfit in this closet is lush, expensive, and unique. They definitely aren’t fucking hand-me-downs, and the thought makes me grin. The styles range from elegant to deliciously slutty. Since I know little about Hell and what people wear, I go with something simple, grabbing a black bodycon dress that clings to every inch of my new frame.
I finger-brush my long dark hair and find the tallest black heels I can find in the closet. With the heels on, I’m nearly six feet tall, and I feel unstoppable. It might have more to do with having a body that’s actually mine versus the clothes, but I’ll give them some credit too.
I wince as my heels click against the hard floor, but when I crack open the door and peek out, I don’t see a single soul in the hallway. I go the opposite way that I came when we left my father’s room, and as quietly as possible, I walk down the hall. There are so many doors that I lose count. It feels like the hallway is nearly endless, but after a while, I can hear voices, and I finally reach the end of the corridor. There’s clearly some sort of magic set on the entrance, and I swear I can almost see its glimmer. But there’s something inside of me that senses its familial nature. It lets me leave, and when I test it, I’m fortunate enough to be able to walk right back in.
This section of the manor must be off-limits to everyone else in Hell. It shouldn’t make me feel special, but it does.
Fuck, I’m pathetic.
What does it say about me that all my father has to do to make me feel somewhat important is to allow me unlimited access to his home? I know my standards should be higher, but the fact is, I have no baseline. I can’t even say that the bar is in Hell because, currently, it’s where I live. The mortal phrase makes me laugh to myself before the reality of my situation sinks in. I don’t know what it means to be loved or to be someone’s relative. I’m not even sure how to be a person… well, to be a fully-formed demon, I suppose.
I somehow feel overwhelmed yet under-stimulated at the same time. The mental checklist in my head is daunting, yet my flesh is craving touch and exploration. My body’s instincts are what’s driving me at the moment. This all-consuming need to be touched and held in my new body drives me to explore the manor. I don’t truly know who or what I’m looking for, just that when I find them, I’ll know.
I continue my path towards the voices until I reach a ballroom of sorts. It’s dark, black, and opulent. The room is lit by candles on black sconces, and demons wander around the room, all dressed like they are from different eras. I observe from a distance and watch as pairs drift off to dark corners or portal completely out of the room.
Most of the demons in the room are relatively attractive, and I wonder if that’s by design. Or, possibly, my father only allows the ridiculously good-looking to step foot in his manor.
Poor ugly demons, they must feel so left out.
I throw that theory out the window when a plain-looking blonde woman with absurdly white teeth sidles up in front of me. She’s flanked by two other women who aren’t anything to write home about either. They aren’t ugly, but they aren’t what I would call attractive, either.
