Soft bedding surrounded me snugly, grounding me in the present.
It was what I’d always consideredcomfortableto feel like.
I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the harsh streams of sunlight. Carefully, I ran my hands over my body to check for any of the injuries my mother had inflicted, but I touchedfabric instead of skin like I’d been used to. Relief washed over me when I found no remnants of what I had just gone through, but unease lodged into my gut at the realization that someone must have dressed me in a soft T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
Sitting up, I glanced around the room I was in.
Sunlight poured through a large floor-to-ceiling window across from me, offering a glimpse of the desert outside. A desert I had been kept underneath all of my life. I’d read about the vastness of the desert landscape before, but no words could truly depict what was before me.
Sand covered as far as I could see, dotted with cacti. Tumbleweeds lazily danced across the ground, and a wide, open sky stretched out into the distance.
When I finally tore my gaze away from the window, I noticed old furniture with demonic designs, polished to a gleaming shine, around me. It complemented the natural hues of the sandstone walls. The cellar I’d been kept in was sandstone as well, but this was a brighter color of it. It was more inviting, but I figured anything would be better than where I’d been.
Tossing the blanket off my legs, a wave of nervousness flooded me. The echo of my heartbeat pounded in my ears as I saw the many, many scars carved into my right thigh. The scarsdisappeared up into my shorts. There was a faint mark around my left ankle where the chain had been, but it wasn’t anything obvious. It looked more like a faded bruise than anything else.
Mother had always told me she would only cut where I could hide the scars since I never healed quite right. Another thing I did wrong was scar. My back, thigh, and stomach were covered in them. When I came into my powers, she planned to parade me around without the hideous marks of her trying to make me normal on display.
In her words, a demon with scars was as defective as a powerless one. I’d never be normal, and I’d always be broken.
I gulped, and a stabbing pain made my throat spasm. I needed water. Since my larynx and vocal cords were also scarred, I felt like I always needed a drink.
It was surreal to be out of the cellar, but I still didn’t remember what happened after my powers devoured her soul.
I flinched as everything flooded back.
Where was Nebula?
My stomach twisted into a painful knot as the bitter, acidic taste of bile crept up, coating my mouth with a nauseating flavor.
Noticing a trash bin near the door, I haphazardly pushed out of the warm bed andstumbled across the hard floor until my knees collapsed onto the rough stone. Guttural retching and gagging filled the room as I struggled to expel the contents of my stomach, each sound a painful reminder of what I had done to my mother.
Bile burned my throat. Obsidian tar-like vomit hit the bin, splashing into it. Involuntary tears streamed down my cheeks, and my throat ached worse from the strain of puking.
Fates, why was my body rebelling against me?
Distant footsteps approaching caused me to tense as a strange sensation of a soul heading my way filtered through my senses. I’d never sensed someone’s soul before. It would’ve been a handy instinct to have before.
Weakness took over, and I slumped against the wall beside the bin, trembling with exertion.
The door to the room opened, swinging out slowly.
I held my breath.
A man with long dark black hair and pitch-black eyes stepped inside. He wore a simple black button-up shirt and a pair of black slacks. There was a frown on his face as he glanced around the room.
He moved the door and looked behind it, startling as his gaze connected with mine.
His features were eerily familiar.
“Hi,” he murmured, carefully bending downand offering me a hand. “I’m Gravesend, but you can call me Daryl. What’s your name?”
It took me a moment of staring blankly back at the man before realizing demons used their last names unless they were close with someone. Then, they shared their first names. I was only ever given a first name. Mother had told me that once I earned my place as her daughter, she would give me her last name. That never happened.
This man just shared his without batting an eye. It went against everything I’d read about demon etiquette.
“P-P-Pandora. J-Just Pandora,” I croaked, reaching out and taking his hand to help me to my feet.
His brows raised, and he glanced down at the trash bin. “Do you need water?”
