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My Mortala. My bride. My deathly dark reaper queen. On her way home to me. Her last love. Did they think I’d play fair? I am the devil, after all.
Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue.
“Dreadful and beautiful, much like you, sweet death, my little terror of decay.”
Grief was the longest, most enduring love and form of self-torment. And this was the making of the villain.
“You danced with the devil and lost your head, huh?” He cackled.
“There’s nowhere you could run to escape me. Not in this life or the next.”
“the world needs an evil to look to just as much as it needs a light. Villains and devils are mirrors in a sense.”
Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose?
“You are the only one I have ever or will ever kneel before.”
“As you wish, Mortala.”
I will save them. They will have parts of me, too, and I will find them again, find these pieces of me.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
And they showed me, each in their own unique ways, that I was more and that I was worthy of love.
“But I’m here now, and I’ve got us. I’m strong enough to save us, to be our own hero.”
The devil and death. He was mine, and I was his. It always had been and always would be.
All of our missing pieces had at last come together.
Though maybe in everyone we love we are simply finding missing pieces of ourselves. Maybe they help us remember who we truly are. Maybe that’s magic.
