Chapter 26

My life has never been what you would call normal. I have never been sick, never caught a bug or virus like a common cold. There have always been secrets and unanswered questions. Mom and I spent my entire early childhood running. At the time I didn’t know why, or what we were running from. “The bad men,” is all mom would say.
We moved from one town to another, from one country to the next, never staying in one place for too long, never trusting anyone, and each time with a new name and identity.
Life was lonely and miserable without friends. I had no school to attend as Mom gave up enrolling me, deciding to home school me instead. We had no family to speak of. She wouldn't talk about her family and would get angry when I pushed the question.
I have since learned that secrets and lies can destroy a person. At night, Mom would scream and thrash about. She never spoke of her dreams, her fears or hopes. Mom began to drink, just a little at first, perhaps a glass or two of wine. By the end, she was drinking a bottle of spirits a night, or more if we had the money. Conversations with her became difficult. The gibberish she spoke before passing out left me with cold shivers. "They are coming for you; I failed to keep you safe," she would mumble, leaving me in a cold sweat. The next day I’d ask what she’d meant, and she would deny saying such a thing and laugh it off as if I was the one with problems.
Loneliness can creep up on you before you realize it, swallowing your emotions and leaving you numb. As I got older, I started to believe my mother was crazy. Each day she seemed to lose a little more of reality. She would mutter to herself and constantly look over her shoulder.
Every night she would check the doors and windows at least four times, sprinkling salt in front of every single one. When I askedwhy her reply was always the same. "The bad people are stronger at night. The blackness of their soul mirrors the sky. Salt is pure." After a while, I stopped asking questions because I never understood the answers, and Mom wouldn't explain them anyway. She just said, "One day you will understand."
On one particular day, she panicked and threw our small collection of worldly possessions into the back of our beat-up car. I am not really sure what happened or triggered her panic. She ran around grabbing what she could. Not that this was an unusual experience. It just meant it was time to move again.
My protests went unheard. She pushed me in the car, and before I knew it, we were speeding down the highway. I remember gripping the edge of my seat so tightly my nails dug into the faded fabric. The car swerved and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the kind of feeling you get when you are going down the slope on a rollercoaster. Pressure crushed my chest as the seatbelt stopped me from being thrown forward. Then the car began to spin and suddenly stopped with a loud bang that sent glass spraying into the car. Everything turned black.
Lillian rummages through my walk-in wardrobe. A wardrobe consisting of dresses in black, gray or red, depressing colors to match my mood. The clatter of coat hangers pulls me out of the past and back to the living nightmare. Lillian is my maid and prison warden. She chooses my clothes and makes sure I stay in line. If I cause any trouble we are both punished. I hate knowing that every little thing I do affects another.
She pulls out a deep red dress that, while plain, drops dangerously low in the chest area.
Sighing, I pull the dress on. It hugs my upper body before casting out with a flare at the hips. The dress is sexy and exotic. But it’s not something I ever imagined wearing. I roll my eyes at the mirror. I look years older, dressed as if I am going to a cocktail party, but there will be no fun where I’m going, just a nagging feeling of dread and fear.
A pair of black high-heeled sandals completes the ensemble. The straps tie around my ankle and lower leg, representing the invisible shackles I feel I have around my ankles.
Lillian styles my hair, tidying each curl, so they hang with a happy bounce. The opposite of how I feel. Leaving my hair to flow freely down my back, she applies makeup next, making my eyelashes darker and longer. My cheeks flush against my pale skin, and she smears bright red lipstick onto my lips.
The girl staring out of the mirror is a stranger. A shell of her former self.
Lillian guides me down a dark hallway lit with oil lanterns that cast grotesque shadows upon the walls. Deep red drapes hang from the windows, blocking any light that dares to enter the Kingdom of Darkness. My heartbeat strengthens, and my stomach tightens with each step.
We walk down several identical hallways. Our footsteps echo on the stone floor, matching the thunderous noise from the raging storm outside. We stop in front of the door leading to the grand dining room. Dread creeps down my spine like a spider leaving a trail of silk. I feel her feet on my skin, descending until I am almost frozen to the spot. I can’t show fear, and pull on whatever inner strength I have. Showing weakness will end badly.
Taking deep breaths, I enter the room before I can change my mind.
Beautiful chandeliers light the room. Each crystal is shaped like a large teardrop ready to fall. The walls are a bland gray, devoid of any personal touch. A long dark wooden dining table sits at the center of the room, surrounded by around twenty chairs, each with a velvet red cushioned seat.
The world feels like it is slowly disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it is just me who is fading away. It doesn’t matter anyway. Because my empty lungs burn as they hit my chest. The void. The black hole in my head and deep in my soul seems to swallow all my hopes and dreams leaving me empty. The sight of the king, with his black soulless eyes boring into mine always provoked these emotions which leaves me feeling nervous and on edge. I push the feeling deep within me. The worst flaw a person can have is self deception. Lucifer is like that. He acts on impulse then creates his reasons after the act. He justifies his actions with the fact he is the king and has complete authority over his charges. The way he sits with is posture straight and as still as a statue is uncanny. The way he looks at me with his dark beady eyes shows me he will go the great lengths to break my will.