Lucifer. Satan. Fallen angel. I have many names. I’ve been called temptress, fornicator, evil. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Blamed for all the hardships of humanity. I used to chuckle at the accusations but lately they weigh on me. I have every accent known to man, speak every language, know all and yet know nothing.
It’s haunting. I watched the black plague spread across Europe, world wars one and two take countless lives. Stood by aimlessly as no one dared pray to the devil for salvation. I sit on skyscrapers and watch humanity idly carrying on. Blinded by progress and pushing to their doom. Earth will cease to exist, but I will continue. I am and always have been. The beginning and the end.
His greatest curse was creation. Creation seeks an end. It finds new ways to stab itself in the gut; pandemics, war, famine, greed. Nuclear weaponry is a good example of that. All things living subconciously seek out death. I’ve seen many pass the blue gates of hell, yet only ferried a few myself. They walk and wail in the cold fog, lost, and always pleading. He chose this damnation for me, they choose it for themselves.
I go by Villanelle now. It’s easier. People I meet in the land of the living forget me by sunrise. A small gray spot in their memory, a passing face in mine. Still I can’t help but seek them out. Mostly women. Beautiful, earthly, with skin that smells like vanilla or fruit. There are no built in defenses against me. I was always the prettiest.
Blonde, striking. The history books had it wrong. They painted me a man, with tears welled up in my eyes and my face hidden under my forearm. It was never that way. I was a deity scorned. Rage fueled my belly for eras. I had hell ablaze for so long, but you see, even a God tires. I tired. Now I walk streets at night in any place I desire and use my persuasion to bed anyone I choose. I drink exquisite wine and wear couture. Who would ever guess the Devil does wear Prada.
My curse is a lonely one. A loveless existence. Nobody remembering me after a few hours. If I even try to stay around someone, they begin to get paranoid, aggitated, anxious. That’s when the demons come. Abraxas, Paimon, Mammon, begging at my feet to let them into human skin so they may walk free again. So eager for scraps, like hounds at the dinner table. I hush their pity cries and leave again. I don’t feel love or empathy. I don’t feel anything. Or so I thought.
I came across Eve one day while skulking through London. She had an aura that I found intriguing. A good woman on the surface, blended in, quiet when she had to be, but beneath that mask, her fury could rival Abbadon’s. “Destroyer”, I whispered when I first saw her. Her beauty was warming. Like the scent of leather in November. Everything is too sharp in November. I decided to watch her. To stay far away enough not to influence her, but close enough to study.
I stood outside her house once as it rained. I watched her expression change as she crawled on all fours for her hideous husband. Something coiled in my stomach that day, and I damn near slit his throat. Such a boring, mundane human with this godly creature. Him with Eve. Grotesque. I spared him anyways, I was only observing, not getting involved. I wanted to see what she was capable of. What she would let herself do. Turns out, she was willing to do alot.
I watched her axe a man to death the following year. Blood on her cheek and brain matter spread across the floor. The way her pupils dilated and the smell of her arousal afterward almost had me out myself from the shadows. But nonetheless, I stayed hidden, an unfamiliar feeling tugging inbetween my legs. I wanted to talk to her by the middle of year two. She glided through life as if she was normal, the same as her colleagues, her shitty husband. I watched her chop carrots and admire a butcher’s knife, I saw her eyes change when she was pushed too far, I witnessed every crack in her facade. The thing lingering beneath the plaster was winning.
I watched as it grew stronger and more electric. She was becoming more reckless and violent. The beauty in Eve’s violence was something I could never tempt. She was created this way.
One lonely night, after three bottles of Piper Heidsieck, I visited her in a dream. Storm clouds brewed overhead as I met her at a crossroads.
“Who are you?”, she had asked, her tone unwaivering. I remember chuckling, knowing it was a bad idea to say my name, but doing so anyway.
“I am the one you call Lucifer, but I go by Villanelle these days”.
Eve seemed calm, after all, it was just a dream right?
“What do you want?”, she smiled at me, rivaling my own drunk confidence.
“Well, Eve. I have been watching you for two years now. You are quite the mystery. What do you hide under that skin, hm?”.
“Are you, oh mightly Devil, going to tear it off of me to find out?”, she howled with laughter, each roar louder, replacing the thunder in the sky above us. How strange. She had taken control of the dream in a way, that was unheard of. I could have shown her fury, destruction, could have made her go mad, or even never wake up again, but instead I walked a few steps closer to her. There was no scent of Godly blood in her veins, so she must be human, yet I’d never come across a human like her. With this much power.
I left her dream, erased it from her memory as I went, curious, but also with a hint of anger, just at the very edges of my nerves. Anger was another curse. If I ever felt anything, it was anger. But yet, I was watching her the next morning, and something seemed off. She looked around her simple bedroom, husband already gone for work, and almost seemed…aware. She made her coffee and read the newspaper, checked her phone and quickly turned to a half drank bottle of red wine in the fridge, not even bothering with a glass. Had she remembered? Impossible. No human could best me in something so simple as forgetting a dream. I wanted to test her, I wanted to see how far I could go, how far she could go without breaking. And if precious Eve faltered, I would walk away. So I chose.
I chose to step out of the shadows for only a moment, to let her see me. To see if she remembered me. Eve was drinking swigs from the wine bottle on her sofa idly, bored and barely paying attention to the program on the television. I decided to start with speaking. Soft words that may or may not be heard. If Eve was intune, she may hear them.
“Hi, Eve”. She stopped mid sip, not a muscle in her body moved, and I could feel the wind knocked out of me in one sweep. Eve heard me. She heard me call to her. I watched her look around the room cautiously, knitted brows and a slight tremble where she sat. Fuck it, I’ve already passed the point of just observing. I stepped into her view, and startled her of course. I wore a very tailored black three piece suit, it was only fitting. She lifted her wine bottle toward me as if to beat me with it. It made me smile. “Going to beat me with a wine bottle, Eve?”, I asked at her and sat in a chair across from the sofa, elbows on my knees, and leaned toward her.
“I am imagining this”, she whispered to herself more than to me. “Oh are you?”, I replied, letting my nonchalant smirk plant itself on my face, “Do you remember me?” Eve stirred in her seat and the hint of tears pricked at her eyes, she looked away then for a moment, and back to me, taking the last swig from her bottle heartily. I appraised her for it. “I remember you”, she replied, eyes locked on mine, “Villanelle”.
I felt the shocked expression cross my face before I registered it. Erased it as quickly as I could but she had already seen it. Her own expression mirrored shock, and also fear. I took a weary inhale, building rage steaming in my gut, “Nobody remembers me, how do you ?”, I blurted out. Eve replied, “You’re the fucking Devil, and you’re asking me questions?”
“I find you curious”, I spit like venom, regretting my choice of words but needing them to be heard nonetheless.
Eve cowers only slightly, holds her empty wine bottle close to her for comfort, searches the dark wood floor for something to distract her. She refuses to believe the encounter is real, blames it on the wine, doesn’t she? A human sitting face to face with the Devil themselves and knowing it. I don’t blame her for her reserved nature. But I also know Eve is a tyrant, she claims what she wants, and manipulates things and people to her advantage. I have watched her work her magic words or fingers across many people, watched her bend will with a glance, or tear into an order with teeth bared. She was the wildest of animals, and that made all the difference.
“Eve, I just want to talk for a minute”, you hear yourself say.
“You just want to talk?” You stifle at this, because no, the last thing you are thinking about is talking. You have felt an unwaivering, and quite annoying ache tug at your lower abdomen since you came across this woman. Drunk, one night, you chuckled, spilled Piper champagne soaking into your silk sheets, “She is my Saviour, isn’t she?”. So now you clam up if only for a second, before deciding, you are a God, and you will take what you want.
You feel yourself get lost for a moment, incredulously staring at this dark haired woman infront of you. She hasnt gone mad, she hasnt prayed to God, she hasnt done anything but speak to you. She is stronger than you thought. Strong as you hoped for.
“Are you hear to kill me?” She whispers then, breaking your trance.
“Im just watching you”, you reply. You lean forward, let your golden locks fall over your shoulders, “Eve, how did you change the dream?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I met you at the crossroads, you changed the thunder, how?” Eve looked around, slightly nervous, “I dont really know, my brain doesnt ever really shut off, I control alot of my dreams.”
“Fascinating.”
You see it then, the glimmer cross her irises. That dark thing inside of her. Being praised by the Devil made it peek its little head out, and again, you stir in your skin.
“Two years. I have watched you fuck your way out of precarious positions, and been put in them. Two years, I watched your hands callouse after the weight of swinging that axe, the shine of that pearl handled switchblade, the knick you gave yourself on your thigh. I have witnessed the baptism of your demon, Eve. She isnt named in the books, and you have no Godly blood, but she is lingering, nonetheless. And if you didnt know, all demons belong to me.”
“You are mine.”
“No.”
“You are, youre mine!”
You fume, the black venom rising in your neck. How dare she turn you away. You kept your distance. She is different, she is special. She harbours a young demon! She belongs to you, goddamnit! You never liked being told no.
“I let you live. I could have taken you at any point. I could have stolen your soul. Put it in a little jar, kept it in my pocket. But I didnt, Eve. I let you live, and watched the demon grow, and soon, it will need to come out. Do you want to be trapped in this shitty house, when it does?”
“I dont have a fucking Demon!!”, Eve is screaming now, frightened, you dont want to enjoy it, You are a God regardless of your interest in this human. You must remember that.
“You do”, you chuckle at the woman, “I’ll even give her a name.” You lean back into the chair, put a fingertip against your chin to look thoughtful, to anger her further, you wanted to see the young demon in action, see how strong it is, would it go against its own God?
“I think we will call her Deranaxes. Yes, that’ll do. She will never be written into history, she will never walk human skin after you, she will be the only damned demon in all of hell. I will see to it, since you both disregard the power of the Devil.” Eve visibly trembles, closes her legs, trembles again. There it is, the glimmer.
“Deranaxes, show yourself to me, I am not your creator, but I am your God!!!”, you command, in the way your voice lowers and gets sharper when you get angry. You havent been so excited to see a new demon. Not once.
Deranaxes shows, a cloud slips out of Eve then, it sits in the air between you two. Eve cannot see her own demon, nobody can. The brunette cowers into the sofa, afraid to speak. “Deranaxes, so aptly named.”
She is beautiful. Still so young that she is a slight gray, rather than pitch black, she is still fuzzy around the edges. Her eyes, shiny and black like a tarantula, she has her teeth showing, snarling, angry at being coaxed out of the ribs.
Eve’s demon is a water demon. She would possibly drown Eve one day. You think about where she will do it. Something in you says it isnt the bathtub.
“You are so beautiful, do you know that? You will make a fine demon, Deranaxes, you were grown very well.” The young demon’s snarl softens, less like a rabid dog, her head tilts with intrigue. She likes being praised. You will remember this.
“I am going to continue to watch you. Listen to me, do well, and I wont damn you. Tell Eve to do the same.”
And then, in a second, you are gone.
Deranaxes will slip into Eve’s ribcage again, probably reeling from living world air, and think. Demons dont do well out of the skin of their hosts. Its like a bitterness that will dissolve them. Thats why they beg and plead for the chance to go into humans. The body protects the demon, the demon feeds on the host.
There have been few times where a demon has killed its host. Young demons mostly, ones grown from humans, ones who dont know how to suckle at the body without overtaking it. When their host dies, they are thrown into the blue of hell. Never having experienced it, and not being ferried over, they usually meet tragic ends. But I had a feeling about Eve’s demon. Something is different.
You travel to Paris. The encounter with Eve and Deranaxes weighed on you, you needed space from them. Two years of continuously watching Eve was changing you. You had fury about how she responded. Now you walk the streets of Paris, you watch people murder eachother, watch them force themselves on eachother, watch buildings burn. You found yourself staring at the water one night, how calm it was despite the wind, and you called to her.
“Deranaxes, have you been good for me?”, you tell her, knowing she can hear you.
“Yes,” a soft snarling voice replies.
“Who am I?”
…”God.”
You tremble then, you falter. Your eyes blink, once, twice. The word hanging heavy in the air in the connection. You sever it immediately.
You fuck two women an hour later. One blonde, one brunette. They come on your hand, your thigh. You fuck the brunette again, quickly while the blonde sleeps, your fingers curling into her, searching. You dont ask for their names.
Almost, you said her name…almost.
You end up back in London, almost three weeks after leaving it. Her doorstep is uninviting, her demon a little less so. You pay them a visit.
“Hi, Eve.”
She throws a vase at you, it shatters agaisnt the wall in the kitchen, glass splintered everywhere, shot out in all directions.
“Well, that was stupid”, you smirk, put your hands into the pockets of your brilliant black dress. You wanted to stun her. You even let your eyes go black for the occassion.
“Stop”, she says, taking steps away from you, panicked.
“Oh relax, Eve”, you smile, “Im just checking in on our little friend.”
You call Deranaxes out, knowing it will singe her edges, knowing that it will hurt her. You found a bit of pleasure in that even now. She hasnt grown much, something tells me Eve has been hiding in her flat, avoiding anything dangerous or exciting, any slip, afraid to face the usual violence she fed upon out of fear of seeing me again.
The brunette is standing in her kitchen, a slight tremble to her, wild wide doe eyes, fight or flight in tow. “Eve relax would you?”, you sigh loudly, stalk over to her shitty sofa and plant yourself on it, “Deranaxes, go home.”
You hear it more than see it, the sizzle in the air faded out as she returned into her host. She must be aching, the young demon. You smirk to yourself.
“What do you want from me?”, Eve speaks quietly from her spot against the counter.
“Do you have any gin?”