to hell and back.

The forest is quiet when I am alone.

It is the middle of the day. The sky is a lucid red, not a single cloud in sight. The city is too far to hear in this part of the woods. Sitting cross-legged on the shore of my little pond (I claimed it mine after the last time I came here, since nobody comes here except for me), I grab a rock and fiddle with it. After a moment, I throw it. The rock plunks into the water and creates a small ripple that calmly works its way from the inside of the pond to the shore where I sit. As the ripples fade, a small gray fish rises to the surface of the water and floats there for a minute. It takes me a bit of staring to realize that it is dead.

Moments like these are the ones that keep me sane. The quiet, peaceful seconds that fly by, like the creepy, fat bats in the sky or the slow smoke that billows from a burning building. They are slow, but in a strange way, they are calming.

"My love," a sugary-sweet voice says from very close behind me. It is Alastor. I jump a little bit, but, to my surprise, not very much. I must be getting used to the way everyone sneaks up on me.

I take a deep, irritated breath, my finger anxiously picking at my fishnet pants. "Hi, Alastor."

Leaning on his cane for assistance, he lowers himself to the ground and silently seats himself beside me, stretching his legs out to the edge of the water. I will never understand how he can be so utterly quiet and simple while moving. "How are you feeling this fine morning?" he asks with a sharp grin.

"As good as I can feel."

"And how good is that?"

"Not very good."

He hums my response away, then looks at the lake before us. I follow his gaze. He must be looking at the dead fish.

"I'm about to go find myself some lunch. Would you like to come with me, dear?"

I look at him, searching his eyes for some sort of emotion. Or some sort of anything, for that matter. All I can see is insanity.

"Why do you call me those things?"

"I have answered this, my love," he says, sounding slightly bothered.

"Yes, of course you have, but I'm asking again. You and Mimzy seem, I don't know, like, really solid, so isn't she supposed to be your love? Not me? I would hate to get in the way of you two," I say, but most of it is lies. I would love to get in the way of them, but Mimzy would kill me. Alastor is immensely attractive, in a sickening way. He is like a walking kink. I guess I like that about him. He looks like he would be remarkable in bed.

Just then, for only a split second, Angel's words form in my head: You need to get slutty.

Alastor sighs, and his grin fades as he processes my words, but not for long. It pulls back into its usual insane spot as he says, "Well, yes, I suppose Mimzy and I are quite solid. I'm not much of a man for cheating, but I like the way you look. And smell. Maybe, someday, we can work something out."

I shiver. The way I smell? That was a little bit out-of-bounds. "Of course we can. Whenever you would like," I say, grabbing his arm lightly as a sign of affection. I hate myself for acting like this, but I was a skank in real life, so what's to say I can't be one in Hell? Plus, I don't really have much of a choice. What I mean by that is that I have no choice but to try and fit in. It will help me survive. I don't want to stand out as prude or anything.

His grin widens some more. I didn't even think that it was possible, but I've been wrong about many things in my life. "Well, okay then. I must go," he says, standing. He holds a bony hand out before him, so I take it and use it to pull myself up. Keeping hold of me, Alastor rests his weird cane on his hip and reaches his unoccupied hand up to my jaw, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek. He then kisses me lightly, right above the cheekbone. His lips are soft as cotton, which is unexpected, considering how much he smiles. They must get chapped often. When he steps away, his eyes glisten lustfully scanning my face like a hungry wolf eyeing its next meal.