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From the top of the imperial staircase that led to the abbey’s cathedral, Sister Imperator surveyed her domain. She clutched the ornate gilded iron railing with both hands, elbows hyperextended - she knew that was bad for her joints; she’d bother to care when it would start to hurt, not before - back straight, chest out, chin up, squinting fiercely at the distance. A satisfied smile danced on her wrinkled lips, the kind a stern mother would give a child who brought home a perfect report card from school. Her grey and white hair, straw-like in texture in some places but still so long and impressively strong, was wrapped in a tight bun behind her head. She’d left a few slightly wavy strands hang out from it at the front of her face, to frame it with a hint of the whimsy of her younger years, a nod to the blonde bangs she used to have.
The huge twin curved staircase dominated the abbey’s central square, the area constantly bustling. With the floor plans of the abbey having been designed in the shape of an inverted cross (what else for the seat of Satan’s power) and the cathedral built smack dab in the middle, from where she was, she could see most of the important buildings. The comings and going of the Church’s converts, the Siblings of Sin; of the ghouls, and the mild chaos that always followed them. With the sprawling dorm quarters to her right (the Church kept having to build extra quarters, the converts came in droves these past years); the massive mess hall and storage district to her left; the smattering of offices, libraries and hobby halls before her; and the heart of their Church, the cathedral, to her back, Sister felt like she stood at the center of the world. As she should. It felt right. This was her kingdom. Of course, this was Lucifer’s Church, far from her the idea to deny His existence and presence. All her life’s work had been for the sake of the Dark Lord Below, to ensure his worship and prosperity beyond her years, but. She’d made this happen. This abbey more than doubling in size. This boom in the Church’s reach and success. This influx of converts and followers. Of souls. Of strength. This was all her. She was the one who found Nihil more than five decades ago now. She was the only one with the power to give him the Eye. To form the Ghost project. To guide them in their crusade to conquer the world. She was the Church.
She led, always a step in front of who their Papa was at the time. They were the face of the Church, the Papas, the Emeritus line, yes. But only so far as they listened to her. She wasn’t called Sister Imperator for nothing. She pulled the strings, like with many of the monarchs of history, back when a king was often nothing more than the male face necessary to legitimize a kingdom’s image, while a Queen Mother or Queen Regent made the real decisions from behind the scenes. If the Papas weren't obedient enough, she could cut them off, replace them. She’d done it before; she’d do it again. Though currently, with who she fought so hard to put on the proverbial throne, she figured disobedience wouldn’t be an issue. Her Copia sure had grown in might and confidence over the years since she’d fought to instate him into the bloodline, but he always came back to her in the end with his tail between his legs to ask for advice. Copia would be lost without her guidance and he knew it. Sister ruled her kingdom ever so.
It had been hard on her. These years of leadership. It was still difficult. She tried to slow down, for the sake of her age, because people near and dear to her heart asked her to. But there was always so much to do around here. Coordinate a tour or a new album release. Oversee ghoul summonings and banishments. Plan the yearly calender, with their black masses and holidays. Keep Copia in line. She’d do it all, because she was strong, because nobody else could do it in a satisfactory manner. She lost herself in the busy work from time to time. Forgot herself. Everything changed around here so fast. Two years ago the Church didn’t even have an active pope, just a cardinal in trial. Five years ago they had a megalomaniac at the helm who was simultaneously the Church’s biggest success and greatest failure. Two years, five years, these time lines went by so fast at her age, it was like a blip in her life. She barely had time to get used to a new normal before something else changed. Siblings of Sin joined and left before she could get to know them; ghouls were summoned and were sent back to the pits so quickly she felt like she’d just blinked and they were gone. And the winds of change were upon them again. Something was going to happen to Copia, or as she should call her darling rat boy now, Papa Emeritus IV, very soon. It was foretold. Sometimes Sister just wanted rest. Normalcy. For things to remain stable for a while. So she could get her bearings, and not be perpetually exhausted.
Throughout this endless flurry of changes, one thing always remained the same. And that was Nihil. Her love of old, of the right bloodline to receive the Eye, to serve the Church, to serve her. He had been a constant for all these decades. Since the beginning, Nihil stood by her side, no questions asked (though, the more years he had in him, the more bickering he tacked on it too, but that never diminished his devotion). The original Papa seemed to always know what she needed without her having to say a word, which was ideal because Sister wasn’t a fan of spelling things out for people or repeating herself. Nihil just knew. Because he was so familiar with her and her expressions, because he was really good at anticipating, she didn’t know why or how, but the man was a wonder at it.
Sister loved him. For that and more. Even if saying the words themselves was difficult. She’d loved him then, when they were young, fiery and passionate; she still loved him now, in a different way. Their relationship was a tumultuous one, on and off and on again, mostly decided by her. She’d go into cycles of hot and cold towards the guy. Nihil, well, he just worshiped her. Treated her like a goddess every chance he got. In quite embarrassing ways sometimes: the man had always been socially awkward, as charismatic as he could be on stage (the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with Copia, that was for damn sure) and the former Papa was known to go overboard in romantic gestures and love demonstrations, but. Sister couldn’t deny she loved the attention. Nihil treated her like she was the center of the universe, like she deserved to be treated.
Back in the day, their dynamic was quite obvious. Nihil was quite literally her pet on a leash, and when they played, they played hard. Nowadays, age was a factor. Bodies were different, just as beautiful, just as full of joy, but less athletic, and stamina was a thing, while back then it wasn’t even something they considered. No, today Nihil’s worship was softer. He showed his appreciation via service, via gift giving. By Satan’s Grace, the gifts. He routinely buried her under tokens of love. Sister had no clue where he got the money for all these trinkets - she sure hoped Papa wasn’t embezzling Church funds to spoil her - but it did warm her heart and cut through the bleakness of her days whenever the old man sauntered into her office or caught up to her on the abbey grounds with one more offering to lay before her.
His most recent kick was flowers. And by most recent, Sister meant, it had been going on for a handful of years, and she enjoyed the stability. The predictability, the comfort in his gesture. The how and the when were always the same: every week, like clockwork, Nihil would bring her flowers. Sometimes a single bud, sometimes extravagant bouquets. Sometimes whole potted plants, from succulents to indoor trees. Sometimes it was wreathes for her office door, or holiday decor (it’s not like the Church of Satan celebrated society’s regular holidays like Christmas, they did the opposite in fact, so he ordered the decorations custom made to theme). The species of the blooms changed often. He liked to express how he felt towards her through his choice of flower, he was old school like that. He never told Sister explicitly what he meant, trusting fully she knew the Victorian language of flowers too.
The Church matriarch hadn’t known at first. After a few gifts, once she realized Papa wasn’t picking species at random, she took his bouquets to the abbey’s extensive library, and found old guide books on the language of flowers. She studied them. Late nights by candlelight when she was sure nobody was around, even the scribe ghouls. She had a reputation to maintain, and the portrait of her gently smiling while combing books to find the right paragraph that described Nihil’s gift wasn’t the image she wanted to cultivate for the Siblings and ghouls. This was just for her. And for Nihil, when she invariably found him the following day, to lay a kiss on the white hair at his temples, and thank him for his message. Their little ritual that brightened her days. Was she right back in Imperator mode after, the steel hand in a glove of steel too that led the abbey forth? You bet. But they still had these small moments of tenderness together.
Nihil didn’t just go to the greenhouses and gardens on abbey property to acquire his gifts. It would have been so much simpler for him, especially as he aged and his eyesight worsened. Once you had to have a couple Siblings of Sin in tow to carry your oxygen tanks for you at all times, travel got more complicated. Nevertheless, Nihil wouldn’t have been content to offer his flame regular old greenhouse greenery. No, once a week he asked his chauffeur to drive him to a city nearby. Diligently, on a schedule, he went to the same florist he’d been going to for years, and picked out this week’s offering. Some days he knew exactly what he wanted to say; some days he took his time, asked for the florist to open a cold room or a refrigerator for him so he could run his fingers ever so lightly over the buds and feel them, help him see them, build bouquets in his mind’s eye, trying to get the best aesthetic with the help of the staff who described the flowers’ colors and shapes as best they could. The flower shop staff knew him well, after all these years. They waited for him. They’d chat, Papa would listen, nod and grunt, offer dad jokes and a sort of grandfather’s council when needed. But the entire staff knew that he was here for his Sister Imperator first and foremost, whom he never shut up about anyway. She was always his priority. Nihil would leave with a gift, sometimes after five minutes, sometimes after an hour. Went back to the car, got driven back to the abbey. By midday Imperator’s gift was on her desk.
The funny thing was, since Nihil would give so many flowers to Sister constantly, most of the time the previous ones were still alive and vibrant when he brought new ones over. So Sister started to bring her gifts to the greenhouses at some point, after she nearly ran out of space in her marble and obsidian office for all the vases. Full circle. She passed Nihil’s flowers onto the earth ghouls and asked them to see what could be replanted, if anything. Nihil liked his rare finds, his expensive imports, his delicate blossoms, so not everything could be kept alive, even with earth ghoul magic at play. But some flowers could. The potted plants and trees did especially well. The ghouls would separate them throughout the different artificial climates they cultivated in their various greenhouses, each plant got as close to ideal conditions as it could. After near a decade of more than fifty gifts a year, it was safe to say, Nihil and Sister Imperator had acquired little corners for themselves in every garden and greenhouse on property. Small secret gardens, if you will.
Sister wasn’t sure Nihil realized what she’d been doing. She hadn’t told him directly, so unless an earth ghoul reported to him, he might not even know. Sister would rarely visit her gardens of gifts, left them to the care of the earth ghouls mostly, but some days, when Church leadership really got to her, when weariness and exhaustion hit hard after hours of parlays and harsh negotiations, she knew the gardens would be there. Radiating annoyance and frustration, she’d stomp to one greenhouse or another; people got out of her way, the whole abbey knew better than to engage her when she was in a Mood. She’d find the patch of flowers Nihil had gifted her - she remembered which weak, which year, in what context -, look at the new young blooms. Sat on the stacked flagstone edging, delicately brushed her wrinkled fingers on the smooth petals, smelled the blossom’s fragrances, and immediately she’d soften. Warm up. Smile, crow’s feet apparent around her eyes from the affection. Even when it felt like the world burned around her, Nihil was by her side. Her constant. Her unchangeable.
And so, it was only right that, once she was done reminiscing and making sure there wasn’t any obvious chaos going on around the abbey grounds today, she headed back inside. Through marble corridors, the stern click-clack of her heels echoing on the stone walls, all the way to her office. Where she found, as expected, a vase on her work desk. She reached for it, clicked her long nails on the plain glass. This week’s bouquet was more of an ornamental one, branches and delicate flowers. There were apple blossoms, one of Nihil’s favorites to gift her. “I prefer you before all others”, this one meant. They both remembered what happened at the Whiskey in ‘69, and since then Nihil had been keen on reminding her she was his priority, even if the Whiskey wasn’t the only time the man “tripped and fell on another person’s face” in the following decades. Yes, the apple blossoms, she expected, they made sense. The other flower in the mix was a curious choice, an unusual fare: red columbines. Sister Imperator’s brows furrowed as she tried to remember this one’s meaning. Foolishness? Folly? If she recalled right. Whatever did Nihil try to tell her? He was a fool for her? She knew that. Or, did he want to do something foolish?
Her questions were answered by a handwritten note, folded under the glass vase. She pulled it out. Unfolded it, to be greeted by Nihil’s grandfatherly chicken scratch of a handwriting, that had gotten less and less legible as his eyesight worsened throughout the years (some day soon he’d need to dictate his messages to a Sibling; for now Sister suspected Nihil needed to be handed the pen and paper, have his hands placed at the right spot on the page so he didn’t write off on the desk, but his hands still remembered the shapes of the letters, kind of like if she’d write with her eyes closed):
“Mr. Saltarian offered to lend us his beach house, if that is something you would enjoy,” he wrote, with his signature themed around a zero symbol below.
Right. Now she understood the foolish flower. Who had time for a trip at the beach, when there was a whole satanic church to keep on track-
She paused. Looked at the flowers. Looked away. Back at the flowers, then sighed and sank on her ornate wooden chair. She was quite like this chair. Solid. Durable. Dependable. But so stiff. And uncomfortable. Her old bones ached for something plush and soft to sink into, not this. She was fatigued. She should go, shouldn’t she? To the beach house. If only for a day. To spend some time away from the abbey would do her good, lest she wanted to admit it. She imagined the beach would be warm and sunny at this time of year. She wouldn’t mind some heat on her skin. Some vitamin D. Less of a bleary climate than here. Maybe she’d do a folly too, and trade her stern pinned suits for something looser, more fun, that let the sun kiss her weary skin a little.
Fine, she’d go to the beach with Nihil.
***
The trip took a while to organize (it turned out the real motive of their outing at the beach was for Saltarian to train Copia for something or other; Imperator and Nihil’s romantic beach day was an afterthought, albeit a kind one) but it happened eventually. The four of them squeezed into Copia’s old beat up car, they put a trash metal cassette in the tape player, and they were off.
Sister had indeed managed to convince her inner control freak to leave her pressed blazers and skirts at home - they were going to a beach house, not a world leader’s conference for Lucifer’s sake - and she had opted instead for a sleeveless black dress, a nod to her latex and leather fashion choices of old, but in a much more comfortable stretchy material. She dressed it up with a chic colorful scarf and a pair of fashionable sunglasses, should she need them later. Nihil was sat besides her on the back seat, in his papal robes of all things. He never got out of those. Not that he wore the same robes every day, that’d be revolting. He just had that many sets. Constantly on rotation to and from the dry cleaner. Fortunately, he had Sister to plan ahead for him: she’d packed some knee shorts, floral print shirts (keeping up with her dear old man’s latest greenery obsession) and swim trunks. She didn’t tell him she packed his bag, it was tucked away in the car’s trunk; Nihil would have argued he didn’t need anything other than his robes anyway. But somewhere in the trip when it’d get too hot under layers and layers of ornate brocade, when he’d start to complain about the heat, she’d be right there with a solution. Forever a step ahead of him.
The road was quite long, and the trip didn’t go without a hitch. They had to make several stops - one of which had her biting the inside of her cheeks in a weird mix of pure frustration with Nihil and hilarity at his old man antics - and some conversations were tense. Saltarian revealing how Copia’s days were numbered was, well, a pill she’d have to work on swallowing another day. They were on a “family” trip to the beach damnit, they could think of doom another time. Imperator tried her hardest to not think of the Church too much. Leave work at home. She was the one who proposed they played a game, the band game she named it on the spot, where you’d name a band and the next person would have to name another band which began with the last letter of the previous answer. That would spark conversation about music taste, probably some laughter too right? Take their minds of things? Copia participated enthusiastically, her sweet boy, always so eager to imitate her and please her.
Nihil took part as well. He wasn’t the brightest, her Papa. She hadn’t chosen him five decades ago for his brains. She was the brains. No, she’d chosen him for his obedience and willingness to do his best for her. To honor the power of the Eye she gave him, to serve their cause. Nihil had been perfect for that back in the day, and he still was today. Doing his absolute best to think of bands, even if he took twice as long as everyone else. She gave him the space he needed to scrape his brain, so everyone else did too. Nihil would find a band name, say it then turn to her, looking for approbation, for confirmation he did it right. Since Imperator played after him, she could give that reassurance. The way he looked at her, with puppy dog eyes full of stars, even if said eyes were glazed over with white. They were still so expressive. The white iris conveyed all the reverence and deep seated love the world could hold. They reminded Sister she’d made the right choice.
It was those eyes, and the game, that made her want to try her best during this trip. To rekindle what her and Nihil had, what they would still have if she wasn’t so busy. Sister was the one who played hot and cold; Nihil had never been cold towards her a day in his life. Prickly, yes; abrasive, sometimes; gruff like old men were, for sure. But he’d never been out of love with her. In truth, she’d not been either, she just forgot how it felt to be actively in love with him, because Church business took precedence. It was stressful to try to take over the world for Satan ok. Big work. Often she wasn’t rested enough to have the patience for anyone else, and her Papa bore the brunt of that. Today she’d behave differently. She’d recover and recharge, so she could be fully present with him.
***
The strangely merry gang arrived at the beach house mid way through the afternoon. Saltarian had booked a chef to take care of Imperator and Nihil’s dinner, make it fancy, real vacation-y (it was Copia’s idea but sshh, he couldn’t say it. Nihil might’ve refused the food if he knew it came from him, on behalf of that one time Copia called him a dickhead to his face during a family dinner). Then they left their elders alone.
They dined like kings, service after service paired with glasses of delicious wines, finally something else to drink than communion wine. Listen, the altar wine did the job, it was alcoholic, but it didn’t compare to a drink which was brewed and fermented with actual taste in mind. Delicate salads with old ripened cheese, the type with the huge salt crystals within the flesh; scallops, the most plush, soft, succulent sweet morsels, cooked just enough to caramelize the top; airy passion fruit cream cake, slathered in velvety smooth and light frosting cut by the singular tartness of the fruit’s juice and seeds reduction. Imperator fed Nihil every bite. Papa could feed himself when he was alone, he still saw approximative lights and shadows, enough to know where his plate would be if one was placed before him. Utensils were a bit trickier though, and anyway, it was more intimate like this. Sister had her eyes. Despite her age and the various injuries she’d gone through in her past, her sight remained untouched, and all the better. She could be Nihil’s eyes. She’d taken his vision away after all. She could at least see for him when she had the time to. Nihil thanked her almost after every bite, commented enthusiastically about how good the food was (and bickered at length about how this was “miles above the abbey’s stupid cafeteria food, pwah!” as one did). He asked for her opinion on each dish, waited while she formulated her thoughts, drank her words even when she had Feelings about how overpowering arugula was when paired with an ingredient as elegant as scallops were. They had a good time.
Once service was done, while the chef cleaned the kitchen and packed up to leave, Imperator and Nihil elected to go on a walk on the beach. You know, normal people date activities. They tried their best. They might both have been extremely powerful people at the head of a world-wide organization for Evil, but they were also just humans. Mortals with limited time on this plane. A walk was a soft, simple activity, a moment for them to spend in the presence of someone meaningful. It was quiet. Normal. They needed that.
So they changed in some swim wear, so they could walk in the water if they wanted to. Sister in a black one-piece swimsuit with one jeweled shoulder and a flowy pareo, cream colored with large muted floral prints; Nihil in the trunks and loose bright shirt Imperator had packed for him (he did indeed grumble about it at first, “I didn’t ask you to pack me anything, my robes are just fine Sister!”, but when Imperator dug her heels in about how she was not going to let him dredge in sand and mud with expensive white satin on, for the love of Satan she would not clean that, he agreed and changed.)
It was sunset when they headed out. Sister described it to Nihil. He heard and felt the ocean waves, felt the sand and rocks under his bare feet (it helped him navigate his environment; Sister wore sandals), smelled the air and tasted the salty spray from the waves when they crashed, these things he didn’t need to hear about. But the sunset, well, that didn’t feel or taste like anything, so he needed a description. He saw how the light dipped as they walked further away from the beach house, so Sister only told him about the colors. She knew if he wanted more information, he’d ask. He hadn’t. Just nodded and smiled, looked up ad her, patted her hand - their arms were entwined, under and over, the way older gentleman and ladies walk together.
“You sound like you are having a good time Sister.” He squeezed her hand.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“It suits you.”
She tilted her head for a pause but smiled eventually, petted his arm. She wouldn’t argue against it, for once. She was having fun. An estranged emotion, lately.
“Flowers would suit you especially well today but, humpf.” Nihil pointed to where they were. Indeed not much vegetation around.
“It’s alright. Different is good too sometimes, Papa.” Sister surprised even herself with the thought, but that was how she felt currently. This vacation really did her good.
They listened to the slow pace of their steps crunching in the sand, to the roll of the waves for a spell.
“You don’t have to get me flowers every week, you know,” Imperator mused out loud.
“I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Why flowers?” She’d never thought to ask before. Why the change in gift theme, all these years ago. But they had nothing to do but talk as they walked.
“They remind me of you Sister,” Nihil explained in that gravely, thin voice of his. They were walking without his oxygen tank, because to roll it in the sand would have been a nightmare, so they had to go slow, and they wouldn’t wander too far. “Of what you were when we met. A black rose with vicious thorns. That’s the first thing that came to mind, when I first saw you. On that dance floor, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” How could Imperator ever forget that night. Every instant of the party was engraved in her mind, like an old film strip, millisecond by millisecond, snapshots of the first day of the rest of her life.
Nihil gave her a wide wrinkly smile, happy for the opportunity to reminisce.
“You were a black rose in a field of nondescript colorful flowers. Or a black tulip. A black dahlia perhaps,” the original anti-pope grumbled, getting lost in his head cataloging the types of plant that produced black flowers, until he shook his head and refocused. “Anyway! A dark flower is what I mean. Dark and stunning and alluring, and I couldn’t look away Sister, I couldn’t look away.”
“Please,” Imperator huffed, rolling her eyes playfully.
“All I could think of was, how I wanted to throw myself at your thorns repeatedly. Anything to get close to you.”
Sister hummed, smiled fondly, smile lines blooming beautifully around her mouth. “You bled, doing that. I hurt you. I used you.”
“Yes, and it was my pleasure. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
What could he say, Nihil had a thing for ambitious, fearless women, and it would have been difficult to do better than Imperator in that department. He got it bad back then, he still had it bad today. Her power was like a flame, and he was but a moth, powdery and white and old but still fascinated, still vivacious, hungry for her blinding glow, mesmerized. One flutter of his old wings away from burning himself, and well, he quite liked to do it. Singe himself on Sister’s bright fire once in a while. Hopelessly addicted to her, he was, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
They both chuckled. Oh the things they’d done through their decades of being partners in crime. The ways they played. The power exchange. All the sexy and twisted shenanigans one could imagine. As long as they were together, and they always respected each other’s boundaries, they’d do it. The sheer amount of fun they had. The crazy shit they got up to. They both got lost in replaying some of their favorite memories in their minds, for a while. Until they went far enough on their walk, and Sister gently turned them back towards the house.
“Today you are more like a whole bush of wild roses. Strong. Fierce. Untamed. Not just a single flower anymore. You spread your roots Sister. Sat your power. Took space. You conquered.”
“With your help Papa.”
“Yes, and others, and Copia today, but we were always just the face of your power. You led the Ministry to grow to what it is today. We can sing and dance and make crowds love us and chant Satan’s name, but it’s all for the sake of the empire you have built. And will continue to build.”
“To my dying breath.”
“Nema, Sister. Nema. You have seen four reigns of us Papas under your hand. We are replaceable. You are not. When you go, the Church will have big shoes to fill.”
“I don’t plan to go anytime soon. I have big plans still. This helps,” Imperator gestured to the nature around her, the beauty of the last remnants of sunset as they approached the beach house, the vastness of the sea at their feet. “This invigorates me. Relaxes me. Rest, good clean air, less work. Or stress. It helps. You, help.” She said that last sentence pointedly, to make sure Nihil heard her, and squeezed his arm.
“Aye Sister. And thus, this is why I bring you flowers every week. And I shall continue to do so until I cannot anymore, and then beyond that.”
***
And later that night, way after the sun had set, in this beach house of theirs, no neighbors around, no civilization, no car sounds or street lights; with just the rolling rhythm of the crashing waves on the shore as a sound track, and only candle light to guide their eyes for those who saw in shadows and shapes; with open doors and windows, letting the wind and sea air roll in, wash over them, cleanse them of their fatigue and weariness; it would be only them under the moonlight, would they dare to say, bewitched? Only them and their whispers, their raspy laughs, their gasps and moans, their soft commands and "yes ma'am" agreements; a wink and a nod to how they played together when they were young. But today, in the here and now, inhabiting their current bodies, with their current capabilities but no less desire, their flames fanned high still. Reconnected, to celebrate the years of dynamic they had behind them, and the years they’d still have together from then on. The empress and her raptured pope of original sin who’d follow her to the ends of the world.