Chapter Text
"Are you sure you should be talking to me? Didn't you promise your grandma you'd clean the attic today?"
Rolling her eyes at Rayna's insistence, Qyana sighed while picking up another box of old books to sift through.
"You know we have a neat little invention called 'hands-free', right?"
"Ooh, well excuse me, Miss Multitasking." the other girl chuckled. "So, find anything interesting up there? I'm sure your grandma has all sorts of neat stuff in that attic."
"Only tons of dust, so far." she replied, trying with little success to wave away the particles that rose from moving the topmost books out of the box. "I wonder when anyone last cleaned up here."
"Did you remember to open the window?"
"Yeah, I figured I'd need some fresh air."
To her great relief, the books underneath were far less dusty, and she carefully started picking them up one by one to check the titles.
"Didn't know Grandma enjoyed supernatural stories." she giggled, taking a moment to watch the art on the first two covers.
"Well, even your grandma was our age once. If they're any good, lend them to me after you read them."
"Will do."
Setting them aside, she dug back into the box only to blink at the similar titles that she kept pulling out.
"Seems she was really into this genre. This whole box is nothing but angels, demons, and the like."
"Huh! That's a little unexpected. She doesn't really strike me as the type to enjoy that kind of fantasy."
"Well, she has been very religious her whole life, so it makes sense in some way. Still, I have a feeling the Church wouldn't exactly approve of some of these more—ahem—raunchy looking ones."
"No! For real?" Rayna laughed. "That's even weirder, but cute somehow?"
"Yeah, I might just ask her about them to see what she says."
Again, she set down the books in her hands, and peered into the box where only two others were left at the bottom. Reaching in to pick them up, she gasped and yelped in surprise before dropping them onto the floor.
"Babe, are you okay? What happened?"
"Nothing, I just—it felt like static when I picked up these last two." she said to her friend's concerned tone, bending over to retrieve the books. "It's probably because of Grandma's carpets. Huh, these look interesting."
The first larger tome was leather-bound, its corners encrusted in what appeared to be actual gold, a clasp made of the same material holding the covers together, like a lock. On the cover, made from the same golden metal, a dragon was bolted into the leather, holding a star medallion in its claws.
'What in the world is this book?' she mused, unsure why the dragon's ruby eye sent a weird tingle down her spine the more she looked at it.
Shaking her head, she pulled the other booklet on top. This one was leather-bound as well, but other than that, it didn't bear any distinctive marks. It was somewhat smaller than the other tome, and Qyana arched a brow in confusion when she tried sifting through the pages, only to find that most of them were actually fake. The booklet only opened in the middle, where the two pages bore a similar theme.
"This is weird... what even is this book?" she murmured, forgetting entirely that her friend was still on the phone with her.
"Did you find something good?" Rayna asked, startling her.
"Yeah, I think so—I don't even know how to describe these ones. I'll have to ask Grandma about it. Actually, I'll go do that right now. We'll talk later."
Hanging up without waiting for her friend to say anything more, she closed the booklet and hurried out of the attic. Finding the elderly woman in the kitchen, preparing lunch, she smiled as the scent of grilled fish reached her.
"Grandma, can I ask you something about these books I found?" she said, moving to sit at the table.
"Of course, dear." the woman turned around with a smile, her humor fading into a wide-eyed stare as her gaze landed on the tomes Qyana had placed on the table. "Where did you find those?"
"In the attic. You had this whole box full of fantasy books about angels and demons. These were at the bottom of the pile."
Approaching the table, the old woman reached for the journal with eagerness and opened it, her fond gaze falling onto the tarot image of the Devil. Only when she trailed her hand over the page—clearly reliving some beautiful memories, as far as Qyana could tell—and she saw her wrinkled skin, did a trace of sorrow overshadow her expression.
"What would Father Michael say, if he saw you looking like that at the Devil?" she teased, trying to ease the atmosphere.
"It's much more complicated than that, sweetheart." the elder replied with a wistful smile. "So much more complicated..."
For a few ticks, Qyana watched her staring at the book, her breaths more rapid now, her eyes then darting to the pen hanging by the wall-mounted landline. Combined with her reply, it drove away the smile from Qyana's face, prompting her to reach for her grandmother's hand only to feel it twitch.
"Are you alright, Grandma?"
As though her touch had snapped the woman out of some reverie, she smiled again and nodded.
"Yes, dear, I'm fine. Why don't you keep these? I think you're mature enough to handle them, by now. Take good care of them."
"Well—what even am I supposed to do with them? One's locked, and I can't figure out how to open it, and the journal is just these two pages. I can't even use it as a diary."
"Why don't you start by introducing yourself? Something cool will happen, if you do." the elder chuckled, tapping the page displaying the High Priestess tarot image.
As always, whenever she heard her grandmother using such unexpected words, Qyana laughed and shook her head.
"This is what I get for letting my friends meet you. They totally corrupted you."
~*~*~*~
It was almost midnight, and Qyana had at last finished writing her paper for the following week's presentation. Leaning back in her chair, she raised her arms to stretch her spine, sighing in relief as the knots in her back eased. Feeling the need for a break from the computer screen, she stood and walked over to the balcony door to open it and let in the cool, early summer air. Stepping outside, she took a deep breath of the fresh air, and smiled at the breeze that washed across her bare arms, causing her skin—heated from being cooped up inside—to break out into goosebumps.
For a while she stayed out there, leaning against the railing in the bright light from the full moon hanging overhead, watching the peacefully sleeping village in the valley nearby. With her grandmother's house up on the hill, so close to the forest surrounding the settlement, she could enjoy the quiet broken only by branches swaying whenever a stronger pale of wind passed, or some nightly bird crying up to the heavens.
And yet, no matter how she tried to keep her mind from it, no matter how she tried to distract herself, curiosity ever gnawed at her. Her grandmother's words had stuck in her head all day, to where she could barely focus on any schoolwork.
"Why don't you start by introducing yourself?"
It was so odd how the old woman had phrased it—as if the journal wasn't just a book. As if it was alive somehow. After lunch, in her room, she had sat on the bed for a while holding the booklet, and debating whether to actually write something. She felt both strangely attracted to it, and terrified of using it. Staring at the pictures only gave her the impression that if she focused enough, she could see them breathing! That she could see the priestess' bony hands ever so faintly moving, or the light from her candle gingerly flickering. That the devil's creepy smile only grew wider and more unhinged, the more she looked at it.
'Oh, what the hell?' she sighed, when curiosity again overtook her.
Tearing herself away from the beautiful night scenery, she stepped back inside the bedroom. The journal was in the same place she had left it, on the nightstand next to her bed atop the locked tome. She was still standing next to the balcony door, in the moonlight, when the muted sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway downstairs startled her, announcing the stroke of midnight.
'What's wrong with me? It's just a stupid book!' she berated herself, pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart.
And yet her feet refused to move at first, keeping her rooted to the spot as she stared at the books by her bed. Each chime of the clock gave her the odd feeling that something was pulsating within her, almost like a second heart.
'Ugh, you're just being childish—being afraid of a book. What are you, five?'
Again she chided herself, and this time her willpower won out over whatever was holding her back. Grabbing a pen from the desk, she walked across the room with a purposeful stride, snatching the journal from the nightstand and sitting on the bed. Opening the book, she put the tip of the pen to the paper right beneath the priestess' image, and her entire body clenched up for a second as if it was trying to keep her from writing.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?!' she frowned, irritated that she couldn't tell for the life of her why she was so hesitant to write in a stupid book.
It took a few seconds of battling herself, but her willpower won out, and her hand glided across the page with more ease than she had ever known.
==
My name is Qyana Rhodes.
==
Pulling her hand back, she stared intently at the pages, counting the seconds in her head. Her grandmother had never lied to her, and she couldn't fathom that the woman would start now. But as the clock on her nightstand ticked away, and nothing happened, she felt more and more disappointed and ridiculous.
'I mean, what did I really expect to happen? Maybe Grandma was just joking with me.'
She was just about to close the journal, when she was suddenly left gaping at the pages like an idiot, a gasp releasing the breath she hadn't even noticed she was holding in. Right before her eyes, her own words were absorbed into the paper, just before writing appeared on the page beneath the devil's tarot card. The bright red font spread a delicate glow onto the page, the beautiful calligraphy mesmerizing to watch as an invisible hand etched the words into the journal.
==
This is a pleasant surprise. It's been too long, Qyana.
==
'It—it talk—no, what... what is this book?!'
Her mind was spinning, and she nearly dropped the journal, with how her hands were shaking. She was certain that she hadn't fallen asleep, that this couldn't be a dream! But things like this just didn't happen in real life. Books didn't talk! And yet, there she was, holding the damn thing in her hands, staring at the bright letters with her own eyes.
Her gaze went back up, to the deranged grin of the devil in the picture, and in a weird turn of emotions, any trace of fear she had felt was gone. In its place, curiosity washed over her like a tidal wave, driving her to write a reply. Her motions were hasty—almost hungry—as she scribbled the first question that popped into her mind.
==
(Q = Qyana; L = Lucifer)
Q: Who are you?
L: I see you're in a playful mood today. Or has it really been so long that you don't even remember who gave you this diary?
==
That reply gave her pause, despite the myriad of questions swirling in her brain. That—whoever or whatever it was—did it believe that it was talking to her grandmother? It made sense, in a way. She didn't know how long the woman had held onto that journal, nor where she had acquired it. Then, her eyes were again drawn to the tarot card, and an insane thought crossed her mind.
==
Q: Are you the Devil?
L: You're not Qyana. Who are you? How did you get this journal?
==
Was it just her, or were the words... pulsating? On instinct, she traced her fingers over the newly written reply, and it startled her when she felt something. She couldn't be certain if it was just her imagination or not, but something had thrummed deep inside her, as if responding to whatever energy was coming out of the diary. If she had to put it to words, she would have said she felt cautious—worried—angry. Was that real, or was it just the impression the words themselves had left on her?
==
Q: It was in my grandmother's attic. Did you know her?
L: Grandmother? I see. Has it been that long already, since we last talked? I'd forgotten you humans have such fleeting lifespans. Was it she who told you to use the journal?
Q: Yes.
L: Then, should we do proper introductions? I am Lucifer. You may tell me your real name. There is no need to use hers.
Q: That is my real name. My parents wanted to name me after my grandmother. Are... are you really the Lucifer? The Devil?
L: I'm not sure what you're asking. Yes, I am a demon. I assume Qyana didn't bother telling you anything before she let you use this. That would be just like her. She did enjoy playing games.
==
She wasn't sure why, but his last words brought a smile to her lips. If she'd had any doubts that he had known her grandmother, this had erased all of them. Few had ever known the woman well enough, as to even guess that she had a playful streak, due to how serious and mature she always was.
~*~*~
It was still dark out when Qyana twitched awake, not sure if from a dream or from hearing something. The journal lay open on the pillow next to her, Lucifer's last words still glowing dimly on his page: Sweet dreams, little human. She didn't recall seeing him write that, and imagined he must have done it after she had eventually succumbed to the sleep hanging heavily on her lashes. Lifting her head, she looked at the clock once her eyes adjusted better to the dark, and could just barely make out that it was 5 a.m.
'I must've fallen asleep talking to him.' she sighed, closing the journal and placing it back onto the nightstand, unable to fully hold back a smile.
Who would have thought the Devil, of all people, would be so... pleasant? It was unnerving how easy she had found it to talk to him, how the words just spilled out of her, how they had simply clicked, for lack of a better term. Not that she had paid too much heed to religion before, other than the stories her grandmother used to tell her as a child. But even back then, she had taken them as pure fairytales meant to develop her imagination.
'It's kind of weird how natural it feels to just believe that he's the Devil.' she mused while properly slipping under the covers, too sleepy and cozy to get up and undress. 'Maybe it's because he makes intelligent conversation so naturally.'
She was on the fringes of slumber, when an oddly misplaced sound jerked her back to full awareness. A sound like feathers rubbing against one another, but much too large for it to be a bird. For but a moment she lay completely still, heart hammering in her chest, wondering if she had dreamt that. Then she heard it again, somewhere behind her, and instinct drove her to roll onto her back to see what it was.
The first thing she processed was the twin burning emeralds in the darkness of her room, staring down at her. Whatever it was, its gaze was so intense that she felt paralyzed and barely able to even draw breath, faced with the searing hatred that seemed to fill the entire room.
"Filthy half-breed."
The words themselves were like physical blows, and she would have run screaming if her muscles would have obeyed her and moved. Yet the voice she heard behind the words was so out of place, so melodic and soft, that it left her brain in a stupor as she tried to process the dichotomy. A glint of metal drew her attention to the dagger her visitor had pulled from the darkness she assumed were his clothes, the blade having caught the last rays of moonlight still peeking into her room.
Her eyes growing wide with horror, she tried to scream. However, not only did her jaw not move, her voice also refused to come out. And the more she tried, the more she felt like she was about to choke on her own tongue. When he raised the dagger, poised to strike her, she tried to move again, to no avail. She couldn't even shut her eyes, only staring at her impending doom.
Her would-be murderer had just taken one more step forward, when both his attention and Qyana's were drawn to the nightstand. A reddish glow had enveloped both the journal and the grimoire, pulsing like a living being. A swirl of mist blacker than darkness itself rose from the locked book, taking the shape of the dragon bolted to its cover. Its ruby eyes were fixed upon her mysterious assailant, and when it opened its wings she realized it was large enough to fill the room, while unbound by any physical limits. Its screech was deafening, and caused her attacker to leap back, holding the dagger poised for self-defense. But when he chanced another attempt to approach her, the dragon melted into an amorphous mass of black mist, and engulfed him and the room.
She could no longer see anything, could no longer feel or hear anything. She was hanging in a black void, barely able to tell that she could now move her body. Her voice still refused to come out, and the pulse thundering in her ears made her feel dizzy. She felt... hot, as if a fire had been lit inside her body, and was now seeking to consume her from within.
Much too suddenly, she realized the surrounding void had melted into a barren wasteland, under a starless sky. She was kneeling on the hard ground, and only when she tried to move did she notice the shackles binding her wrists, forcing her to keep her arms stretched out to the sides. Frantically glancing around, she noted that she was alone, and at last felt the tears overflow from her eyes. She tried tugging at the chains, but the more she did, the tighter the shackles wound around her wrists, like snakes, until she eventually gave up.
She couldn't tell how long she stayed there, in the maddening silence and emptiness of that place. But the sudden sound of footsteps urged her to lift her head, to the sight of the same twin pair of green eyes boring into her with such boundless hatred, that she could swear his gaze itself was a hand wrapped around her neck, trying to choke her to death.
"The whole world will know what you are, unholy half-breed." he said as he walked past her.
Following him with her gaze, Qyana sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him brandishing a whip. No matter how she struggled to speak, to ask him what he wanted from her, to beg him not to hurt her... her voice was gone. Even when the first lash bit into her back, all she could do was to open her mouth in a silent scream. Her muscles clenched such that she pulled on her chains, until her wrists were bleeding from how tightly the shackles had coiled around them. Though the pain of that was far less than the burning lacerations on her back. The tears flowing down her face, the only testament to her suffering, as her torturer delivered lash after lash with no mercy.
~*~*~
The bloodcurdling scream left her throat feeling raw, as she sprang up in bed, doubling over and wrapping her arms around herself. Her back was burning, and her whole body was alight with pain. She was sobbing and screaming, clawing at her shoulders, in a subconscious attempt to focus on something other than the burn that barely allowed her to breathe, before it broke her mind.
"Honey? What's wrong?"
Her grandmother's concerned voice sounded so muted and so far away, as if she was underwater, and she could only just make out the woman's figure after she turned on the lights.
"It hurts!" she sobbed. "It's burning!"
"Let me see! Sweetheart, let me see!" the elder said, rushing over to her to pull the shirt up off her back.
The sight of the marks searing themselves into her flesh made the elder's muscles lose all strength at first, only a trembling breath leaving her. She had hoped that, after her brother had refused to have any children, it would all be over. That because it hadn't been her, the blood wouldn't get passed along.
"It's alright." she said, trying her best to not let the girl hear the terror that gripped her. "It will go away, sweetheart. It will go away soon."
"It hurts!"
"Shh-sh-sh." the elder hushed her, wrapping her arms about the girl's head as Qyana clung to her. "It will be over soon."
It felt like forever that she sat on the bed, whispering those words over and over, gently rocking her granddaughter and stroking her hair, while the girl wailed into her chest. Her mind was blank for a while, the void filled only with her beloved girl's cries. Then, at last, when Qyana settled down, she recalled everything that had happened in her youth, when her brother had discovered he was one of the 'unholy children'.
'Is this my punishment, for not letting You take my brother back then?' she mused, her eyes fixed on the patch of sky visible through the balcony door. 'If You think I'll just let You take my granddaughter instead, You've got another thing coming!'
~ oOo ~
"Here, honey." the elder said, placing a cup of hot chocolate on the table and leaning over to kiss the girl's forehead.
Nodding in gratitude, Qyana wrapped her hands around the steaming container, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. After the horrible pain had finally passed, a sensation of cold had overtaken her. The only reason she had even fallen asleep again that night, had been due to how utterly spent her ordeal had left her. Even now, the skin on her back was sensitive, but at least she could bear to wear her clothes again.
"How are you feeling?"
Looking up at her grandmother's question, she took a moment to think about it before delivering a reply. God, her brain was so sluggish that morning.
"I think I'm alright." she nodded, bringing the cup to her lips to take a sip of the sweet, hot liquid, and relishing the warmth that spread from her stomach to the rest of her body.
"Do you feel well enough to talk? Because I... have some things I need to tell you. And I need you to listen to them seriously, because your life may just depend on them."
She knew that was the very last thing her granddaughter had expected to hear, but she could not in good conscience keep the secret from her any longer. When Qyana nodded, she walked over to the counter where she had earlier placed the grimoire, after taking it and the journal from the girl's room. Bringing the book and a knife to the table, she sat down and took a deep breath.
"I had hoped that you would not be the one to inherit it. But you did. And all I can do now, to protect you, is to give you the truth." she said, while Qyana straightened in her seat, curiosity burning in her eyes.
Picking up the knife, she pricked her finger and, turning the book sideways, squeezed a drop onto the lock while Qyana watched in stunned silence. Before her very eyes, the golden metal absorbed the liquid mere moments prior to the latch popping open.
"Grandma—"
"Do you remember the story your granduncle Raka used to tell you before bed?"
"The one about the demon who saved a boy from being wrongfully killed? Yes."
"The boy in that story was him. And the demon who saved him, when no one else would, was Lucifer."
Though Qyana opened her mouth to reply, her mind was devoid of thoughts as it tried to process whether the woman was telling the truth, or if she was going senile. But then the elder placed the open grimoire on the table, pushing it to her. The pages showed a detailed drawing of angels descending from above. There were so many of them that she couldn't even see the sky. They were reaching down, to the women waiting for them on the ground with outstretched arms. An overwhelming thirst for knowledge took her over, and she reached out of instinct to trail her fingertips over the engraving.
She never would have believed it, if someone else had told her something like that could happen. But the wave of emotions that washed over her threatened to drown her. So much love, so much sorrow, so much pain. Anger, hatred, loneliness... madness! With a gasp, she tore her hand away and clutched at her chest, only luck making it so that she didn't fall back with her chair.
"What's happening to me?" she sobbed, looking back at her grandmother—her only source of answers.
The look that the old woman gave her was overflowing with pity, riddled with guilt, glinting with a fear more primal than Qyana had ever seen before, in anyone.
"Long ago, angels used to walk this Earth whenever they pleased." the elder began her explanation. "They would disguise themselves as humans, and try to help wherever they were needed. Back then, the Celestial Realm had yet to shut itself off from ours. Then, after centuries—maybe millennia—of this, the Great Celestial War happened. Some of the angels started a rebellion against God, and in their desperation to win, they created a new weapon: the Nephilim."
Turning her gaze back to the book where her grandmother was pointing, Qyana took in the drawing of a young pair—male and female. Both looked no different from regular humans, but for the curved horns adorning their heads, and the angel wings sprouting from their backs.
"As they could not create angels of their own, some of the rebellious angels slept with human women, hoping their children would inherit their powers, to replenish the ranks of their army. But God was furious for this, and cursed those children to be hunted by both angels and humans, until their extinction. The rebellion was quashed, and the angels who fought against Him were banished, turned into demons. Over time, most of the Nephilim were eradicated until God took pity on them. But even with Him taking back His order, humans and some of the angels still hunt down the Nephilim, to this day."
"Wait, you—are you saying they still exist?"
"Their blood was passed on, through humans who could see that they were not mindless beasts: they were just people. The Nephilim are rare nowadays, it is true, but the blood persists in some families."
As she reached that point, the old woman moved her hand lower to a drawing depicting a young woman's naked back, adorned with what looked to be a tattoo of an angel's wings.
"Over time, perhaps by God's own design, their wings no longer manifested physically, except as marks similar to these. Their horns fell off, and they started to look more and more human. But these marks are proof that the curse remains with them to this day."
Out of reflex, Qyana reached for her shoulder. She didn't want to believe it, but if she went and looked into the mirror... would she see similar marks on her back? By now, her mind was putting the pieces together into a horrifying picture.
"So then—"
"My brother was one of them, yes." her grandmother nodded before she could even finish the question. "When we were about your age, he one day found a pentagram medallion in the forest. We never knew if it was coincidence, or if some witch placed it there for whatever purpose. That night, his blood manifested just like it happened to you. Our parents tried everything, every conceivable medicine and remedy. Then, the priest who served here before Michael caught wind of it, and reported my brother's case to the Church leaders. They sent a hunter to dispose of him, saying that his kind was far too dangerous to be allowed to live."
"And... how does Lucifer tie into all this?"
"Raka's execution was already established, and my parents had given up any hope that they could save him." the old woman sighed heavily. "But I refused to believe there was no way to save my brother's life. I refused to believe that! It was sheer luck—or perhaps God intended for it to happen this way—that a sorcerer was passing through the village at the time. He posed as a wandering doctor, but I had seen enough to guess he was much more than that. I went asking for his help, and he told me that if I wanted to save Raka, I would need far more power than what he could offer. He said he would give me the grimoire, in exchange for one night in his bed."
"Th-that's—!" Qyana blurted out, shocked by her grandmother's words.
"It really wasn't as bad as it sounds." the elder smiled, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Back then, I had yet to meet your grandfather, so it was a simple choice to make. And at the very least, he wasn't a brute. In return, he not only gave me the book but also told me that the Church's so-called 'hunter' was actually an angel, in the guise of a human. If I wanted to be certain I could save my brother, I would need the aid of a powerful demon. He was the one who told me to summon Lucifer, to enter a pact with him, and ask for his help to fight the angel. He taught me the summoning spell, and assured me that Lucifer was... reasonable. Far more so than any other demon."
"I'm guessing you had to give him something in return, though. I don't know if the real deal is in any way similar to fiction, but any pact with a demon—to my knowledge—means you have to pay them for the service you ask."
"Let's just say we were incredibly fortunate with Lucifer, twice over. He truly was reasonable, for one. And second, he took a liking to Raka. His price was a portion of my brother's natural magic, that all Nephilim have because of the angel blood that runs in their veins. He said he would have taken all of it under any other circumstances, which very well may have resulted in my brother's death. But he liked my brother, and only took part of it. And he did so gradually, over the course of Raka's life, ensuring he would not be ill-affected by that. So we were terribly fortunate. Should we ever need him, I fear to imagine the price he would demand now."
~*~*~*~
It was afternoon, and the old woman was seated on the couch, the open journal on her lap. Qyana had insisted on attending her online classes that day, claiming that she needed a bit of normalcy after what had happened. That had left her grandmother alone with her thoughts, and for the better part of the day, she had tried her best to just focus on her usual chores. But there was no escaping the pang of fear that shadowed her more faithfully than any dog. In the end, she had given in to that nagging thought at the fringes of her mind, and was now staring absentmindedly at the diary, holding a pen.
She was still hesitant to talk to him, after so many decades, but there was no way around it. There was simply no way she would allow her granddaughter to share her brother's fate.
==
It's been a long time, Luci.
==
It took a couple of minutes of her just staring at the pages, before emotion squeezed her chest when her words were absorbed into the paper, while the demon's reply wrote itself.
==
I believe we agreed you would never call me that again.
==
She could practically see him rolling his eyes at the annoying moniker, and couldn't hold back a smile. Gosh, she had missed talking to him. She didn't even know how she had had such willpower, to put the journal away and never touch it again, for so many years. Her hand was just hovering over her page to reply, when he went on startling her.
==
(G = Granny; L = Lucifer)
L: Since you're talking to me now, I am assured the girl was telling the truth yesterday.
G: She is my granddaughter, if that's what you’re asking.
L: I surmised that much. Tell me, why in all three worlds did you give her the same name? That's just a sure way to confuse everyone.
G: Straight to the point, as always. It was my son who wanted her to have that name. He wanted a part of me to live through her, even when I'll be gone.
L: You humans and your sentimentalities. I will never understand that.
G: Of course you do, you incurable liar. If you didn't, you wouldn't be so good to your brothers.
L: Speaking of brothers, how is Raka doing? I expected at least he would keep in touch, after what I did for him.
G: He would have, if he had known where I hid the journal. After that ordeal, I just wanted him to have a normal life, away from anything supernatural.
L: I suppose that makes sense. So, then, how is he?
G: He died thirteen years ago. For the last few months of his life, he had been complaining more and more often that he sometimes felt like someone was watching him, or that he had spotted someone stalking him whenever he was out. Then, my son and his family went to visit him one day. He called to tell me Raka was dead. The autopsy report said he died of a heart attack, but I know better. He was clutching a fistful of white feathers, when my son and his wife found him. I know what really killed him.
L: I see. So they got to him in the end. Pity. He was cunning and strong willed. I liked him.
G: I need your help again, Lucifer. Qyana
L: She's a half-breed like him? I see. I assume you wish to make another pact with me then?
G: Yes. She isn't being hunted yet, but I cannot afford to wait until someone tries to kill her. I can't trust anyone else to watch over her. Please.
==
For the longest time he didn't reply, and the old woman was left staring at her last words. Had anyone asked her right then, she would have said she had absolutely no doubt that Lucifer would make another pact with her. And so, when her words at last vanished and his reply came, it stunned her to her core.
==
No.
==
It seemed like forever until she got her body moving again, until she tore her eyes away from the glowing letters to scribble a hasty plea.
==
G: Lucifer, please! You're the only one I can trust to keep her alive!
L: What you're asking for is not the same as last time. If there was someone on her tail, I might have considered a pact. But I will not neglect my duties, to babysit a human for an indefinite period. Besides, you could never afford the price I would demand, for the amount of time I would waste on her.
==
Again, the old woman was left staring at the journal, her heart drumming in her ears and her mind frantic, like a cornered animal. The only one she had believed she could rely on, had abandoned her when she needed him most. She set the diary aside, to hide her face in her hands as she wept, Lucifer's final reply still glowing onto the pristine page.
==
I'm sorry.
==
An hour later, after having cleared her mind and left a note for Qyana, the elder was to be found stepping into the courtyard of the church at the heart of the village. If Lucifer wouldn't help her, then she had no other choice but to talk to Michael and seek his advice. Had he not been close with her family for many years, she would not have even contemplated revealing Qyana's condition to him. But as it stood, she had no options now that Lucifer had forsaken her, and she refused to let God take her darling girl without a fight.
"Qyana, it's good to see you again." the old priest greeted her with a smile, having just finished his conversation with another villager. "I hope you're feeling better these days."
"Yes, my aches have gone down recently." she nodded with as much of a smile as she could muster.
"Did something happen?"
"We need to talk, Michael. I need your advice, I—it's my granddaughter."
With a quick glance around the church, to make sure they were alone, the priest gestured for her to sit on one of the benches lining up the walls, while he went over to the woman selling candles and asked her to make sure no one disturbed them. Returning to the elder, he sat next to her and nodded his permission for her to speak of what ailed her. But by the end of the old woman's hushed speech, he could only heave a sigh.
"I don't know how I can help you." he shook his head, his tone laced with powerless sorrow.
"Michael, please!" she insisted, reaching to grasp his hands. "I lost my brother all those years ago. Then that car accident took my son and my daughter-in-law. My granddaughter is all I have left. I can't lose her too—that would kill me!"
"Qyana, you know what would happen if I told my superiors about her. You know the Church doesn't approve of these cursed children. I know she's a good, kind girl. But no one else would believe that, if they heard of this. They would only see her the same as the monsters talked about in myths."
"So what should I do then?" she sobbed. "Should I just wait until one of those bastards kills her, like they killed Raka?"
Heaving another sigh, the priest squeezed her hands in an attempt to comfort her. Truly, her family had been given such terrible trials, and he pitied the woman.
"Alright." he nodded in the end. "I'll see what I can find out, without informing anyone of her 'condition'. Perhaps you should try to bring her here more often. The Lord might be more merciful towards her, if she seeks to get closer to Him."
"Do you really believe that? My brother always sought to be close to Him, and he received no mercy." she replied, only nodding in the face of his scolding stare. "I'll talk to her, but I can't promise that she'll be able to set aside her skepticism."
As fate would have it, Qyana herself had decided to visit the church after finding her grandmother's note. She didn't know why she felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to go there, but something was drawing her to the white building, now painted a pale rose by the setting sun. Upon seeing her, the priest offered the elder a knowing smile—he had suspected that the girl's angelic blood would drive her towards anything that was holy. Standing, he went to talk to Qyana, while her grandmother watched in silence.
'I will do anything to keep you safe.' she resolved. 'God or the Devil... I don't care who I have to ask for help!'