Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hell was burning red as always—sinners brawling in the streets, sexy demons and succubi striking poses outside storefronts, trying to seduce whoever passed. The neon-pink “Yuri Lovehouse” sign still had dried blood spattered across it, leftover from last week when some drugged-up girl lost her mind and beat two of the workers half to death. Honestly, the stain makes the ‘lovehouse’more wild and vital.

It was just before noon when Giselle swaggered out of the Yuri Lovehouse, all loose shoulders and smug grin. On her way out, she snagged a pack of blueberry bubblegum from some homeless guy’s pocket. ‘What’s he gonna do, eat it for dinner? Please….’ Besides, stealing candy was one of her favorite hobbies. That’s how she’d survived her first days in Hell anyway—pickpocketing, quick hands, sharper eyes.

‘Pop.’ She tossed the gum into the air, tilted her head back, and caught it in her mouth. Rock music from the brothel speakers pulsed through the street, and she swayed to the beat like she didn’t have a care in the world. Hard not to be in a good mood after a round of wild sex, and her fingers still smelled faintly of the girl she’d just been with.

Giselle stuck out like a sore thumb—in a good way. She had that reckless, fearless vibe only young people manage to pull off. Didn’t matter if it was hulking, beastlike sinners or Hell’s overlords themselves, she always had that “whatever” smirk on her face and a voice that screamed I don’t give a damn.

What it has a good way though, nobody could brainwash or control her. Giselle was one of the rare few in Hell who still actually had a soul.In her mind,freedom is the most important thing that you have to own when you alive .Although she’s not alive ha!but who can believe that after a harsh and unbearable living time,when you finally think you will usher in liberation ,then ‘Bomb’ you’re down to the place which is ten times harder and sufferable than hell , and you still need to live there.

Giselle still remember that Alastor,the radio demon ,the owner of that creepy and terrifying smile, had tried flattering her more than once—He was very impressed by her courage, her quick body—but Giselle only ever loved the wind-in-her-hair kind of life. Today ,she may be a cruel killer, without hesitation, she would stab every sinner or demon she encountered with a short and sharp dagger, letting blood stain the City of the pentagram city.But next she might decide to graffiti every wall in the Pride Ring just because the gray concrete looked boring.

Like today. Today, Giselle was in the mood to play the hero in one of those cheesy rescue stories. …And who said the one saving the princess couldn’t be another princess?

It was extermination day again.At this time of year, Heaven deploys a squad of exorcist angels to breach the barrier between Heaven and Hell, wreaking havoc on all the sinners within their sight.

But hey,she’s Giselle ,a girl who never scare fight and death.She has a horse .Her horse Jessie wasn’t just a horse. She was purple and black with a fiery orange mane, and she could shrink from a massive draft horse down to a squeaky little jerboa in a heartbeat. Giselle lived for days like this—charging through Hell’s alleys with Jessie while angels scrambled to keep up. Spoiler: they couldn’t.

She tore south across the Pride Ring, past the cannibal town where Rosie had locked her people inside tight. The town was empty but for the occasional angel circling overhead. Boring. Giselle nudged Jessie west instead.

Factories, smokestacks, gray skyscrapers—not great galloping territory. She was just about to turn back when a scream sliced the air.

“Mom! Odette!”

A girl’s voice. Dark-skinned, white curls bouncing as she stumbled backward—unarmed, surrounded by three exorcists. Strong build, sure, maybe enough to land a punch or two, but no way she could last against three armed angels. She looked barely older than eighteen.

“Shit,” Giselle muttered. And yeah, the girl was totally her type: toned arms, black sports bra and shorts, hair tied in a poofy ponytail with a thick band. Obviously athletic, maybe even trained. But right now? Those crimson eyes were wide with nothing but fear.

Giselle swallowed hard. Then her brain kicked in. Jessie—small first, then blow up big and knock those assholes flat. Then we grab curly and run.

It happened in a blink—the blade was already an inch from the girl’s eye when Jessie let out a scream that split the sky. Purple and gold light burst against the angels’ boring black-and-white, and Jessie slammed her hooves into one exorcist before headbutting the other two.

“Hell yeah, sweetheart !” Giselle cheered, but she barely had time to appreciate it. The girl’s voice—raw, thrilled, alive—cut through her thoughts like lightning. Oh right. Focus, idiot.

She grabbed the girl’s hand, gripping firm muscle wrapped in smooth skin. Probably a religious user of overpriced demon-skin lotion. “Come on!” she barked, yanking her onto Jessie’s back.

“Run, Jessie! Those angels don’t back down easy!”

Heat burned in Giselle’s chest as Jessie surged forward—half from adrenaline, half from the fire still lingering in Jessie’s transformation. The factories blurred into streaks of color. Wind, blood, angel wings slicing the air—Hell had never felt so alive.

 

Giselle let herself enjoy the hot, heavy wind of Hell, still replaying that heroic, damsel-saving moment in her head. She was amazing! She had lost count of the days and nights she had longed for something like this. It was like a spark inside her had been reignited.
She didn’t want to keep being some useless sinner who spent every day either screwing women or getting screwed by them. Sure, being a pickpocket brought a little thrill and tested her skill, but afterward, when she had to use or eat what she stole immediately—before she caught herself staring at it, unable to find any meaning in it—she ended up throwing away something she had poured all her focus and effort into. Giselle despised that sudden burst of morality. We’re in fucking Hell! she’d remind herself. This place exists so we can finally do everything we weren’t allowed to do when we were alive!

Still, she couldn’t deny it—sometimes doing the right thing gave her a rush. Especially when it meant charging into a pack of exorcist angels to rescue a beautiful girl. Even if the next second, a spear from behind could have cut her down. She wondered… when sinners die here, where do they even go?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the girl’s nearly shouting voice.

“Oh my Satan, that was amazing! Your horse just smashed into those angels like a wall! My Lucifer!”

I turned back to look at her. Those crimson eyes of hers sparkled now, like a pair of shining crystals.

“Yeah, I know, she’s cool. Her name’s Jessie, she’s a shapeshifting horse. I found her on my first day here, in some abandoned factory lot… She’s a good girl. Without her, I don’t even wanna imagine how boring life in Hell would’ve been, haha.”

“That’s so cool! Hey, what’s your name? Do you live around here? After the massacre’s over, can I come find you for a ride?”

It was hard to say no to someone like her—so full of energy, glowing with youthful sunshine. But deep down, Giselle felt like this girl was just a sun: you could play around with its warmth for a while, but afterward, you’d both return to your own lives.

A sun was already a gift. But what if someone offered you an entire universe?

The sun exists inside the universe. So when you see the sun, doesn’t it also mean… the universe is only a discovery away?

Chapter Text

Giselle soon noticed it was still extinction day. The number of angels on the streets seemed to be rising. No matter how fast Jessie ran, she’d eventually tire out. Suddenly Giselle remembered—hadn’t the girl asked her something earlier?
“Oh, right, sweetheart. Did you ask my name just now~?

Yeah,ok, I’m Giselle. As for where I live… well, I don’t. I move around. Sometimes here, sometimes there. A while back I was helping Rosie run her business in Cannibal Town, but she couldn’t handle my youthful passion. Said it was reckless and naïve. Well, what was I supposed to do? I’m not her pet. So I left.”

“You worked for Mrs.Rosie before!? Wow. I never thought she’d let a non-cannibal manage her business! Sorry, I mean no offense, I just… Mrs.Rosie I know doesn’t usually like young, ordinary sinners. Haha, I didn’t mean ur bad!”

The angels on the streets grew denser. Even for two fearless girls, it was clear: now wasn’t the time for joyrides.

The girl suddenly raised her voice, startling Giselle.

“Oh no, what about my mom and Odette!? Before you saved me, I got separated from my mom and my sister. They must be so worried! My mom’s the overprotective type—oh Satan, she’ll faint if she realizes I’m gone!”

Fuck. Giselle cursed under her breath. They had already taken shelter in a tall building. To run back out now to find her mother and sister would be suicide.

She dismounted, stroked Jessie’s forehead, and gave her a carrot as a reward. Then she looked up, really studying the girl for the first time. Her white curls were tousled by the wind, her thick lips parted slightly, her red eyes darkened again—like when they first met—tinged with fear and a faint glimmer.

Something shifted in Giselle’s heart. She no longer needed a sun, because she already was one. The girl was like the halo around the sun’s surface—but inside, her core was the same as Giselle’s own. When they touched, they blended into one, indistinguishable. And beneath Giselle’s carefree, reckless exterior, maybe she was searching for another kind of love—vast, calm, but sharp-edged.

“Listen,” Giselle said.

She rested one hand on Jessie’s side, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the girl’s firm thigh.

“We’ll stay hidden here for a while. The massacre should end soon. Once the angels leave, I’ll take you home to your mother. By the way—I still don’t know your name.”

“Oh! Haha, you’re right. I was too busy enjoying the ride. My name’s Clara.”

Her eyes widened.

“And I haven’t even thanked you yet! You saved me! If it weren’t for you, I’d be a corpse on the street right now. Oh my Lucifer!—I was so busy thinking about your horse that I forgot to even say thank you, I’m so sorry! Let me…..”

“Alright, alright, it’s fine. Just think of it as a little quest I set up for myself to kill time. That rescue was way too fun, woo~. By the way, I’m Giselle, in case I forgot to say it before. And this is Jessie, my shapeshifting horse. Isn’t she a sweetheart?” Giselle stroked Jessie’s belly, making her purr with satisfaction.

The girl giggled.

“You already told me, haha. I’m Clara. I’ve got a sister named Odette—she’s the opposite of me. She hardly talks, hates sports, just likes helping Mom with research and writing reports. Total weirdo, haha. But I love her. She’s careful, caring… a really good sister.”

Just as she finished, two urgent voices echoed from the street corner—one older, raspier, the other younger and sharper. Both had that faint Mexican accent, both filled with panic as if searching for something precious they’d lost.

They were calling—

“Clara!”

Clara reacted faster than Giselle. She leapt off Jessie and bolted toward the voices.

“Damn it, wait!”

Jessie, startled, snorted and stomped her hooves.

“Easy, girl. Stay here. I’ll be right back. Fucking hell, why run off so fast when I just saved your ass…”

She rushed after Clara, cursing under her breath.

And then—

At the corner of the street, she froze.

She recognized the tall, straight white hair bound by black stripes like twin towers. The strands were thin and soft, yet somehow styled into razor-sharp points.

CARMILLA CARMINE.

One of Hell’s most powerful overlord. She nearly monopolized the weapon industry of the Pride Ring. Her angel-steel products were rumored strong enough to kill every hellborn and even,the Ars Geotia demon. Giselle had seen her once before, back when she was helping Rosie at the overlord meeting. She remembered her gray skin, dull as a factory wall, and her blood-red pupils that pinned you in place like knives. That gaze had filled Giselle with fear—and, strangely, a dangerous longing to obey.

But now? Carmilla looked different. She was… shorter? No—she was kneeling. Beside her were a golden-haired girl with pale skin and—

Clara!?

Clara was Carmilla’s daughter? Giselle couldn’t believe it. She had just rescued the daughter of one of Hell’s most dangerous and powerful overlords.

And Carmilla—Carmilla was crying.

Her brows knit, her gray face streaked with shining tears that looked almost luminous. Giselle thought she heard it too—a low, hidden sob, like the call of a whale.

The mighty overlord of the Pride Ring, kneeling in the street, clutching her daughters and weeping openly. She didn’t care who saw her. Didn’t care about her rank, her authority, her reputation. She only cared that her daughters were safe.

Giselle swayed, dizzy. The sky above seemed darker. Memories of Earth surged back—half a year ago, when she’d still been alive. South Australia. A conservative desert town that wasn’t nearly as conservative as it claimed. The third time her mother had brought the neighbor man into Giselle’s bedroom. The second time her father had brought his mistress home. And when her father, ready to take his lover to bed, opened the door—he found it already occupied.

By his wife and her own lover.

Within days they divorced. In court, the judge asked which parent would take responsibility for Giselle. The twenty seconds of silence that followed were worse than any shouting. Neither of them wanted her. She was already nineteen—legally an adult, with no guarantee of support, no alimony. She abandoned her newly won admission to the University of Queensland and took a cashier job at the local supermarket.

But Giselle was never the type to endure seven hours a day in a one-meter booth, swallowing her rage at entitled Karens and drunk old men. By her second month, she’d already gotten into a fistfight with a drunk customer. She hadn’t known he had a bottle hidden under his coat.

One moment, everything went silent. Just her, clutching her bleeding head on the side of the darkening street. She couldn’t afford an ambulance. She messaged her mother for help, begging her to drive her to the hospital. The reply came: I’m already home, off work early today.

Three minutes later, Giselle watched her walk out of the office building across the road—laughing, arm in arm with her new man.

Giselle didn’t even feel anger anymore. Just… calm. Terrifyingly calm.

That calmness, mixed with disappointment, sadness, despair—it should’ve broken any nineteen-year-old girl. But the explosion never came. All she did was lie on her apartment floor, turn off the lights, and light two candles and a single match.

She watched the flame flicker…

And drifted off.

The match slipped from her fingers, landing on a pile of clothes. On a nylon stocking.

She died. And woke up here—not in Heaven.

Maybe the fire had taken the whole building down.

Giselle blinked. Carmilla was no longer sobbing. Now her expression was sharper, wary.
“Mom, this is Giselle!” Clara exclaimed, tugging her hand. “She saved me! She’s amazing! She and her horse smashed through three angels, and she pulled me up onto the saddle—she saved my life! And she’s so cool, you have no idea—”

“Thank you.”

The voice was steady, sincere.

Carmilla held Giselle’s hands tightly, her eyes transformed. Gone was the crimson menace of blood and steel. In its place was a warmth Giselle had never seen from anyone but maybe a mother to her child. Her pupils gleamed like rubies, soft and strong.

Giselle stiffened, startled by the shift. She had never feared authority—but this sudden gentleness? It was disarming.

“I’m truly grateful,” Carmilla said. “My daughters are everything to me. To rush into three angels to save her—I don’t have words for your courage.”

“Oh, uh, no big deal. She was too cute to leave behind.”

Damn it. Wrong words again.

“I mean… it was fun, you know? Like a side quest in a game. Something to spice up my boring days, haha.”

“Hmph.” Carmilla frowned, almost amused. This girl, she thought. Only she could dismiss a near-death rescue as “fun.” For someone like Carmilla, whose world was nothing but numbers and weapons, it was… strange.

“But it was reckless,” she added. “Throwing yourself into danger for fun is not a wise choice.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t, your daughter would still be lying in that street~.”

Giselle froze. Shit. Did I just say that? Did I just bring up her daughter’s death to her face?

For once, her sharp tongue felt like a curse. Normally she never regretted her bluntness, but this was Carmilla Carmine. One of Hell’s most powerful overlords. She wanted to run, to get on Jessie and never come back to this factory district again. But she couldn’t move. She just stared, trying to look innocent.

Her eyes dropped—landing on Carmilla’s chest. Not very full, but wide, strong. Like her hands—soft, protective. Comforting.

Carmilla smirked. Instead of anger, amusement curved her lips. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Not sycophancy, not cold analysis, but raw, sharp defiance.

She kept staring at Giselle. At her brown curls, as wild and untamed as her spirit. At the batlike ears, pink at the base. At her flat chest, her sweat-dampened fur, her ridiculously thin pants outlining everything beneath.

And Giselle… dared not look up. She fixated on Carmilla’s body. Her open collar revealed sharp, elegant collarbones—peaks jutting out like mountains on gray land. Giselle had always thought collarbones were sexy.

From Clara and Odette’s perspective, the two of them standing there, silently staring at each other’s bodies… it was awkward.

Seconds ticked by before Clara spoke up.

“Um, Mom? Maybe… we could invite Giselle for dinner? She did save my life.”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” Carmilla blinked, as if waking. She realized she’d been staring. Her face flushed slightly.

“Yes, Giselle. Please, join us. You saved my daughter’s life. Both Clara and Odette are my everything. I owe you my sincerest thanks. Please, come to our home. The large flat-roofed building in the west.”

“Oh!” Giselle nearly jumped. Maybe because she’d just been staring at Carmilla’s chest. Social niceties were never her strong suit—but she wasn’t clueless enough to miss how inappropriate that was. She glanced up—straight into Carmilla’s eyes.

Not cold. Not cruel. But deep red, like fine garnet, polished by time.

Giselle’s heart thudded strangely. The feeling coiled inside her, like black silk ribbon twining around her body, pulsing with slow, hot blood.

“O-of course! I’d never say no to free dinner, haha. I can’t afford the fancy places in Pentagram City anyway.”

Carmilla smiled faintly.

“Good. Then come with me. And… one more thing.”

She hesitated, as if making a grave promise.

“If you ever need anything—help, protection, anything at all—come to me. I owe you a debt I don’t know how to repay. Whatever you want, ask.”

Anything? Giselle’s first thought was burying her face in that broad, soft chest, tracing those collarbones… She shoved the thought away.

“No worries~. I’m fine on my own. But since I saved your girl, if I ever do need something, I’ll be sure to ask, haha.”

Hands behind her head, Jessie at her side, Clara buzzing with curiosity on one flank and Odette quietly watching Jessie’s violet mane on the other, Giselle followed Carmilla.

The overlord walked ahead, her stern mask restored. Together, the four of them and Jessie headed west—toward the largest factory-like building in the district.

 

Chapter Three: A Dinner of Thanks

 

The Pride Ring wasn’t exactly huge to begin with, and with Carmilla’s fast, purposeful stride, it only took about five minutes before they stopped in front of the biggest building in the area.
A massive gray structure loomed over the factories, bristling with security cameras. Each lens blinked red, like Carmilla’s own eyes watching every corner. The walls looked plain gray at first, but up close Giselle noticed the paint job was fresh—no chips, no mold, no stains. Immaculate.

Giselle kept staring. For a noble’s residence, it sat ridiculously close to the weapons factories. From all directions came the clang of hammering metal, steel against steel. A couple of dirty sinners were even kneeling by the gate, begging spare change so they could buy Carloirn from the vending machines nearby. The air was full of smoke and ash. The streets were cluttered with factory waste, making it impossible for Jessie to really gallop here.

At the gate, Carmilla entered a long password. The doors groaned and slowly swung open.

Inside was… a shock.

A huge lobby stretched out before them, the size of a basketball court, with nothing in it except three massive crystal chandeliers overhead. No couches, no rugs, not even a chair. What the hell? Giselle thought. Normal people would’ve at least put in a sofa and a TV.

And then—another surprise. The whole interior wasn’t just black, white, and gray, like she’d imagined. The walls and floor were a deep crimson with rose-pink undertones, lined with sleek, sharp patterns. Across the far wall, the trademark marble staircase split into two, curving left and right toward the second floor. The center was open, and from below Giselle could see a few doors upstairs—probably the bedrooms for Carmilla and her daughters.

“Clara, Odette,” Carmilla said, her voice cool and sharp. “Show Miss Giselle around—except my workshop. I’ll check with Marti about the dinner preparations.”

“Yes, of course!” Clara chirped instantly.

“All right, Mother,” Odette added, then turned to face Giselle.

“By the way, Miss Giselle,” Carmilla called back, pausing mid-step. “Tell me what you’d like for dinner.”

“Me? Oh, I eat anything.” Giselle grinned. “But I love dessert. If there’s pudding, I’ll die happy.”

“I’ll see to it,” Carmilla replied. Then she disappeared through a door, her heels clicking.

Now it was just the three of them. Clara looked thrilled—though she always did—and Odette, still calm as ever, actually wore the faintest hint of a smile.

“Marti, she’s your…?” Giselle asked.

“Our maid,” Clara explained. “She’s an imp from the Wrath Ring. She and her sister, Bella, usually clean the house and cook. I mean, look at this place—if we had to keep it tidy ourselves, we’d die of exhaustion. Mom’s always busy with the factory and her duties as overlord, and Odette and I spend our days delivering orders…”

“Delivering orders? You two actually do that?”

“Oh, yes,” Clara said cheerfully. “Mom can’t handle everything, so we make deliveries inside the Pride Ring—clients order weapons, ammo, you name it.”

Odette cut in, voice flat as always: “Of course, there are always some idiots buying defective guns. Every piece has about a sixty-percent chance of misfiring and blowing the buyer to pieces. Once, we even got an order from the Wrath Ring. Since sinners can’t leave the Pride Ring, we had the customer ride Hell’s elevator up here. I thought it’d be a small fry. Turned out he was… something shark-like.”

Clara giggled. “I told you, Odette—”

“Shut up, Clara. I only said his tail spikes might inspire a new weapon design.”

“If you say so, heehee.”

The sisters dragged Giselle through the house, but honestly… it was boring. Aside from the vast, empty lobby, most rooms upstairs were either locked, abandoned, or just warehouses crammed with boxes.

Finally, Carmilla reappeared, stepping out of what must’ve been the kitchen. Her white hair was still tied in that perfect updo—so flawless it looked less like hair and more like horns.

“Dinner in ten minutes,” she announced. Her eyes flicked to Giselle—and stayed there. Cold, unblinking. Watching her like a security camera, cataloguing every detail of her body. The steel door swung shut, covering her face, but Giselle still felt the chill of that gaze crawling down her spine.

She shook it off and turned back to Clara and Odette. Clara was as animated as ever, her low but excited voice buzzing especially when she asked about Jessie. Odette just listened in silence, clearly uninterested in horses and adventure talk.

Soon, two red-skinned imps pushed out a long wooden dining table. Giselle blinked. The damn thing had no wheels, but it slid smoothly across the floor anyway. Plates piled high with roast meat, a giant bowl of beans, corn, and vegetables, a stack of tacos, and—oh hell yes—one massive, ruby-red pudding. It wobbled dangerously as the table moved, catching the light like stained glass.

A white tablecloth covered the surface, stitched with bold red and purple flowers. Somehow, instead of clashing, it made the space feel lively.

When Marti and Bella set the table in the center of the hall, Carmilla took the head seat, her daughters flanking her on each side. Giselle plopped herself down on the right, beside Clara.

“So… Giselle,” Carmilla said, spearing a piece of tortilla. “What do you usually do in Hell?”

“Oh, ha, where do I start?” Giselle popped a meatball into her mouth. “I wander around a lot. Sometimes I window-shop VOXTEX TVs in 3V. Sometimes, if the mood hits, I swing by Yuri’s brothel for a good time. Love that place—big tits, sharp collarbones, every type you can imagine. Submissive, noisy, dominatrix-y—you name it. Prices aren’t bad either. And if you get close with one, you can, y’know, work out a friends-with-benefits deal. Then it’s free. Ha!”

Carmilla’s eyes went wide. She darted a look at her daughters. Both had their heads ducked low, faces burning. They understood every word. And Carmilla—strict as ever—had never tolerated them going near such places.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat. “I see. And how exactly do you pay for… such activities?”

“Oh, that? Easy.” Giselle swallowed her bite. “I used to work for Rosie,another overlord , helping run her cannibal town and shops. With Hell getting more crowded, she needed someone after that guy—what’s his name—Alartone,Ala..? Oh! Alastor. He just vanished seven years ago and never came back. So Rosiehad me keep the cannibals in line, keep the kids busy with games, help new arrivals settle in. She gave me a place to stay and plenty of money for food and whatever else. I even bought Jessie—my shapeshifting horse—with my first paycheck.” She grinned and bit into a taco.

Carmilla arched a brow. The mental image—this punk-dressed, reckless girl corralling a pack of Victorian-dressed cannibals, teaching their kids jump rope—was absurd. Still, she found herself strangely intrigued. Why would Rosie, a seasoned overlord, trust this girl out of all sinners? Unless… Rosie saw something she hadn’t.

“Oh? You worked for Rosie?” Carmilla said, carefully neutral. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Yeah, I know.” Giselle shrugged. “Most people think I’m just some good-for-nothing brat. Truth is, I ended up in Hell by accident. Still not even sure what I did to deserve being tossed down here with Hitler and Epstein. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m gay? Hah, kidding. Hehe.”

“…And now? You no longer work for her?”

“Well, nah. Not right now. But I’m not stressing. Rosi paid me enough to coast for another six months. When the money runs out, I’ll figure something out. No point slaving away only to get skewered by an exorcist the next day, y’know?”

Carmilla stared. The girl’s entire outlook was alien. Carmilla’s life had always been preparation, vigilance, responsibility. In life, she had balanced cartels and gangs, dodging ambushes daily. In death, Hell was worse—lawless, chaotic, full of predators. Every day, she buried herself in weapons research. If her company lost ground to Greed Ring demons experimenting with angel steel, her family’s survival would collapse. She had no time for leisure, no patience for softness. She couldn’t even remember the last time she danced ballet…

“You seem… interested in managing people,” Carmilla said slowly. “And danger, too.”

“Sure, you could say that.” Giselle grinned. “The best part of being in charge is switching roles. One moment you’re the strict teacher, the next you’re the friendly neighbor. You keep people guessing. And when you suddenly treat them with kindness? The look in their eyes—like they’ve been spoiled—it’s adorable.”

Carmilla’s eyes sharpened.

“My factory needs someone like you. The last overseer was burned alive by angry workers. I admire your personality—blunt, but not unpleasant. Serious when needed, relaxed when not. Exactly what my employees need. So I’ll ask plainly: Giselle, will you become my factory manager? I’ll pay you double what Rosi did. A spacious home. And whatever else you ask.”

“Pfft. Wake up at dawn, stare at dead-eyed workers all day, waiting for them to burn me alive next? Sorry, my dear Lady Carmine, but I’d rather dive straight into your smelting pit.”

Carmilla’s gaze snapped, sharp as steel. She couldn’t even remember the last time someone dared reject her like that. Yet instead of anger, her chest tightened with something else. She needed this girl.

“…I knew you’d refuse,” Carmilla murmured, sighing. “But Giselle…” She lifted her eyes, and for the first time, they softened—like wine-dark candy melting on the tongue. “Please, just give me ninety seconds to explain why.”

For Carmilla Carmine, a overlord of the Pride Ring, to plead with a nineteen-year-old girl—that was no small thing. Giselle felt a pang of guilt. Maybe… she should drop the sarcasm for once.

“Fine,” she said, straightening. “I’m listening, ma’am.”

Carmilla’s lips barely moved as she whispered, “Thank you.”

“My factory urgently needs someone who can command without cruelty, someone respected, not feared. You’re sharp, honest, playful—the perfect fit. The exorcists are killing more of us every day. If my company collapses, the Pride Ring loses its weapons, and my people will fall. I won’t let Greed’s demons monopolize war. They’d turn Hell into nothing but slaughter. We may be sinners, but we are not heartless monsters.”

She paused. Her voice softened further.

“…And besides… you calm me. I don’t know why, but every word you’ve spoken tonight has eased me. Made me… happy. I want you with me. Working with me. Living with me.”

Her words trailed off into something almost fragile. Her gaze dropped from Giselle’s eyes to the plate between them. She couldn’t look at her anymore.

“…Working with you?” Giselle echoed. “Living with you?” Her chest felt oddly warm. Carmilla was an overlord. A mother. Would living with her feel like… being held in those strong arms, wrapped in safety?

Carmilla quickly clarified, “I mean, I would cover all your expenses. You’d dine with me, Clara, and Odette every night. I can provide you with free housing—there’s an apartment complex ten minutes away.”

“Can I… live here? With you guys?” The words slipped out before Giselle could stop herself. Shit. Why did I say that?

But Carmilla didn’t hesitate. “Of course. We have plenty of empty rooms.”

Giselle gawked. That was… too easy.

“And if you’re not ready to work immediately, I can give the workers a month off. I have seven other factories.”

Seven?! If one entire factory could pause production without hurting her business, then Carmilla’s earlier reasons weren’t the whole truth. The real reason she wanted Giselle was… because she enjoyed her company.

Giselle’s mind spun. She searched for the hidden prize at the end of this maze, only to realize… all the walls, all the puzzles, all the difficulty—it was protecting nothing but an old, ragged doll. And that doll was her. Giselle. A broken thing, craving care, craving love.

Chapter Text

The dinner table was dead silent. Even Clara and Giselle had stopped chewing. Carmilla had long abandoned her fork—she was too busy staring holes into Giselle, desperate to see the slightest sign of her brow relaxing, desperate for just one little “okay-fine-I-agree” smile…
But soon she realized her staring was doing the opposite—it was making Giselle squirm. The last thing Carmilla wanted was to spook the girl sitting across from her, this scrappy little howler-monkey of a woman who somehow gave her a rush of joy and power she hadn’t felt in centuries. To Carmilla, Giselle was like a rare mountain cat: wild, precious, and way too special to lose. And yet here she was, already regretting her cold overlord façade earlier, already regretting staring too hard like some kind of hell’s creeper. If she…
“Señora Carmine,” Giselle suddenly broke the silence. “I’ll accept your offer, but under two conditions.

First, my soul stays mine. No matter how cozy we get later—you don’t ever get to come asking for it. Ever.”

“I would never,” Carmilla blurted, almost too fast. “I swear it. What I want is your talent—it’d be incredible on our Carmine weapons project. And for you too. I’ll give you a safe, clean home, generous pay, plenty of free time—none of that micromanaging crap… and most importantly… you’ll have me watching your back. Nobody’s gonna touch you. Maybe I’ll even buy out that brothel you like so you can get VIP service for free, whenever you feel like it…” The last bit tumbled out awkwardly, and she ducked her head before putting her Serious Face™ back on.

“No, no, I don’t need that.” Giselle shook her head. “Money was never my dream—it’s never even cracked my top five. Freedom is. Being able to do whatever I want, whenever I want, without caring about anyone’s opinion. If it blows up in my face, so what? Worst case, I die. What I’m actually worried about is you keeping me locked in this factory forever. Because, you know, a girl like me? I’m not about to waste my whole damn life—or should I say, my whole demon-life—on some boring, violent factory gig. I might bail in a month. Honestly. I know you’d try to talk me out of it, but I’d just wait until you’re all asleep and ghost away to some secret hideout where no one could find me and live my best life…”

Yep. Classic Giselle. Couldn’t ever get to the point without taking three laps around it first.

“…But what I actually mean to say is…” She stopped, folded her arms on the table like a corporate exec about to announce 300 layoffs. The sudden shift shocked Carmilla—not just shocked, but impressed. She wanted Giselle on her team more than she’d ever wanted anyone. But was this really just about business?

Carmilla refused to dig into that thought. She knew better. Not with someone like Giselle. She’d seen every kind of colleague an overlord could have—Zestial, the ice-cold genius who made medieval knights look chill in comparison. Rosie, the most charming overlord of them all, who could talk cannibals into holding hands and singing kumbaya—though let’s not forget, she did eat two husbands. Every overlord had their quirks, their moments of brilliance, their infuriating words. And sure, Carmilla liked working with them. But it was a thin kind of liking, like strands of green thread tying them together—fragile, stretched, reminding her that at the end of the day they were just hell’s overlords, not much better than the cartel bosses she’d worked with back on Earth.

But Giselle… no, this was different. Whatever bound them wasn’t a thin green thread. It was a glowing cord bursting with pink and yellow sparks, practically begging the whole damn world to dance along.

Nope. Carmilla cut herself off. That way lay disaster. She hadn’t let herself feel this in a hundred years. Her mission, her purpose, was simple: build the best weapons, keep her daughters safe. She couldn’t afford distractions.

“…What I mean,” Giselle said, “is that I’m a terrible choice for this job.”

Carmilla’s head snapped up.

“I mean, Rosie didn’t fire me for nothing. I’m too young, too reckless… you’ll regret ever trusting me, I just know it…” She lifted her gaze again, and it wasn’t the Giselle of ten minutes ago anymore. Gone was the sunny glow. What Carmilla saw now was an ocean of fear, deep and dark. And suddenly she realized—this wasn’t some fearless rescuer who had just barreled through three exorcist angels to save her daughter. This was just a kid. Barely grown. Thrown into hell with no map and no guide.

And Carmilla understood that more than anyone. She’d been seventeen when a rival cartel slaughtered her parents. Alone, terrified, she’d had to toughen up fast, put on that black mask, never let herself slip. No one had seen the grief, the helplessness, the crushing pressure of having to be perfect, of having no one to lean on. That mask had been eating her alive ever since, like the poisoned river that ran by the factory.

Everyone saw her as the overlord with all the answers, the boss with the plan, the mother with infinite strength. They didn’t see the tears that soaked the mask when no one was looking. They didn’t see the girl who should’ve been teaching ballet in some quiet school, watching kids grow from clumsy tiptoes to flawless grand jetés.

But Carmilla could never take that mask off. Not if it meant leaving her daughters—or any child—abandoned like she’d been at seventeen.

How ironic, though, that as a cartel queen, she’d destroyed so many other families.

“My immaturity and recklessness will only get you in trouble. I… I don’t want that to happen…”
She broke. Giselle was crying now, words spilling out between sobs.

“I’ll be a disaster of a manager! I’ll blow up at your workers, scream at them for no reason, they’ll all go on strike—hell, they’ll probably set fire to the factory to get away from me! I…”

She choked. Her body shook as memories clawed at her: supermarket customers yelling, managers chewing her out, five years old and locked in the basement with nothing but rats and roaches for company, summer camp gone wrong with snakebites and blood, the kitchen accident, the fifth-grade exam, cousin Bailey—oh God, the zoo, her parents’ betrayals, the new kid they wanted to replace her with—

…

“Giselle? Giselle?!”

“¡Hija mía, estás bien?!”

“Marty, fetch her some aguas frescas! Deep breaths, cariño, you’ll be fine.”

…

Giselle hadn’t opened her eyes yet, but she knew she was lying on something soft and fuzzy. Her fingers explored it—tiny dense fur, nothing like Australian wool blankets. Her head rested on a tall, hard pillow, filled with some kind of grain that shifted when she moved.

Carmilla’s voice drifted from somewhere close—probably the bedside. Giselle didn’t want to open her eyes yet. She just wanted to sink into this strange, cloud-and-animal-fur bed, pretend she was back in Perth, lying on the beach.

“She’s dreaming—look, her hands are moving!”

“Clara, Odette—go wash up and sleep. You escaped death today. I’ll watch Giselle.” Carmilla’s tone softened, low and warm.

“…Carmilla?”

Giselle’s eyes blinked open. “I… I’ll be your factory assistant. I’ve never done anything like management before, but I’ll try. Worst case, I screw up and cost you something, and I’ll pay you back somehow…”

“No.” Carmilla sat at the bedside, voice low and rough. “Everyone makes mistakes. Even me. That’s why we’re in hell, isn’t it?” She turned her head toward Giselle, eyes surprisingly gentle. “Don’t worry about screwing up. I’ll take responsibility.” She paused, then raised her head again, this time with a look of hope and warmth. “I’m honored to have you on my team, Giselle.”

The scarlet glow of her eyes wasn’t harsh anymore—it was soft, like a sunset bleeding across hell’s sky.

“This is your room now. Tomorrow morning we’ll get your essentials, then there’s a meeting—you’ll need your tasks and responsibilities explained, plus salary talk. And in the afternoon, a doctor. You fainted after fighting exorcists; I want a full checkup.”

She sighed. Her voice dropped even softer. “Giselle, I know I seem cold to everyone else, but listen. If you want anything—anything at all—tell me. You saved my daughter. I’d give you everything in return, though I know you’re not that kind of girl. That’s why I trust you so much.

And one more thing…”

She looked at Giselle the way she looked at Clara and Odette. “We all make mistakes. Every overlord, even Lucifer himself. That’s why we’re here. So don’t be afraid. Don’t carry guilt. This is hell—there’s no scorecard of good deeds and bad deeds. Only blood, bone, screams, and tears. No one cares if you were kind today. They’ll still pull the trigger if you’re in the way. So I beg you, forget your old life. Do what you want. I’ll forgive your mistakes.”