Asmodeus – Demon of Lust: Part 4

A/N – Hello everyone! I hope you guys are enjoying this series as much as I enjoy writing. Please, please send me some feedback if you liked it (or even if you didn’t) and let me know if you guys have any suggestions for what should happen next, all ideas are open to consideration. Happy reading!

Cheers,
Steelkat

Part 4

Get up! No use moping; crying will get you nowhere.

I push myself off of the wet rock, slipping and scraping my arm as I struggle to control my shaking body. Focusing on the icy pain, I encase my heart with that same cold, feeling it harden and add steel to my reserve. It seems silly, but blaming Asmodeus for this latest injury makes it easier for me to envision hating him. He did this to me.

While I haven’t quite managed hate just yet, I feel some satisfaction that my fear has – at least – turned into a soaring anger. I let it rage within me and my breathing speeds up. Curling my fists and squaring my shoulders, I resolve right now to return to my family as soon as possible.

But how to do that? Think Selena.

I know better that to hope I will find some magical, secret exit. If I ever want to leave this place I’ll have to be pretty fucking smart. I have to find a weakness of his somehow, something he’s said or done which will help me figure out a way to leave safely. Think, think! There must be something, a weak spot, an escape, a loophole; something. If I could find that one thing, I know I will be free.

A loophole.

As soon I realise his weakness, the loophole blares sharply in my mind and a plan forms under the idea. Suddenly, I have it, that one thing that will guarantee me safe passage home.

Right, first things first; get dressed.

If I have any hope of my plan working out, I have to let Asmodeus believe that I’m still under his spell. That means getting dressed in one of those ridiculously elaborate gowns and parading before him as if nothing is wrong. That is, until he slips. Then I’ll have my freedom, away from this wretched, volcanic prison and its gorgeous demonic warden.

I bite my lip, berating myself for that last thought. I’ve known since its inception that my plan’s fatal flaw is me. There’s no telling what my pathetic heart will make me feel when I see him; or what my treacherous body will make me do.

Best not to think about it. I’ll deal with those obstacles as they come.

Deciding that this is the best course of action, I scrub my body thoroughly with the earthy soap and lather some of it into my hair, washing away dirt, sweat, blood and tears. When I’m done, I step out of my waterfall shower and stand shivering for a moment until I register the sound of air rushing through a gap somewhere. Following the sound to its source, I find a large vent opened up in the ceiling.

Excitement courses through me. Could this be a way out?

Clouds of dust swirl beneath the spot and I wait for it to clear before standing directly below. The air pressure is so great however, that I cannot even look up from underneath. My heart sinks as I realise that even if the airflow was slower, I wouldn’t have a way to reach the gap anyway – it’s just too high up. The air is warm though and steadily begins to dry me off. Letting out a resigned sigh, I relax as the vent dries my body and focus again on my original plan.

As my hair dries, I wish for a comb to untangle the snarling mess. In the blink of an eye I notice a dressing table begin to rise from the stone floor. Slowly it ascends, finding a place next to the chest of dresses, the rock rumbling and scraping against the cave wall. After it has fully formed, a small stool of sorts rises before it and a crude box grows on top of it.

Stepping away from the relentless blast of air, I walk over to inspect my new furniture. Stopping at the table I run a hand over the rough edges of everything I have just created. I know it’s my work because it isn’t as beautiful as Asmodeus’. Lifting the lid of the box (which looks like little more than a miniature mud hut) I find a curved, primitive looking – though slender – ivory coloured comb. With only five teeth, it will barely do the job but it’s better than nothing I suppose.

I take the comb with me back over to the air vent and loosen the knots in my hair as it dries. The comb feels smooth and strong, and while I run it through my fine waist length hair, I find myself wondering what it is made out of. I’ve felt this texture before, I’m sure of it. Shrugging, I focus on combing out all the knots; I have to seem as if I still want to look good for my captor.

When my hair is dry, I head back to the dresser, expecting to find a mirror behind it. Like the one in my room at home. My brow knits in sorrow and I fight hard against the lump in my throat. No time for that. I swallow my tears down and will a mirror to appear before me.

Cracking and wind-chimes sound as iron grows out of the wall, framing the polished silver and glass mirror which obediently shows me my naked reflection. Sitting down and staring into the mirror, a chocolate coloured heart shaped face stares back. Rich brown eyes glint in the red glow of the cave; freckles pepper flushed cheeks and dot a button nose and full, well-shaped, dark pink lips are set in a frown of fierce determination while silky straight ebony hair frames it all.

I look different. Beautiful… When did that happen?

I know already though, it happened when he loved me. When he showed me what it felt like to be beautiful and what it meant. I couldn’t see it before, not on my own but I do now. Because he loved me, I can finally love myself.

The sharp brown eyes soften, then freeze, hardening once more as I realise that I’m doing exactly what I feared I would. And I’m not even near him yet!

I yank the comb roughly through my hair again, sharp, jagged strokes which rip out a few strands. Furious at myself, and at him and at this stupid comb I slam it against the stone dresser, breaking off a tooth. The sharp shard flies at my face and I duck just in time to avoid losing an eye. Sitting up again only when I hear the shard clatter harmlessly on the floor, I examine the damaged comb. The mysterious material of which the comb is made still bugs me and after I run a finger over the broken edge, I realise why. The comb is made from bone.

It takes all of my effort not to scream as I fling the hideous object as far away as possible. Letting out instead a horrified gasp, I try in vain to convince myself that it was an animal bone. Somehow though, I just know its human and the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I take a deep breath and try not to think about where the bone could have come from; while an awful image of the bleached human skull from high school biology floats through my mind. This place is a nightmare come into reality.

All the more reason to escape… And soon.

Banishing my nausea, I push myself up from the little stone seat and pull out the navy silk dress from the chest Asmodeus made for me. Slipping into it, I shiver as the silver lace caresses my back. Struggling, I finally manage to tie up the ribbons at my lower back, only to find myself stumped as half the lace hangs unknotted, having previously been held up by yet more hidden ribbons.

Unable to manoeuvre the crisscross pattern at the right side of my mid back, I throw my hands up in exasperation and admit defeat. My captor will just have to tie it up for me. Dropping back down at my dresser I huff in annoyance as the lace whips against the bare of my back.

Something soft whispers against my ear and my heart races while I strain to hear over the roar of the air vent. When I wish it shut the noise stops instantly as the gap in the ceiling closes off. I listen intently to the delicate zipping sound of silk sliding through metal and when I feel my dress tighten comfortably, I know that it’s closing itself for me.

Pleased, I rise again and study myself in the full length mirror that Asmodeus conjured for me.

The navy blue dress complements my brown skin perfectly, affording me a sinister sort of beauty, bewitching but deadly.