Yumi sat cross-legged on her bed, her room dimly lit by a single black candle flickering on her nightstand. The walls were painted a deep crimson, adorned with posters of metal bands, dark gothic art, and photos of her friends. The faint sound of screaming from a nearby pit of Hell filtered in through her cracked window—background noise she had long since grown used to.
Her sketchbook lay open on her lap, and she was intently focused on a drawing. She'd been working on a massive pentagram design, intricate and detailed, with swirling flames and demon sigils around the edges. It wasn't just art; it was an expression of who she was. Yumi didn't just draw pentagrams for fun—though it was fun. This was her way of embracing her roots, both as the daughter of Hell's prince and as someone who couldn't care less about rules.
Her left arm was already covered in doodles, pentagrams, skulls, and flames drawn with a black marker. Yumi had always loved drawing on herself. It was like wearing her soul on her skin—temporary, yet undeniably her.
"Sarith'anath maruk toren," she muttered under her breath, her voice taking on a guttural, otherworldly tone. The satanic language rolled off her tongue naturally, though it wasn't any sort of spell—just practice. She liked how the words sounded, sharp and rough, like broken glass.
Suddenly, her door creaked open, and Kikidori stepped in.
"What the hell, Dad? Knock!" Yumi snapped, quickly moving her sketchbook to the side.
Kikidori raised an eyebrow, his fiery wings folding behind him. "Calm down. It's my castle, Yumi. If I want to walk in, I'll walk in."
"Yeah, well, my room isn't part of your stupid castle. It's my space, so knock next time!" she shot back, glaring at him.
Kikidori rolled his eyes. He glanced at the black candle, the faintly glowing pentagram drawn on her desk, and the marker-stained arm. "You're being your little demon self again, huh?"
"Obviously," Yumi said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "What's your point?"
"No point. Just don't summon anything you can't handle, kid," he said casually. Then, without another word, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Yumi stared at the door for a moment, her brow furrowed. "I hate when he calls me 'kid,'" she muttered, going back to her sketchbook. She was just finishing the final stroke of the pentagram when the door opened again.
"WHAT NOW—" she started to yell but stopped dead when she saw who it was.
Ere'ana.
Her mother floated in, her angelic glow clashing terribly with Yumi's dark aesthetic. She looked radiant as always, her golden hair cascading like a waterfall, her pristine white robes fluttering slightly as if caught in an eternal breeze.
"Yumi," Ere'ana said with her usual serene smile, "I was wondering—what are you working on?"
Yumi's heart nearly stopped. Without thinking, she slammed the sketchbook shut and shoved it under a pillow. "Nothing!" she said quickly.
Ere'ana tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Nothing? It didn't look like nothing."
"It's just some random sketches. You wouldn't be interested," Yumi said, crossing her arms defensively.
Ere'ana's gaze swept the room, lingering on the black candle and the faint smell of sulfur in the air. "You know," she said softly, "if there's something on your mind, you can talk to me. I'm your mother."
"Yeah, I know," Yumi muttered, looking away.
Ere'ana smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Alright. Well, dinner's in an hour. Don't forget to wash up," she said before turning and leaving the room.
Yumi exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping as soon as the door clicked shut. "That was too close," she muttered to herself. She pulled the sketchbook out from under the pillow and stared at the pentagram she'd drawn. It was perfect, every line sharp and precise, every detail meticulously shaded. But as much as she loved it, she knew her mother wouldn't.
Ere'ana was an angel—literally. She wouldn't understand why Yumi felt so connected to the darker side of her heritage. Sure, Ere'ana loved her unconditionally, but Yumi had no intention of testing the limits of that love with a pentagram and satanic doodles.
"Goddamn it," Yumi muttered, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "No, wait—dang it. Whatever."
Cerberus wandered back in, his tiny Chihuahua form wagging his tail as he jumped onto the bed. "You couldn't have warned me she was coming, huh?" Yumi said, scratching behind his ears. Cerberus barked in response, his little tail wagging furiously.
Yumi sighed, pulling a black hoodie over her head. She flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Why is it always like this, huh?" she asked Cerberus. "Dad doesn't care about the demon stuff, but Mom... She just doesn't get it. I'm not her little angel, and I never will be."
Cerberus barked again, tilting his head as if he understood.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. She's just trying to help or whatever. But still." Yumi rolled onto her side, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the faint sounds of Hell outside lull her into a strange sense of calm. For now, at least, her secret was safe.
The End of Chapter 2