The Demon's Mark

She dragged her agonized body to The Silverbrook before the first light of dawn, washing away blood that, despite her seemingly normal skin, could never be human. She couldn't remember where the tears came from, maybe during a flight filled with sorrow and suffering, but they were now flowing freely, an uncontrollable wave.

An powerful emotional storm of pain, hatred, and longing raged in her consciousness. She was plagued by a memory of an angel, his eyes piercing her with a deep hatred that reflected the evil hatred she felt for him. Two bloodlines—demonic and angelic—fought ceaselessly inside her, their conflict contained within one mind, causing excruciating pain. She squirmed into The Silverbrook's icy, purifying embrace, its wonderful and forgiving touch. She dove in an attempt to wash away her own blood as well as the angel's blasphemous blue eyes, which appeared to hate her own being. Desperate to rid herself of the darkness inside, she repeatedly raised water to scrub her partially clothed body. As the angel glowed brightly, she briefly saw the sharp contrast between pure good and pure evil battling inside of her, wondering how she could be the latter, so corrupted by sin.

Her voice finally became human as a harsh scream escaped from her mouth, "ARRGGH!" before breaking into sobs. Wondering if her father had suffered such suffering and what he had done to her mother, she collapsed to her knees, her strength gone. She gave up on trying to endure her agony, standing still with her face buried in shaking fists as water lapped over her chest. For the first time, the demon's torment burned into her soul, shaking her with shame and agony. She wanted to die, or sleep, to get away from this pain. Her life of suffering had convinced her that the angel would come back to destroy her, and for a moment, as tears clouded her eyesight, she thought the figure in front of her was him.

It wasn't the angel, though. Clarity pierced the darkness that held no secrets from her as she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. The identical man from her grandmother's home was standing there, bright as he had been during the day. His face lacked the celestial qualities she had envisioned, vacillating between pity and longing. He appeared more human than anyone she had ever met, out of place, and defenseless. She had a sudden, intense need for him to hug her like a man might, to perceive her as a woman rather than a demon, to give her a taste of humanity.

She emerged from the water with her hands extended, kissing him before he could respond. He paused, kissed her back for a moment, then struggled to push her away. Unfazed, she went looking for him once more, yearning for his warmth, but he held her back gently. She was so overcome that she fell to her knees in front of him, head lowered to the ground, whimpering as she begged, "Don't leave me alone." He paused, panting, but moved on, leaving her there. Doubt roared till it smothered everything else, and grief and bewilderment surged in her breast. She felt a painful reminder of everything she could never be when his hand finally touched her shoulder. Her skin burned, and she flinched back, allowing only the slightest graze.

He took a few steps back and said, "Woman," with the quiet elegance of a man. "What has hurt you?" she muttered, shaking her head in agony and unable to look him in the eyes.

What had caused her pain? She twisted and ran deeper into the forest, a shaky thread of rationality leading her to the city, and a ripping sob escaped. The combination of ruthless angels and attractive guys in one night was too much to bear. Even though she was almost insane, she yelled out, "Leave me alone!" with solid feet. She had pleaded for the contrary just moments before.

"Wait, woman!" She rejected such illusions, but his voice beckoned her, promising comfort. She had just wanted to take his humanity for herself, even if only momentarily. She was repulsed by the idea of touching him now.

She was far apart from the man she had left behind as the wound in her chest continued to burn through her jumbled feelings. Slumping against a thorny willow, she sank slowly to her knees and cursed herself. She didn't want to stay here or go back home. She was tempted to give in to her demon blood—a simpler route, but one that was more disgusting than dying in solitude, forgotten by everyone.

She waited in silence, wondering if the sun would rise, but the tears stopped. Even that knowledge was inconvenient in the sudden upheaval of her environment, even though it felt like a small question.

Elyra's eyes went closed. She fell asleep, either from the wounds from the battle or from the tiredness of crying nonstop, which was far worse. She prayed one last time to get away from the unrelenting injustice of her nightmares.

…

She lay so rigidly that he believed her dead for a horrifying heartbeat until he discovered her again. His breath caught as his hands clenched into fists, an instinct he couldn't understand. Desperate to see some sign of life, he waited.

Finally, her chest raised faintly and slowly, then dropped. She lived—she breathed. He unclenched his fists and swallowed hard. He knew he would do anything to keep her here, even if it didn't make sense to care so much when a soul's departure only went to the sky.

After a while, having done nothing but observe her, he slid to the woodland floor. Her defenseless sleep sparked a protective impulse in him, a duty he would feel for any of his master's servants in distress. However, it failed to explain the peculiar warmth that blossomed in his chest or the burn that lingered on his lips where hers had touched.

Putting a palm to his mouth, the skin was soft, as though her kiss had stayed there. He was still able to taste her, which was his very first experience.

Hours passed while she stayed motionless. He was happy to maintain watch as long as she was alive, even though he couldn't determine if her breaths were too light. Concentrating like he had when he first entered this realm, he could hear her steady heartbeat, the sole indication of life.

He didn't take the beauty of his first daybreak for granted; its brightness was a promise from kinder gods. However, when she stirred and her eyelids fluttered open, his focus was diverted.