Page 31 of Love in the Dark

“I advise you to stop talking and walk faster.”

The Muse Master stops abruptly, turning his face to the side.

“You misunderstand, Azazel. I never intended to physically harm her–that bad, anyways. Her mouth got the best of her. It's her emotional turmoil, her vulnerability, that inspires me.”

“Walk.” Azazel growls

They continue their journey through the underground maze, passing by rooms filled with sculptures and installations, each more disturbing than the last. The air grows heavier, filled with the scent of paint and the faint sound of classical music.

Finally, they reach a large chamber, its walls adorned with intricate murals depicting Cherrie in various states of emotion—fear, pleasure, and pain. At the center of the room, on a raised platform, lies Cherrie, her body contorted in an artistic pose, bound by intricate ropes that crisscross her curvy form.

Azazel's heart skips a beat at the sight of her. Her face cut, bruised, swollen, and her eyes closed as if she were in a deep trance. Her body, bathed in soft lighting, is a canvas of raw emotion–a living, breathing work of art. As he takes in the rest of her battered and beaten body, he feels like his chest is caving in with an ache only Cherrie’s soul can fix.

“Cherrie…” Azazel whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. He takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving her.

The Muse Master smiles. “Behold, the pinnacle of my creation. The pain and pleasure she has endured have unlocked a newlevel of artistic expression. Her very essence is captured in this moment.”

Azazel moves with a quickness to rush to Cherrie’s side. “Cherry… Mama, wake up for me.” As he moves closer to her, he realizes something that brings him to his knees.

Scared to touch her with the fear of causing her more pain, he turns to the muse master, pulls his pistol, and shoots him in the leg. “You … you sewed her mouth shut? You sadistic sick son of a bitch. You are a true artist–you just chose the wrong canvas.”

The muse master falls to his knees and applies pressure to his wound. “She can be a mouthy one, but you know Azazel, it doesn’t have to be like this. We could work together, we’re both artists in our field.”

“Shut up,” Azazel whispers as his eyes move back to Cherrie. He pulls a dagger from his ankle holster. “I’m going to take you home, baby girl.”

Cherrie groans in pain as her eyes flutter open. Her pupils immediately dilate once she takes in the sight of Azazel, and then a look of relief falls upon her.

“I’m right here. It’s okay, Mama.” Azazel delicately cuts each part of the rope to free Cherrie. Once her body is free, he moves to the table of tools to grab a pair of scissors. “My love, I need you to remain still while I do this, okay?” Cherrie slowly nods her head and Azazel slowly removes each stitch, and with each one, his world continues to unravel. Once Cherrie is completely free, Azazel tries to help her sit up, but she immediately slumps against his chest.

“Okay, Mama, lay here … Give me one moment, my sweet cherry blossom.”

Azazel takes a few steps back and grabs the man by his shirt, pulling out his knife. “I hope you have friends in Hell.” Azazel takes his knife and stabs the man in the eye, slowly pushing itfurther until the base of the knife is touching the man’s eye. The man screams in agonizing pain until his body collapses.

“Cher… My sweet cher, eyes on me… please.” Cherrie groans “Baby, please. I’m right here.”

Cherrie taps his leg to get his attention and uses sign language to communicate her feelings,

I knew you would find me

“I'd tear down the heavens to find you.”

Azazel picks Cherrie up slowly and walks away.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sakura-fubuki ‘Fallen Cherry Blossom’

The room buzzes with the quiet beeps and whirrs of medical equipment, the soft hiss of an oxygen mask, and the gentle swell and rece down of Cherrie's breathing. She lays still, her once vibrant visage now marked by the violence she has endured. Bruises in varying shades of purple and yellow paint her delicate features–a stark contrast to her chocolate complexion. Bandages wrap around her wrists where the shackles had cut deep, and an IV drip snakes its way into her arm, providing a steady flow of fluids.

Azazel's usually unreadable expression softens when he approaches her bedside. He takes her hand, his large, calloused fingers gently intertwining with her smaller, softer ones. The contrast between them is stark—he, the embodiment of coiled energy, ready to strike at any moment, and she, fragile and injured, her usual vivaciousness dampened but not extinguished. It’s been a week since Azazel rescued her, and Cherrie has been in and out of sleep throughout.

"You're safe now, Baby," Azazel murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of tenderness and restrained fury. "I won't let anyone hurt you again. I'll burn the world down before I let anyone take you from me again."Azazel's thumb brushes gently across her knuckles, his jaw clenching at the sight of the bruises marring her skin. “I’m so sorry; I failed you.”

Cherrie’s hand flinched against his. “Shh baby, I’m healing remember.” Azazel lets out a small laugh, “Oh my god… What do you need? Water? Food? The doctor? A blanket?” Cherrie smirks. “I just need you. Daddy, never leave my side again. I’m just a girl, ya know.”

“You’re my good girl, and I’m never going anywhere.” As they share a moment, the hospital room door bursts open, and a nurse hurries in, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. "Mr. Yanagra, I thought I heard voices. “Do you want to step outside while I change her bandages?" Azazel's eyes narrow, his protective instincts flaring. He takes a subtle step in front of Cherrie, shielding her from view–guarding her from any potential threat. "I’d like to stay," he says. Azazel stands sentry, watching the nurse's every move as she efficiently tends to Cherrie's wounds.

Cherrie, for her part, endures the examination with gritted teeth, her hand never leaving Azazel's. She hisses when the nurse removes the bandages, exposing the angry red scars that marr her wrists.

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