Page 225 of Satan's Spawn
Another tormented life.
Her beauty is sacred, worthy of worship.
A true empress of light to face endless depths of black.
Will she come out victorious?
Live a life upon the throne?
Can her perfection survive the wrath of a devil in disguise?
Or will her beauty be the devil’s demise?
Can she be mine?
A soul who is not worthy of redemption,
With fingers riddled in blood and sin.
Who stands stoic behind the gates of hell.
Only to be brought to his knees by the kiss of an angel.
I blink slowly down at his words, my fingers growing clammy the tighter I squeeze the fragile piece of paper.
This poem is about me, I have no doubt.
But why? I know it was completed way before the night of the dance.
Has Crayton always seen me this way? As a harborer of light? Beautiful? Not a ghost but an angel?
He hated me so much at first, so why would I be a subject of his inspiration?
I haven’t put much thought into Crayton’s actions toward me at the beginning of the year, since we’ve come such a long way in a short amount of time.
But seeing this now? I can’t help but obsess over what was going through his head the first month we met.
And how the hell, behind all that hatred and wanton aggression, was a guy who had actual feelings for me.
My cell phone ringing makes me almost jump out of my skin, and when I pick it up I find Archer on the other line.
“Hey, Arch. How was Christmas?
“Can I come over?” He gets straight to the point, making my eyebrows pinch together.
“Uh, sure, everything okay?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll talk when I see you.”
And he hangs up.
Archer doesn’t do grim, and that turns my worry into undeniable fear.
What the hell does he have to talk about?
I’m pacing back and forth in my room for over an hour as I await my fate, Potato following my every move, but I’m too busy assuming the worst to offer him attention.
I’ve used this time to compile a list of all the things that could be going wrong.
