Page 87 of Demonic Cage
“Why can’t it be touched by blood?”
Lavian presses his lips together.
“Though it’s symbolic, it must not be stained with blood. It has to remain as pure as the decision when someone decides to become a demon or an angel.”
A wicked smile spreads across my face as I stand before the mirror, recalling Lavian’s last words on the beach.
I have to find the dagger and get out of here. Away from this version of Hell, away from the horrors. To the angels, to overthrow Darya’s realm. My hands are sweating with excitement.
I catch sight of the black, gleaming weapon. Deep down, I know this is what I need. Before I met Pandora, I saw this dagger; it matches Lavian’s description. My heart starts pounding as the image clears, and I see the Demon King’s blood-drenched figure on the gray battlefield again. I stand next to him with the dagger. I grip the frame. I close my eyes and start concentrating.
I want the mirror to pull me in, like when I saw Pandora or Bengt, and maybe I can bring out the dagger.
There’s just one problem.
“What are you doing?”
I jump away from the frame. Nárs has snuck up behind me.
I can never be alone.
“Trying to get in,” I mutter dismissively.
“Why?”
“I want to bring something out.”
“What exactly?”
“It doesn’t matter…”
Nárs raises an eyebrow. An orange strand of hair falls into his eye.
“Lily Girl, not every mirror lets you in…”
“I figured that out for myself.”
“…only if you allow it to.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
“Excuse me?”
“We have a desire that overrides all others. Acceptance. It doesn’t have a separate mirror, but you need it to meet the others.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It’s hard to face what we truly want,blah blah.Accepting it is even harder,blah blah.You can see your desires, but you can only live them if you accept them.Blah blah.”Nárs yawns.
So, I have to accept that this is my desire, and then I can be in the mirror. After all, it makes sense. I entered into Pandora’s, knowing she would give me knowledge, and Bengt’s was clearly a dead desire I could never achieve. But then why can’t I enter this damn mirror and cut Darya’s fucking throat?
“Darya’s fucking throat?” Nárs asks beside me. Apparently, I said the last part out loud.
I shake my head and stare back at the mirror. The image suddenly changes. Darya is beneath me, and I’m kneeling on his body, pressing the dagger to his throat. He smiles, though he’s only a moment away from death. Not dead. Just defeated.
The image grips every cell of my body like a vacuum, as if sucking the life out of me one by one. In the next moment, I’m sitting on Darya. The dagger leaves a red mark on his white neck. I have no idea why my hand doesn’t move. Why did the mirror let me in at all?
I slit his throat, before clutching the dagger to my chest and stepping out of the mirror.
