Chapter 1: Devil Incarnate
This seemed a peaceful way to die. The moonlight shone through the rotting holes in the roof, idyllic as a daydream. The way it illuminated her outstretched hand was magical, it seemed as though this was a fantasy rather than a reality. She smiled to herself as the world, at least to her, smelled of lavender. The air was thick with the smell, but not in a suffocating manner. She held in a breath as if to fill her lungs with flowers, hoping to preserve their beauty and alluring pheromones. It was the only thing that kept her from losing focus.
As her eyes flitted about the room, the walls swirled and shimmered under her gaze. The moonlight grew fuller as it encompassed the full length of her arm, her skin even more pale in contrast to the inky black of the night. She could smell something burning, however. Not a fire, no- but the scent was of something that had already been singed. It was the aroma of charred flesh, and it burned holes in her lavender and made her cough up blood, crimson trickling from the corner of her parted lips.
Lydia, in all her intelligence, had no idea what was going on. She had been enticed and seduced by the Devil incarnate; a Hades of sorts. And just as Persephone had been trapped, so had she. Lydia was stuck lying on the floor of the former Hale house, ensnared by some awful force that held her there. And as Lydia inhaled the flowers again, the Devil knew that she would pose no threat, and that the topmost floor of his childhood, burned to a crisp home and semi-final resting place, would be her grave. He was sure of it- and that was why, with a kiss on the poor girl's cheek, he left to begin the life that Lydia had ensured for him. Unwillingly, of course, but since no one had sympathy for the Devil, he would have none for Lydia Martin. She was alluring, of course- young, pale like the old tales, firebrand red hair, and those plump, everlasting lips… she was alluring, to say the least. On top of that, she was intelligent; however something else had caught the Devil's fancy. She, unlike many others he had bitten, did not die. And, miraculously, she didn't turn either.
But the Devil had other business to attend to- he would be back for the Impossible Girl soon enough. So there Lydia Martin lay, splayed out on the floor like a discarded doll. She wasn't fun to play with anymore. As the Devil exited, off to seek his fortune, Lydia took another labored breath, coughing up crimson life force once again. She was going to die here; she knew that to be true. The flowers were gone, and no one knew where she was. She was going to die, alone, in this house, and no one would ever find her poor, useless remains.
This seemed a peaceful way to die.