Six one hundred word little stories following the life of Saeten. They get worse as they go, lol.
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Creation
She was a whore, but he didn't care. The whores were the only reason he visited the Red Moon houses in the slums of Drega.
She was a whore, but that's what made it so good. He didn't have to care, didn't have to worry about what he would say in the morning, if he should apologize for hurting her. For he surely would. He was angry, angry at the world.
She was a whore, but she could take care of herself, unlike the rest of the world. She didn't care about what he had, about what he could give.
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Birth
The child was born in during a stormy night, thank the Darkness. The lights were out, so she didn't have to look at the child she had birthed. He was a mistake, unwanted. She could barely remember his father, though his named burned in her name.
She could feel the child though, and what she felt scared her. She didn't want to feel connected to this child in any way, but she could already feel a need to care for him.
"You need to name him," a voice whispered.
Closing her eyes, she turned away from the child. "Saetan SaDiablo."
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Descent
He stepped out of the altar room, clutching his new Jewels, still in awe of them. Of the power he now knew he possessed.
Leaning against the wall, he shut his eyes and brought the hand clutching the Jewel to his forehead, clutching it tight. He had been gifted with something so powerful, something so rare.
Lowering his hand to his chest, Saetan SaDiablo opened his eyes and looked around the empty room, glad he had sent all away. He was borne in the slums yet had risen so far.
Determination lit his eyes. So much further he would rise.
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Need
He sat in the study of the newly opened SaDiablo Hall, running his hands along his desk. It was his first moment of solitude and he was determined to enjoy it, despite the list of newly employed maids and footmen who wanted orders from the Lord of the Hall.
Who was really the Lord of so much more, if the rumors were to be believed.
What did a man need now? He asked himself. He had all the power he could need, the home he had always dreamed of.
What else did he need? He shouldn't have asked, really.
Witch.
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Death
The Mirror looked back him, only with younger eyes, less lines, just enough subtle differences to remind him that he wasn't really looking into a mirror. A reflection of himself yes, but in truth, his son.
"Daemon…" he whispered, looking up at golden eyes glistening with tears. "Janelle?"
"Father…" Daemon whispered back, clutching his hands. "She's coming, she's coming."
Saetan slowly pried his hand from under his son's, and with effort, slid two rings off his hand. Daemon watched his movements with careful eyes. "No," Saetan whispered. "She can't come," remembering her death.
"She has already been." The rings dropped.
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Life
Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, the High Lord of Hell, had been a Guardian, Warlord Prince of Halaway, the Consort to Cassandra, the father of Mephis, Pyeton, Daemon, Lucivar and that baby, that unnamed baby. Had been Hekatah's wife and destroyer. He been the Steward of the Court in the Dark Court under Witch, Janelle, his witch-child whom he taught and loved so much.
He had been kind and compassionate to his people, had loved the land he had lived in, He had been through trials no man would survive, had embraced the Darkness like all Blood should.
He had been there.