"My, my, come back so soon?" a velvety voice slithered into my ear. He stood in front of me with his hands outstretched, in his usual half-naked glory.
"Well, not exactly my decision," I growled, walking up a set of stone stairs to my left. He let out a melodious laugh, briskly following me up the steps.
"Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall
I think I will not hang myself to-day."
I chuckled as I climbed the rest of the stairs.
"Only five minutes into my arrival and you're already quoting grim poetry?" I asked my tone bewildered.
I abruptly turned around and ran my slightly chill fingers through my unusually cooperative locks.
"If this has so much effect on you, perhaps I should straighten my hair more often?" I asked sarcastically, turning right back around.
"Silly, Isabella. I do not care if your hair is curly, but then again, I don't really think I would mind all that much if you were hairless all together!" He joked, rushing past me.
I was worried.
Not so much that he teased about me being bald, but worried about the fact that he was teasing me.
I ran up next to him.
"Alright, what sort of amphetamine was sprinkled in your Shreddies this morning?" I asked, struggling to keep up to his long strides.
He let out another cheery laugh that made me want to regurgitate my own Fruit Loops.
"Why would I ever want to do something as frivolous as eating breakfast?" he asked rhetorically.
I let out a frustrated groan as we reached our destination.
"Bella!" A high pitched voice shrieked.
Alice; a small pixie-like thing, attached herself to my torso.
"Alice, I saw you only a few hours ago." I mumbled, a slight blush creeping on my face.
"I'm sorry; I just love your hair!" She squealed, running her small hands through my smooth locks. I let out a small chuckle.
I'm kind of surprised at the warm welcome I got down here, being that I get sucked into this demonic realm in my sleep, without so much as a warning.
It seemed that everyone here (or at least that I've met) has an alternative name.
Deumos; my favourite of them all, was petite and feisty. She preferred to be called Alice, which frankly fit her better than her actual name.
Agares was strong, and competitive, and liked to be called Emmett.
Lilith, was sensual, seductive and very beautiful, and had the most normal name; Rosalie.
Now that I think about it, most of these names were kind of strange. Very...Edwardian.
"Which is how I found mine," a velvety voice murmured from behind me.
Startled, I whipped around to face him.
"How-" but I didn't get to finish my thought,
"After millions of years rampaging around in my lair, things can get a little bit tedious, so me and a few...friends decided to go out and...look around..." he spoke, leaning against a gray brick wall.
"And we couldn't go around being called by our demonic names, now could we?" he spoke, swiftly pushing himself off the wall.
"So, they all made up names according to what was popular at the time." He simply said, walking toward me.
"And since it was the Edwardian Era..." he trailed off, gently grabbing my chin.
He tilted my pale face up toward his, gazing at me with honey gold eyes.
It was dazzling, actually.
"Edward...really?" I asked, slightly amused.
His mouth simply pulled up in a devilish grin.
Slowly he pulled my face into his, until our noses were barely touching, our lips an inch apart. His sweet breath cascaded over my face, making any coherent thoughts I had vanish.
"As much as I'd like to continue this conversation," he whispered huskily, "Biology is over, and you're going to wake up." he finished off, disintegrating as the blinding light came.
"Isabella...Isabella..." a worried voice filled my ears.
"...Bella." I mumbled sleepily.
"Isabella..." that little deaf idiot.
"My name is Bella." I snap, tilting my head upward, finding myself looking into the icy blue eyes of Michael.
"Isabella...Bella...Whoever...the bell just rang and I doubt Mr. Banner loves you enough to have you for another block..." Michael trailed off, in a worried tone.
I quickly sat up, grabbed my things, and ran out the small door, praying that I'd have enough time to go to the nearest bathroom, touch myself, and then cry about my life, without being tardy.
As I ripped the small tin door open, I noticed a small red Post-it stuck to the inside. In a neat little scripture it said.
You really should straighten your hair more often.
I let out a small groan and pressed my forehead against the cool metal.
I hastily made my way to my next class, weakly trying to ignore the small velvety voice in the back of my head.
We will finish that conversation...