Big thanks to my awesome editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!
The two named demons are random villain names I picked out of Inducks. Bless you, Inducks.
Some of you guessed correctly about Ratface's identity! This was the first time I'd ever written this pairing. This role in particular got a lot of changes over the years (at one point, it was actually one of the dolls from Mother's house) but hopefully this one worked out.
Once upon a time, there was a demon who was nothing special. He had the same abilities as his brethren, and he did the same things as them, but none of this made him noteworthy. He knew this, and didn't care for it. To be quite honest, there was nothing he cared about except himself. He didn't care about the futile war between his kind and the angels, the useless humans crawling around the earth, or even his fellow demons who mocked his woes. He wanted to make himself as special as he thought he was, and one day, he discovered how.
"Blasted angels," Azimuth grumbled, brushing dirt off his skin. "I almost had them! An entire family of mortals, willing to work for us! Grandparents, uncles, kids, the whole group, I had them right in my hands!"
"But you didn't, so can we cut to the chase already?" Sirena said with a great roll of her eyes, though most of her aggravation wasn't at the big-beaked blabbermouth. "Gladstone! Do you feel like getting up anytime this century?"
Apparently his pretending-to-nap routine wasn't working today. The young man sighed from his perch in the tree, sitting up on the thick branch and looking down at his friends. Well, 'friends' was a stretch – 'acquaintances he could tolerate more than others' was perhaps more accurate, but longer to say. "What do you need me for? I'm no more powerful than either one of you. The day's already shot, let me get back to sleep."
"Yes, you're a weakling," Sirena conceded, hands on her hips, blowing some of her blonde hair out of her face. "But you're a charming weakling. You can get a mortal to do whatever you say with one look. If we hurry now, we can get to the next village and pick on some prey before the angels Azimuth ran into catch on."
"I almost had them," Azimuth whined again, demanding to be heard. "I was so close! I just needed a little more power!"
"Well, power doesn't grow on trees – and neither do demons." Sirena then kicked the tree as hard as she could, and with a startled yelp, Gladstone fell down into the bushes. He popped out, his golden curls flopping all over the place.
"Remind me to take my naps further away from you," Gladstone grumbled as he stood up and brushed himself down. What was the big deal about luring humans to their side anyway? It wasn't going to make any real difference in the end. No one cared about winning this stupid war, they just wanted petty vengeance at this point. Only the truly serious wanted supreme victory, and those fools died as a result of it. Every year there were less angels and demons as a result, and Gladstone figured at that rate, they'd all die out if they put so much stock into feeling superior.
Count him out. He wanted to be superior to both angels and demons, and that way, he figured he'd be alive forever. He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed the taller demons out in the forest, huffing all the while. Sirena, bothersome ninny that she was, had raised a good point. You couldn't just get more power by whining about it, you were born with your talents and that was that. Some demons and angels were born stronger than others, the same with mortals, it was all a game of chance. So Gladstone was never going to be more special than these two idiots.
Although...there was one way to become a more powerful demon. But he knew these two knuckleheads would never agree to it. Few demons would, bitter and selfish as they were.
The village was a short walk, and not worth much, if Gladstone's opinion was asked. It was a desolate dying thing, but the farmers appeared happy enough, digging in the mud for extra vegetables and laughing with abandon when they found extras. One burly man hoisted his son over his shoulders, showing him how to tend to the long stalks of corn nearby. They had no idea about the demons hiding about in the shadows, slinking nearby as they plotted.
"Papa, this field grew twice as much corn as last time!" the little boy discovered, handling an ear of corn in his tiny hands.
His father laughed again. "So it did! We must be the luckiest men alive!"
Gladstone paused in his sneaking, eyebrow raised. There was a word he'd never heard before, and he nudged his friends. "Luckiest? What's a luckiest?"
"You mean, luck? It's some silly concept the mortals came up with," Azimuth said with a wave of his hand. "The idea of good things happening to you over and over without you having to do anything. They always want some name to destiny, like they have control over their lives. It's incredibly pathetic."
It was also incredibly brilliant – Gladstone's eyes widened at the idea going through his head. Being superior in life without having to lift a finger? That was right up his alley! He could nap all he wanted and still get away with being better. Maybe mortals were good for something after all. Now there was just a matter of how to be lucky. That was the trick, and if demons were good at anything, it was tricks.
"Will you two pipe down?" Sirena snarled, kicking back at the two men. "We're almost near our target. Gladstone, you charm them. Azimuth, you threaten them. And I'll enchant them."
"Why can't I enchant them?" Azimuth grumbled. "I'm good at enchanting! Why, last month, I charmed a mortal man into so much strength his muscles tore right though his clothes."
"And then he whined about destroying everything he touched, so he prayed to the angels, you nitwit." Sirena kicked him again. "We can only give away so much of our magic, and I'm not letting you waste it!"
There was the problem with Gladstone's desire – he'd need his friends to hand over a portion of their magic to make his own stronger, and once you gave it away, you couldn't take it back. He watched the two of them argue about taking turns, and knowing the day was going to be a waste, turned his attention back to the farmer and his son. A thin wife had joined them, and she lifted the boy into her arms before kissing her husband. The boy stuck out his tongue in disgust, and Gladstone had to agree. It was a gross thing to see, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. What were they so happy about?
They were weak. They were boring. They had to know it. So what made them smile?
"They're here!" a voice cried out, young and jubilant, its owner running across the wide fields. "The angels are here!"
"Already?!" Azimuth groaned, before shoving Sirena aside. "This is your fault! You picked the village!"
"It's your fault, they were following your lead!"
Gladstone rubbed his temples. "It'll be both your faults if they find us, so keep it down." So long as they stayed in the dark shadows, the angels wouldn't notice them, hopefully. It was one of the few advantages the demons had, being nearly invisible in any dark place.
Sirena pouted, not wanting to give up so easily. "Let's head closer into the village. Once the angels leave, the mortals will have their guards down! Follow me!" She continued creeping, and the men reluctantly followed, knowing they'd get an earful for disobedience. The sun was high at its peak, allowing many long shadows to be cast from the short hay and mud-made huts.
In the center of the village were four angels – Gladstone squinted – in a way, it was three angels plus one who was all by herself. All of them were bright, shining beauties, surrounded by mortals who worshiped them and thanked them for their help. They practically glowed with tenderness, petting the mortal's hair as if they were telling dogs what good boys they were. High and mighty snobs, the lot of them, Gladstone thought. But there was something very strange about the fourth one – her wings.
Demons and angels had many physical differences alongside their internal ones. Demons had long nails, slit eyes, and a constant aura of darkness. Angels had long hair, warmth in every touch, and white feathery wings on their back – at least, that's what Gladstone knew about every other angel he'd seen in his life. So why did the fourth one have black wings? That was unheard of!
Black as her short hair that hung around her neck, deep as the lines on her face that told centuries of stories, rich as her eyes that captured the sunlight and kept it. She was beautiful, yes, but not the way angels were supposed to be. Angels were supposed to be about brightness and light, not... that. She was hugging a small silver mirror close to her chest, eyes scanning the area until she spotted the same small boy Gladstone had been eyeing earlier.
Her weary expression softened, and she approached him, one hand held out. "Hello, little one," she said in a voice so soft that it made Gladstone's heart skip. She knelt down to see the boy better, and the child was hesitant before stepping towards her. "How are you today?"
"I'm... very good," the boy decided. "We have extra corn, Papa says we're lucky."
The woman shook her head. "No, it wasn't luck. It was your family working very hard. Remember that. All your victories are made with your own two hands."
"What a downer," Sirena mused.
"And an ugly one too," Azimuth added. "Black wings! Why does she have black wings?"
Gladstone said nothing, continuing to watch, as then the boy's mother suddenly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away. Her eyes were on those same black wings, fearful of what they meant. The angel was startled, but not surprised, as if this wasn't the first time a wordless accusation had been thrust at her. It still hurt, but it wasn't a fresh wound. "All is well, I assure you. I just-"
"Magica," One of the normal looking angels interrupted, her voice drone and dull. "Maybe it'd be for the best if you left the rest of this up to us."
The black angel – Magica? - stood up straight, eyes narrowing. "I led you here with my mirror, I showed you where to go! You'd be wandering around lost if it wasn't for me. I came here to help!"
"Yes, well, you helped, so you can go." The second angel tried to wave her away, without even looking at her, "You're scaring the poor babies, so, off with you. We'll let you know if we need you."
Magica's hands clenched her mirror tighter, almost threatening to break it. "They are not poor babies, they're human beings! They're not our pets! If we can help them, then we must, but not so much that they depend on us!" Her temper was rising, and her wings began to jerk in reaction. "Why don't you ever listen to me!" With that, her wings fully stretched out, making her appear larger than she really was - and frightening a dozen villagers who fled back into their huts. Upon seeing their terror, the woman's face fell with guilt, which made no sense to Gladstone as she hadn't done anything wrong at all.
"Nice going, Magica," the third angel snorted. "Some help you are."
Magica opened her mouth to likely raise another objection before silently giving up in defeat. Her wings folded up into herself, and she stormed off in the opposite direction. Gladstone watched her until she was little more than a speck in the distance, and might have watched further, had Sirena not pulled both men to her with glittering eyes. "Hey, do you think there's a reason that one has black wings?"
Gladstone blinked at the oddity of such a question. "A reason? You mean you think she wasn't born with them?"
"Of course not," Azimuth rubbed his hands together, catching on to Sirena's train of thought. "They must be special! Anything that unique has to mean something special. They might even be a source of her power!"
"If we got those feathers for ourselves," Sirena said with a grin, malicious lining every word. "We could be invincible! Unstoppable! We could even be the most powerful demons that ever existed!"
Gladstone chuckled darkly, walking around his friends with crossed arms. "Oh, it's a fine idea," he lightly mocked. It wasn't a bad idea, per se, and perhaps the wings were a representation of the angel's strength. But there was one glaring flaw. "Yet, it's like the old story goes... who will bell the cat?"
Azimuth cocked his head. "She looks more like a duck to me."
Sheesh, why did Gladstone hang out with these morons? "What I mean is, if she's that powerful, obviously you can't get anywhere near her without being destroyed. You wouldn't even be able to pluck one feather off her before she used her magic on you, and poof, you're gone." He snapped his fingers, and enjoyed the sight of the two elder demons wincing. However, the more he explained it, the more strength it gave to his own ideas. Yes, the angel might be the right thing he needed all along. "However... what was that you were saying earlier, Sirena? That I can get people to do what I want with one look?"
Sirena gawked, her eyes widening. "You're not honestly suggesting...?"
"Oh, but I am." Gladstone stopped walking, holding up one finger. "How hard can it be to win over an angel? I'll just butter her up like a hot meal, and she'll melt in my hands. All those snobby angels just want someone to remind them how pretty and perfect they are. It'll be easy. I can get you those feathers, I'll let you have every single one..." He then held out his hand. "And in return, you two give half your own power."
"Half!" Azimuth balked, staggering backwards. "Are you insane? I'd never give up that much!"
Sirena clicked her tongue, strumming her fingers on her arm. "Hmmm... if we did get stronger because of those feathers... giving up half our power may seem like nothing in the end. Assuming you can make her hand them over."
Gladstone kept on his winning smile that had won over many a mortal heart. If ultimately the feathers were nothing but feathers, he still won. As long as he worded the deal perfectly, they'd still have to hand it over, because a contract with a demon was binding, no matter who it was to. He would get a lucky life, and finally be the superior being he'd always known he was. "Do we have a deal?"
Sirena and Azimuth exchanged uneasy glances, but eventually their greed won out. They both held Gladstone's hand – red rings emitted from their hands, symbolizing the contract bound between the three of them. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and when it was done, Gladstone turned around, smoothing down his green jacket. "A pleasure doing business with you."
The demon was cleverer than most would give him credit for. He hunted down the black-feathered angel, memorizing her daily walks to find when she would be alone. Yet to his surprise, he learned she was often alone – the other angels were shunning her all but in name. She continued to try and help them, even though time and time again she was turned away for the mere crime of existing. The demon felt he had an easy target, and with greatest confidence, made his move.
"Hellooo, gorgeous."
Magica had been walking a smooth path in the grass, her eyes on the mirror in her hands when the sudden noise disrupted her thoughts. She glanced to the side, and saw a well-dressed demon leaning on a tree, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight, as dapper as any true gentleman. He couldn't hide the shape of his eyes or the look of his hands, but he knew his handsomeness would be a good distraction, as it had been to all the other humans he tricked in his life. He held a bouquet of roses in his hand, fondly rubbing one of the petals between his fingertips as he spoke.
"Forgive me for my impertinence," he said as he sniffed his own present, "but the moment I saw you, I couldn't control myself. Your beauty has captured my soul completely. From this day hence, I belong to you and you alone. I know these flowers pale in comparison to your alluring features, but I ask you on humble grounds to accept this small token of my affection." He held out the bouquet...
… to no one. He blinked, blinked again, and saw that Magica had kept on walking, face back in the mirror. Having never been snubbed before, Gladstone was unfamiliar with what had just happened to him, and needed a faint moment to process it. Once he collected his senses, he jogged after her. "Hey! Did you hear a word I said?"
"Leave me be," Magica said, not sparing him a further look. "I have no times for tricks from toddlers."
Gladstone stared in slack-jawed stupidity. "Did you just... insult me? Angels aren't supposed to insult people! You're supposed to be all... sweet and goody-goody and giggly!" He went after her again, trying to touch her shoulder. "Listen, let's try this again. Your beauty has captured-"
THWAP!
Angels weren't supposed to insult people, but it seemed they could, and now Gladstone knew they could also send people flying with a mere smack of their wings. A sensible man would have given up at this point, but Gladstone's pride had been so roughly beaten up that he couldn't stand it.
The next day, he offered her a box full of gorgeous jewelry that reflected the glow of her skin, and she threw the box right at his face. The day after that, he composed a symphony of poetry to describe her every movement, and she plugged her ears. The day after that, he played ill, laying on the ground, moaning in agony that if he could not receive a kiss from her, he'd surely perish, and she casually stepped over his supposed corpse.
With each passing failure his stubbornness grew. It became less about earning the luck he desired and more about making that woman submit to his glamour. Every day she was more focused on her beauty than his – why else would she be constantly staring at her mirror? She had to be the snobbiest angel that ever existed! His anger and hatred for her bubbled hotter – he didn't ask to be born a demon, she didn't choose to become an angel, so why did she get to feel as if she was better than he was? The irony of his own superior feeling was lost on him.
Things came to a head when on her route, he decided to go for a different routine – hanging upside down from a tree branch as she made her way through the forest where he typically took his naps. "Fair day, my sweetest dove! My heart is full now, seeing your grace."
It was no different than the flood of other compliments he'd been given her, yet now she looked up at him, the lines under her eyes darker than usual. "Is that all?"
"Is what all?"
"Do you have anything else to say about me except my looks?"
"... What else is there?"
Magica scowled, grabbing him by his hair and yanking him down to the ground. He fell with a heavy "Oof!", before scrambling to his feet. "Hey!" He was quick to smooth his hair back down. "What was that for? What's so wrong with telling you that you're pretty? You must know it yourself, you spend all your time looking at your own reflection!"
"I do not," she replied, and held up her mirror to show him that it was not in fact a mirror at all – because instead of a reflection, it showed two small human girls at a lake, one of them crying heavily, the other one struggling to console her. "I look at them. I look for those who need my help."
"What for?" Gladstone said with a heavy snort. "I've seen the way they treat you. You help them out, and what do you get in return? They scream at you, they mock you, they run away, all because of your wings."
"So you don't think those are pretty," she snorted right back, and resumed her walk. "Just as well. You have the face of a rat."
This time Gladstone followed her and refused to leave. "This rat face has won over plenty! Who can you win over? Are you going to help those girls? They won't thank you, I know it."
"I don't need gratitude. I don't think you'll ever understand."
Gladstone followed her all the way to the lake, and just as he thought, the girls cowered in fear at the black-feathered angel. But Magica still persisted, kneeling down to their level, and gently asking them the reason for their tears. The younger of the girls said her mother drowned in the lake, and missed her terribly, could the angel bring her back? No, that was beyond her power. But she could offer a warm embrace, and a promise that the mother was always watching her children, and that love was something that did not die with the body.
The girls didn't thank her. Yet Magica was pleased when they began to smile.
The demon continued trying to woo her over, now following her as she helped the humans. He never interfered, never tried to sway those mortals to his side, and only watched as she lent her help. He rarely saw her use her magic – she preferred to let words heal wounds, for the humans to think for themselves. She never got anything out of it, no praise for her good deeds or rewards of gold. So why was she so happy whenever she did manage to help someone? The demon could not understand. He thought if he continued to watch her help, he could comprehend the joy she got out of it.
"I don't know what to do," the young lady wept, the rain getting stronger. Magica held up her wing to try and shield the human from the water as best she could. "I don't want to marry that man, but he's the head of the village. He won't listen to my parents. I'll never love him, I can't."
Magica frowned, as this was a hard problem to solve. "Some men can't be reasoned with," she said with a sigh, one arm always tucked around her mirror. "But you must keep your head held high and fight on. Otherwise, you will always lose."
Gladstone looked back and forth between the women. Typically he'd stand there and watch Magica do all the work, but that woman's sobs were getting on his nerves. Even if Magica was going to be proven right, this woman would never thank her for it. Why bother? "If you ask me," he said suddenly, "He's the one who should feel like he's losing."
"Nobody asked you," Magica growled.
The woman looked at him. "Huh?"
"He wants a wife, and a pretty one, but he doesn't know anything else about you, right?" Gladstone wagged a finger. "Simple – live with him for one day, and be the worst possible wife on the planet. Burn his food, destroy his clothing, make it clear he'll never know a moment's peace. But! Do it all with a smile." He flashed his own winning grin, showing how it was done. "So he thinks you're trying your best to be a good wife. You'll be kicked out before sunset."
"That's..." Magica started, and then pouted, miffed because... "not the worst idea I've ever heard."
The woman appeared to agree, her tears coming to a stop. "It might! It really might! I'll make myself completely undesirable! Why, I'll even stop bathing and wear my worst dress!" Pleased at her upcoming freedom, she flounced inside to tell her parents the plan.
Gladstone grinned at Magica, scooting over to her side. "That's one for me, and zero for you, darling."
He expected Magica to blow up in jealous anger, and for a few small seconds, her expression said exactly that. But just as quickly it softened into something unfamiliar, and for once when she spoke to him, her voice was smooth instead of volatile. "Thank you."
It was quite amazing the number of things happening in Gladstone's heart – like Magica, he'd never been thanked before either. Having never received any on her end, she had to know how powerful it was to give it away. He felt floored, like his chest was caving in. No victory over any other demon, angel, or mortal had ever made him feel so... so... what was the word?
… Grateful?
Magica walked on, not caring about the rain that slicked her and feathers, as it was time to help other souls in need. Gladstone watched on, touching his heart, feeling it beat faster.
From then on, the demon did more than observe the humans that the angel helped – he helped as well. Not all of his advice was useful, and not all of the times it worked, but he found himself wanting to be thanked again. It had felt so nice the first time that he wanted it more. The more he worked, the more he realized he didn't want thanks from the humans – he wanted thanks from her.
"Don't you say a word, rat face." Magica hissed as she tried to fit through the small doorway, her large wings making it an obstacle. Even folding them in as tightly as she could still made her wobble on the doorframe. She didn't even have to look at Gladstone to know he was sporting a smirk.
He stood outside, watching with restrained laughter as she tried to push her way inside. "Who would have known that the answer between the war of our species was in tight spaces? One small room could have us take over the world."
"Shut up or I'll kick you."
Another chuckle escaped him, and he approached her from behind. "If you promise not to kick me, I could try to help push you in."
She debated it before groaning. "... Very well. But be careful, they're sensitive."
Gladstone, gently as someone like he could make it, placed his hands on her wings and slowly began to push inward. They were the softest things he'd ever felt in his life. Dare say, he would have loved to take a nap on them, and enjoyed that mental image. "Why so? Are they the source of your power?"
She glanced at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Are you daft? Of course not. They're just wings."
Wouldn't Azimuth and Sirena be disappointed – funny how he hadn't thought of them or the bet in weeks, and shook his head to forget them once more. "I guess I was just wondering why they're black. All the other angels I've seen have white wings."
"It's rare, not impossible. I just have a... defect, I guess you could say." Once inside, she stretched out her aching wings before folding them up again.
Defect? He didn't like that word. It didn't suit her, as if her wings were a mistake, as if she was a mistake. His combative nature was driven up again. "They're pretty."
"Oh, don't start that nonsense again."
"They are! They're like... the wings of... of..." He tried to think of a creature with similar wings and similar beauty, and only one came to mind. "A raven."
She stopped, looking at him, and then at her wings. No one had ever complimented her wings before, and eventually she had begun to dislike them herself. Gladstone could see the warmth such words gave her, and it made that weird feeling in his chest expand. He wanted to do it again, over and over and over. "Ravens are beautiful creatures, aren't they? Surely you've seen them."
Magica's eyes met the floor, and her voice became quiet. She tucked some hair over her shoulder, and – and – and there it was. A smile. A real, genuine, one of a kind smile, and Gladstone never wanted to blink should he miss a moment of its existence. It didn't erase the lines on her face or the hardness of her eyes, yet he realized he didn't want those to go away. They were all a part of her. "They are... they are pretty birds."
Decidedly bashful, she was swift to turn her head away so she could focus on the reason they came. "H-Hurry up. We can't keep the mortals waiting."
Gladstone smiled too.
It wasn't long before the demon forgot his bet, forgot the luck he wanted, and forgot everything his life was before he met the angel. He never knew he could be so happy with so little. Soon it became a daily sight for all those around them, the angel and the demon side by side on the same paths. Everyone believed one would betray the other in due time. All the while, the angel never once used her powers, and never once let go of her mirror.
It was a clear crystal night when both of those oddities got an answer.
There were legends that said demons grew stronger at night and angels grew weaker, but this was a false theory whipped up by mortals. Although Gladstone would have said that he strangely felt strong and weak as Magica lay against his chest, the two of them watching the moon from an empty cliff. In days up to this, they didn't argue less, but they argued softer, and their conflicts ended in more smirks than insults. There were times they were perfectly content not saying a thing, with Gladstone smoothing down her black feathers with his fingers and Magica resting quietly on her side, eyes closed. They would have stayed like that for some time, but the mirror began to make noise within its images - Magica's eyes flew open, and she looked down into it to see what was the matter.
It was a false alarm – a child had stubbed their toe and was wailing as if it was the end of the world. Magica sighed in relief, and Gladstone chuckled quietly. "Sheesh, how do you angels get any rest, if you're constantly on the lookout for trouble?"
"I'm the only angel with a mirror like this," she answered. "The others just try to guess where people need help, and by then it might be too late. I didn't care for that, so I put all of my magic into this mirror."
Gladstone nodded – but then stopped. Did he hear right? "All of your magic? Every single last drop?"
"All means all, rat face." She poked his beak. "You've seen how angels and demons can behave with too much power. They act with reckless abandon, and don't care who they hurt so long as they get what they want and feel good about it. I never wanted to fall to temptation... so I put it all into my mirror."
Gladstone sat there, dumbfounded at such a sacrifice. He couldn't imagine living without magic – it made him better than mortals. It was a cheat at life. Yet she decided to make her life more difficult, more challenging, just to help people? "Honestly, my dear, I don't think I'll ever understand you." He wasn't sure that was such a bad thing, though. Learning about her had been fascinating.
Magica looked down at her mirror, and then began to stand up on the ground, with Gladstone following soon after. "You might... if you have this." She placed the mirror into his hands – it was the first time he'd ever seen her let it go.
"W-what?" Gladstone fumbled with the mirror before clutching it to his chest like a sacred treasure. "What! What what what! This is... all of you, all of your magic! Why on earth on you giving it to me?"
"I'm not giving it to you," Magica said, folding her arms. "I'm lending it. You will return it to me tomorrow at our usual path. If there's a single crack or smear, I will never, ever forgive you, no matter how many pretty things you say about my wings."
Gladstone's arms felt very heavy, as if he was carrying bricks instead of a mirror. "But... why?"
"I want you to watch the mortals. Don't interfere, just... watch. Maybe then you'll understand why I do what I do." Something like a smile played out on her face, but Gladstone couldn't be sure. A chill wind brushed by them, and she sighed, looking at the bright full moon. "Winter will be here soon... I enjoy winter. It's as if all the world has gone to sleep. But all things must come to an end... spring will come, and the snow will melt, and life will move on, as it always does. No angels, demons, or mortals can live forever... so with the time we have here... we must think of what we can do with it. This winter... it will be nice, not to be alone." Her cheeks were pink, and then, not wanting to embarrass herself any further, she quickly walked away.
Gladstone slowly sat back down, looking at the mirror. The boy who had stubbed his toe was being consoled by his big brother, who played games with him until the pain went away. What did Magica want him to learn from this? That there were people who would help one another without expecting a reward? How silly – the brother's reward was to no longer hear that bothersome crying. Yet even that bite felt dull, as if that answer was an excuse. The brothers were then being lightly chided by their mother, it was time to go bed. She tucked them in, kissed their foreheads, and sang a sweet lullaby to lull them to sleep.
All around the world, Gladstone watched families and friends and lovers ending their days, putting away their tools, finishing their chores, and making plans for the next sunrise. Some he was able to recognize as Magica had helped them before, in small and big ways, and they never mentioned her, never gave thanks. She deserved thanks, she deserved... she deserved everything. He wanted to cup her face and tell her that she was a disgustingly good person, the sort that made the world a kinder place to live, and why did he want to tell her that? Why did he want to hold her hand as they walked while they remained quiet? Why did he want all the other angels to treat her better? He would get nothing out of her happiness.
Except... her happiness. Seeing her happy made him happy.
"Oh." He exhaled slowly, having come to the conclusion in a way Magica herself probably didn't expect. "That's it."
As the demon continued to watch the humans all throughout the night, he never knew he himself was being watched. His friends hadn't forgot the bargain they made, and were impatiently waiting out for him to make his end of the deal. However, with the way things were, they saw an opening.
Early the next morning, Gladstone whistled a merry tune as he walked down the familiar path he and Magica took routinely every day now. It was the same path he had first pestered her on weeks ago, with trees planted along the side that seemed to become smaller and smaller the further away you walked. He proudly held the mirror to his chest – see, not one scratch, not one smudge! Let's see her complain about that! He couldn't wait to tell her the things he'd seen, and thought up a few compliments that would make her fluster in an adorable fashion.
But... there was something odd about today. He'd been walking for quite some time, yet hadn't seen her. She was supposed to show up by now. Had she decided to sleep in, now that her mirror wasn't telling her where to go? He walked a little faster, a dreadful feeling crawling up the back of his neck, as if he'd forgotten something dangerous.
Then he heard screaming.
In days past, Gladstone would have ignored such a noise, figuring some worthless mortal was wasting his time. But now he ran faster towards the sound, actually concerned that a complete stranger was in pain – and then, to his horror, he realized who was screaming.
There in the dirt lay Magica, and there were was Azimuth and Sirena, the two of them holding her down with their legs as their claw-like nails tore apart her back in a morbid effort to take away all her feathers. The two of them cackled as they snapped the bones in her wings, ripping apart muscle and tendon to get every single last feather out. They thought perhaps if they ate the feathers, they'd gain the angel's magic, so they stuffed their faces with handfuls. Magica's face was drenched in tears and agony, unable to move, her throat raw from screams.
Gladstone dropped the mirror, and when it fell to the ground it now had a single circular crack near the edge. "STOP IT!" he yelled in fear and anger, rushing towards the demons with his own claws out, ready to beat them both if need be. "LEAVE HER ALONE! DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" But just as he got close enough, red rings of magic blocked his body, the contract in full power.
I can get you those feathers, I'll let you have every single one.
The deal had been made – he couldn't break it. "No! NOOO! PLEASE, NO!" He banged his fists uselessly against the rings that wouldn't budge, pleading with his so-called friends, begging them to stop, but they ignored his cries and continued to destroy her beautiful black wings. He slid to his knees, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and he saw Magica eventually could no longer scream, could no longer cry. She just lay there in anguish, her eyes growing dull, and Gladstone swore he could see every last bit of good in her dying as he saw his reflection in her eyes.
It felt as if an eternity passed before the two demons had finally gotten every single last feather, and the wounds of broken bone and torn flesh were now tossed aside, leaving Magica's back a bloody, disfigured abomination. The red rings began to fade, now that the contract was fulfilled. Azimuth rose to his feet, wiggling his fingertips. "Hmmm... I don't feel any more powerful."
"Maybe it takes time to digest," Sirena suggested, walking over to Gladstone's side. He lay frozen in a state of misery, unable to take his eyes off the still Magica. "I don't know what you were hollering about – can't say that I care – but a deal's a deal. Half of mine, half of Azimuth's."
"Half our power for her wings," Azimuth chimed in, his hand on Gladstone's left shoulder, Sirena's on the right. "Aren't you one lucky fellow!" All three of them glowed a sick, dark red, as the magic was transferred from two bodies to one. Gladstone didn't respond or react. All he could see was Magica. All he could feel was Magica.
With the transfer over, Sirena kicked her heels, beginning to walk away. "I bet the power will come any minute now! We'll be able to take down any angels in our way!"
"Maybe it's already working, we handled that one really easily." Azimuth said as he walked with her – not knowing, as Gladstone realized, that with all the magic in her mirror, Magica had no way to defend herself. The demons laughed at their victory, their wicked cackles echoing in the trees long after they left.
Gladstone choked. He felt ill. Magica. His Magica. She lay there without saying a word, not even twitching, her face unreadable. He tried to reach to her, to touch her hair, and she flinched as if she'd been struck. "No, No, I... I'm sorry, I... y-your mirror! Here, I'll get you your mirror!" Maybe if she took her magic out of it, she could heal herself. If she couldn't, maybe his strengthened magic could do the trick. Yet even as he scrambled to his feet to collect the broken mirror, he knew that nothing would heal the deeper wound – why hadn't he warned her? Why hadn't he told Azimuth and Sirena he didn't want to do it anymore? Why had he even done it all in the first place? For luck? To feel better about himself?
Magica slowly, slowly, slowly began to rise to her knees, her entire body trembling. Gladstone returned to her, kneeling down, offering the mirror, his sobs making it difficult to speak. "I-I know it's cracked, I'm sorry – I'm so sorry – Magica, I didn't mean – this wasn't supposed to happen!"
Magica snatched the mirror from his hands, and for the first time, perhaps due to that accidental crack, she saw her own reflection staring back at her. In that moment, she saw all her pain staring back at her, all her mistakes, and what trusting Gladstone - what loving Gladstone - had done to her. She raised the mirror – and then smashed it to the ground.
And then smashed it again.
And again.
And again.
Gladstone cried out, trying to understand what she was doing, but she was done listening. There were endless shards on the ground, and she dropped the mirror to pick up the largest one, holding it in her hands – and stabbed herself in the chest.
She howled, and the wind picked up in an icy chill, faster all around them – the ground underneath their bodies turned into solid ice, and the ground rumbled, hard snow began to fall from the sky, and the wind took the shards and scattered them to the world. Through all this, Magica pressed the shard deeper and deeper inside of her, even as Gladstone pleaded for her to stop.
"I WILL SAVE THE WORLD FROM THIS TORMENT!" she shrieked, louder than the winds, louder than the storm, louder than anyone who could stop her. "I WILL NEVER LET ANYONE HURT THIS WAY AGAIN! FROM HENCEFORTH... THERE WILL NEVER BE LOVE AGAIN!"
With this final cry, gigantic walls of ice began to rise from the ground, encasing the entire forest, creating a castle of ice that reflected nothing and no one. The trees around began to die in the frost, and the cold spread throughout the world. Gladstone, who had barely registered what her declaration meant to him or to anyone, tried to stay, tried to pound on the ice, tried to apologize over and over, but he would not be heard. His own grief tore at his soul, hating his very being and knowing that death would be too swift a mercy for him.
In his suffering, he could only think of how he deserved to be punished for what he had done, and what he had failed to do. He covered his face with his hands, and with every single last burst of magic in his body, transformed his entire body into a pathetic, ugly, helpless bird, so he could never use his magic again. He would live on forever with his sin, never belonging to any world – angel, demon, or mortal.
He flew away, and luck was on his side, for the wind let him sail through the sky.
The angel spread her cold and her rule throughout the world. Now with her as the most powerful threat, the war between the angels and demons seemed pathetic, and those that did not die in conflict with one another over her shards went into hiding. In her goal to help every creature, she forbade love. To that end, her mirror would help her gain soldiers for her cause, those that once fought against her crusade. They would endure the same shards as she.
One shard to freeze their minds. To bind them to the cold, and keep them in constant pain.
Two shards to freeze their hearts. To eliminate their memories, and confirm their obedience.
Three shards to freeze their souls. To take their very life, and end the mortal coil.
And since then, the Snow Queen's rule has been firmly set, and no one has ever been able to defeat her.
And the demon forever lives with selling his lover for luck.
