Chapter Thirteen: Blossoming Flowers

Warnings: Intentional self-harm, hair pulling, misogyny

-000-

Sealand's POV

As I have many times before, I wake up to the sight of sailboat wallpaper. I rub the crust from my eyes as my legs rub against the blanket. My sheets feel softer than ever compared to the musty old blanket I've been using. I lie there for a while, not physically tired but still incredibly exhausted. My head is buzzing, ants crawl over every inch of my brain while bees slam into my skull. Each one of them litters my brain with panic of the past. All these memories that I've faced in the past have no relevance in this current time, so with these thoughts stuck in my head, I can't reach my itch. Even if I were to share with the world all that I experienced, I would seem even crazier than I already must be. My brain is a broken vase that was knocked over centuries ago, water seeping out while I try to make an effort to glue the fragments together. The flowers will die without the vital water that was contained in the vase and their fate is sealed if I can't seal the larger than life cracks. The flowers grow limp and shrivel as the screaming gets louder. Red petals speckle the bodies of the deceased. The beautiful displays of health are reduced to frail, breaking leaves on the dehydrated plants. The pure lilies have long died, the beloved rose is scattered into millions of pieces, and the rosemary's scent becomes a memory.

Fingernails are burrowed into my scalp, prickles of pain come as I scratch at blond strands. Bunches of them are torn out and start to separate as they fall like feathers. The scratching and pulling continues, beads of blood arise. I don't even bat an eye at the sight of my fingers coated in red; the substance is all too familiar. A scream rips its way out of my vocal chords to break the silence, yet it doesn't feel connected to me despite it coming from my mouth. More scratching causes more blood, more pain, and more hair to fall onto the blanket. Every one of my hairs should fall out as punishment for failing once more.

The door hits the other side of the wall as it slams opened. Dad's eyes are filled with worry that only increases as he sees me. Even though I see him, he doesn't matter right now. I can't talk to him while I'm being punished. Papa follows shortly after with eyes as wide as saucers.

Wet dribbles escape my eyes as cool red droplets flow from the burning wounds on my head. Every second of pain is well-deserved, every scratch opens up the skin and gives me a reminder of what everyone else has faced because of my actions. Shreds of pain rip the inside of my throat as my screaming gets louder, hot rivers trickling down my cheeks. The rain of red falls onto my blue covers and stains the once clean fabric. I don't deserve anything that isn't coated in blood. Everything and everyone I've cared about has been covered in blood at some point and it's all because I'm too incompetent to fix my mistakes. Maybe if I grow numb to it, then I'll learn how to bleed in the name of others.

Every time blood has been shed for me, I've grown more and more undeserving of others. Every time I watched someone die, I've stood to the side until I became a corrupt murderer. Every drop of blood, every tear shed, every time flesh has been cut, it's been because I am a waste of human life. I hope that they can understand that much, so that I can at least finish this one punishment.

Tears are also reflected on their faces, tears shed because of my utter failure to be a good person. They cry because they know their son can never amount to anything worthy of being proud of. They cry because I'm causing them pain; they're in denial of how awful I am, aren't they? They must see me through rose-colored glasses if they think I don't deserve my pain.

For a moment, my punishment stops as they rush to pull my bloodied hands away from my scalp. Their tears are drops of ice as they fall onto me. Papa, being stronger, is the one to pull my hands to my back in a firm grip. My muscles burn as I struggle to get free from his grip. I'm so weak that I can't do something as simple as break free from his hold on me. I pull even harder, hot rivers rising to rapids rushing down my red cheeks.

"Let me go, Papa! I need to punish myself!" I scream. His face drops in hurt, but his grip is even tighter than before.

Dad wraps his arms around me as he cries into my shoulders. "You do not need to do this to yourself, Peter! You have done nothing to deserve pain upon yourself."

I cry, "You don't know all the atrocities caused by me! I deserve worse than death!"

Papa, trying not to show his pain, says, "You're talking nonsense. Your behavior is opposite to how you normally act. If you stop struggling, I'll let you go so we can talk this out."

I relax my muscles in defeat, so he lets me go. I resist the temptation to start scratching again and instead decide to act calm in order to not get held down again.

Dad's eyes downcast, his eyes still shiny from tears. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes tightly, probably to keep more tears from spilling. "We did not know you were struggling so much. I never would have thought that you were hurting so much on the inside that you would hurt yourself on the outside." He turns his gaze back to me. "I think we're both wondering when this kind of thing started. You have never done something like this, but we can talk about this after we clean you up."

Dad walks away for a moment and returns with the first aid kit. He cleans the wound and applies gauze around my head, fastening the end with a safety pin.

Before we can actually talk about what happened, everything fades to black. The stress evaporates along with the world around me and I'm left in the dark. What happened?

-000-

"Good morning, Peter! It's time to wake up!" Dad calls. I spring up to a sitting position. My heart pounds along with a headache. I put a hand on my head, but I don't feel the bandages from before. Instead, there is only the soft hair on my head. I squint, trying to block the morning sun from my eyes. I look over to Dad and see that he has a tray with breakfast on it.

"I made you breakfast in bed! I figured that a hero like you deserves it!" He puts the tray on my lap. Pancakes are stacked high with fruit toppings arranged to make a smiley face. Instead of regular eggs, there is an omelet in its place. Bacon is cooked to perfection, and the orange juice doesn't have a bunch of pulp floating in it like it usually does.

"I made everything perfect just for you. It's the least I could do for someone who saved the world!" He smiles and gives me a kiss on my forehead. "I'll leave you be while you eat. Feel free to watch some cartoons. I moved the TV into your room so you wouldn't get bored while resting in bed."

"Thanks, Dad, but what do you mean by hero?" I ask.

"Oh, the doctor said you would probably have amnesia. I'll give you a quick explanation, but not much more than that because he said you need to regain the memories on your own. You see, there was a rogue nation that decided she wanted to take the world for herself so she kidnapped a lot of us, including you. You defeated her and we were able to heal the nations she tortured. The only problem is that you have been in the hospital for a long while due to how badly she hurt you. I'm just glad that you're well enough to be home again." That's not right. It was Mal that caused this, not the person she possessed. Do they even know about Malice?

As I think on it, the world dissipates once more, everything fading into darkness. What is with these dreams? Will I be stuck in a loop just like before?

-000-

The scent of laundry detergent on my blankets isn't what I smell now. In fact, I can't feel my blankets at all. Lavenders tickle my nose as the warmth of the shining sun sleeps on my cheeks. I open my eyes to perfect blue skies with speckles of white clouds. I look up and see that beams of light have seeped down to me from gaps in the tree branches above. Instead of a mattress, it looks like I've been sleeping on a bed of grass with endless beautiful flowers surrounding me. I sit up and see that a girl is sleeping beside me. She looks to be around my age.

Her dark, long hair resembles a burnt log crumbling into cascading ash. The ash drapes over arms resembling a porcelain doll. The girl is clothed in a pale blue dress with white laces decorating the edges.

She sleepily opens her eyes, the color of forget-me-nots, snapping up in surprise when she sees me. "Oh, what are you doing in the family garden? Do I know you?" She tilts her head in curiosity, looking over my clothes. She fiddles with the ribbon on my hat. "Are you a sailor? If so, you look too young to be."

I smack her hand away. "I'm not really a sailor, but I was mostly on a fort in the middle of the sea. Anyways, what's your name?"

She smiles. "My name is Mallory Blackwood. I have seven siblings, five brothers and two sisters. My big sister is already married to one of the De Clare brothers. As a noble family, we are only allowed to marry other noblemen in order to maintain our status. As the last girl of the house, a lot of pressure is put on me by Mama. She insists that I stay inside all the time so that my skin does not get rough and burnt like a peasant. The only place that she lets me stay outside is in the garden here."

I ask, "Why is it that you're allowed in the garden but not anywhere else? It's the same sun in the sky where ever you go, so what's the difference?"

She points up. "It is because of the trees here. They block out most of the sun so I do not have to worry about getting an ugly sun burn." She points up to the dark branches of the tree that have blooming white flowers. "Those white puffs of flowers on the branches are pretty, are they not? I like to look at the flowers often since they grow in the only place I am allowed to be free." She smiles as some of the petals fall with a gentle breeze carrying them to us. "I think I forgot to ask your name. I have been rambling on for the past few minutes."

"I'm Peter Kirkland. I have a big family too with my closest relative being Arthur Kirkland, my big brother. He's kind of a jerk to me."

She puts her pointer finger on her cheek and looks up in thought. "That name sounds familiar. I ponder as to where I heard that name before. I think Papa has mentioned an Arthur Kirkland when discussing political matters."

"Yeah, he's pretty important in politics," I say in a huff and change the subject, "Let's stop talking about our families for now. Is there anything you like to do for fun?"

She shakes her head. "Mama does not give me much to do for myself. It is always her pushing me to be the perfect bride. The only real fun in that is baking, but I am not allowed to each much of what I make for she fears I will grow too fat."

"Your mom sounds awful!"

"Oh, she is only looking out for me. While she may be strict, it is in my best interest I obey her. I would not make a good bride if I was to act upon my desires."

"Why are you so focused on marriage? Don't you want to be more than a bride? You could be a baker, a doctor, or an astronaut. You don't have to live your life for someone else."

Instead of taking what I said into consideration, she looks at me like I'm stupid. "Getting a job is not in the realm of what a woman's role is in society. Who would take care of the children? Aside from that, no one would take a woman seriously if she said she was going to go get a job. They would rather hire a man than take their chances with hiring a woman."

"What year are you living in? Times have changed from the 1800s!"

"I do not know what you are talking about because our current year of 1896 is a part of the 1800s. Has exposure to sea water turned you delirious?"

I tilt my head, brow upturned. "Obviously I'm the crazy one here compared to a girl who lives lavishly but can't do anything except think about boys."

Her brows furrow at my response. She stands up and clenches her fists. "You act as though I have chosen to live this way! This is not of my doing, but it is the fault of the world I live in! If it were my choice, I would choose to be in a role holding lots of power!" She plops down and continues, "I wish that I could hold the world in my hands and mold it into a utopia. In that world, I could be happy."

I give a sad smile. "It's a shame everything is out of our control. I come from a world where I'm wrong no matter how many times I try to fix my mistakes. I have freedom, but I still don't have happiness in chasing my goals. I wish I could relish in peaceful times without the stress time has put on me."

She picks some surrounding flowers and begins to connect them with care until she fashions a hoop of various colors. "Let's try to find our own happiness in this for now. I can show you how to make a flower crown like this, just bring your hands over here." She pulls my hands to her and peruses, her thumbs grazing over with soft touches like satin.

"You have small hands like I do, so I think you can do well with practice. Your first crown may not be perfect, but I find it relaxing to make pretty things." Her eyes shift to the side refusing to meet mine. "If you do not want to, then we do not have to make flower crowns. Boys do not like flowers, do they?"

"Hey, you don't have to fret! I wouldn't mind making flower crowns with you. I need to give myself a break anyways, so feel free to teach me, Mallory."

"You're going to start with something bendable but strong to make a sturdy base." She crawls around for a moment before finding a skinny twig. Mallory hands the twig to me and smiles. "This twig is perfect, bendy and thin!"

I bring the ends together by twisting them and overlapping, fastening them with a blade of stray onion grass. "This doesn't look very good." I sigh in disappointment of the bare branch.

"Well, it is a mere twig. It will look pretty once you weave flowers into the base."

I pick an assortment of yellow and orange flowers not knowing much more of them other than that they're pretty. I loosely wrap stems into each other with little grace. I fumble with it before Mallory takes it.

"If you keep fiddling with it, the crown will fall apart and make a waste of the flowers! For a first attempt, you did a great job. You do not need to make it perfect on your first try. It could take thousands of tries to get it right, but what matters is that you still put in your all."

I cross my arms. "No matter how much effort I put into that crown, it'll still be bad."

Her face saddens. "You should not talk of your work in that way! You should feel accomplished for trying in the first place! Besides, I think it's beautiful in its own way. The only problem is that I hope you do not know flower language with this arrangement of Orange Lilies, Yellow Carnations, and Black-Eyed Susans; the Orange Lilies represent pride and distain, Yellow Carnations representing hatred and rejection, and Black-Eyed Susans carrying the meaning of justice. Luckily, since you do not know me, I know this is a mere unfortunate coincidence."

I scratch the back of my neck, my eyes darting to the ground. "I-I didn't know flowers could have such sour meanings! I'm sorry."

"Oh, it is alright. I presume you would not give me such an aggressive arrangement upon knowing me for so little time unless you felt angered by my first impression which I highly doubt. Now, let's exchange our crowns so we both have a keepsake of the other!" She takes the neat, beautiful flower crown she made and places it atop my head. I return the sediment and do the same.

She takes my hand and holds it tightly. "I know we have not known each other for long, though I feel as though I have known you for ages. I do not know you well, yet my soul feels connected to yours."

I nod. "I feel the same way. Your voice sounds like one I have heard before, yet I can't quite place it."

"It must be the act of God that has brought you into my family garden! Perhaps you and I are soulmates!" She pulls me to her chest in a tight hug, engulfing my nose in her sickeningly sweet perfume.

Instead of pushing her aside, I put my arms around her in a warm embrace. "I don't remember how I got here, so maybe it really is God giving me a blessing. After all the hardship I have faced, it would be truly beautiful if I could have someone like you to comfort me."

"I agree. I have spent my entire life locked away from the rest of the world that lies beyond my unfair family. Even if you are the only person here, I am happy. Please, remind me of your name so I can find you once more."

Before I can speak, my lips move against my will and an unfamiliar voice speaks through my body. "Oh, my dear Mallory, my name is Lucifer."

-000-

Malice's POV

I can already feel the strength of the sins growing. His happiness in this new arrangement makes a perfect fertilizer for the seeds of sin. Three of the six remaining sins have already started manifesting in some of the nations. Even though this new dream I'm giving him is doing wonders for my project, I pray that his presence in my old memories won't alter them for me. My first encounter with Lucifer shaped who I am today. If he meddled with it, I don't know what the consequences would be.

I cherish those past memories with all my heart. Lucifer is the only person to ever care for me and show the slightest of kindness to a pitiful noble girl treated as a pawn for her family name. Those awful parents of mine never cared for Mallory. Now, I have someone to love me as the demon of Malice.

It is of utmost importance that I properly sustain the sins. If not for myself, then for Lucifer. As a mere mercenary, he cannot be as close to me as he should be. Despite having yet to gain recognition from him other than during my recruitment as a demon, I have faith that I can become more than a demon fighting against humanity. Oh, my dear Lucifer, I fight in your name and your name alone. I care not for the conflict of this war spanning over millennia. And, if it means I will one day be your lover, I will fight with all I have.

-000-

A/N: I broke my usual trend of displaying several POV's and instead focused on one for now so I could start the foundations of a Malice backstory. I'm pretty tired, but I want this published by the end of the night. I really love this story a lot and support from you motivates me. I would say the most credit for my motivation goes to a close friend of mine in real life. It feels good to be supported with her praise of my work. Anyways, I'll see ya in the next chapter!