A/N: Once again I'm updating late, REALLY late this time. This whole collection really has become a side project. Anywho, this entry is for April. May and another not month-themed chapter also follow! June, July, August and September will come eventually (I'm working on them as well as the entries to go in between them).

I did struggle to come up with something for April, so instead I decided to actually use one of the many prompts I have lined up in my prompt list. This one is from CaramelPenguin! Also, you guys should totally check out their writing. I'm in awe from it! They're super talented.

Anywho, speaking of prompts, suggestions are very much welcome! There's still a ton of empty slots, with only a tiny few taken out of three thousand. So if you guys have any ideas, feel free to share them!

Till next time,

D.L.D


Portraits (April)

"I have great news! You are finally ready!"

Elizabeth wakes to the singsong of her mother's excitement, the cold morning breeze rushing into her room through her windows. The goddess finds herself shivering from the crisp wind, her wings quaking with her. The strong, overwhelming scent of flora floods the room and along with it comes small birds that flit and chatter in the background, naturally inclined towards the ruler of the goddess race. Yet another standard princess awakening.

Normally, Elizabeth would find this greeting exciting. She enjoyed the early rising, the big song and dance of flowers and birds and her mother, but today she wasn't really feeling it. She wasn't feeling like it was normal. Normal was Elizabeth waking up herself and opening her window to talk to the birds; normal was Elizabeth getting ready and making sure she looked presentable; normal was Elizabeth waiting for her mother at the breakfast table. Normal was not this.

Watching as her mother flitted about the room, energetically rearranging things and randomly tossing dresses aside, the young goddess pursed her lips. It wasn't often that her mother grew excited. It wasn't often that her mother personally delivered good news.

Something was up.

"Mother," Elizabeth speaks up, her voice still scratchy with sleepiness. Gently, she clears her throat and tries again. "Mother, just what am I ready for?"

"A portrait!" Her mother leans toward her, bright and cheerful and loud. A row of shiny, white teeth stretch into a dazzling, bright smile, startling the freshly awoken goddess. "All women eligible to be married have them these days."

"A portrait?" Elizabeth chokes out, her cheeks staining with pink. Her wings stiffen behind her, also taken aback by this sudden news. She stands next to her bed, frozen. Paralyzed. Her very worst fear was coming true - one she had buried within her ever since childhood. "Married? Mother, do you mean- "

"Yes, you are going to be wed!" The Supreme Deity turns to her daughter, holding a bright, white gown. In her other hand was a silver tiara, the crown blue jewels as pure as the celestial sky. "I'm just so happy! My one and only child coming of age and maturing so splendidly! This day was bound to come and it will finally end this blasted war with-"

All words fall deaf to Elizabeth's ears after that. Meaningless. After today, her whole life would be changed forever. No longer would she be able to have her reckless, thoughtless frolics through town, pretending to be yet another common girl. Childish antics such as that will be banned once her portrait is finalized and released into the world. Condemned. She would be forced into conforming into her role as a woman, a member of true, acting royalty.

Like in any respectable society, portraits were always the talk of the town among the goddess race's social circle. The art was always a sign that a young lady was going to be married off to some pompous, self-centered man. Everyone would be abuzz with rumors of the lucky bride and groom to be. Plus, not just any young woman received a coming-of-age portrait these days - especially not a princess - and when they did it was often to do with bachelors and other possible future links to further empower the throne.

In all her years, Elizabeth had never thought her mother would subject her to a marriage portrait. The Supreme Deity wasn't like the other aristocracy of the goddess realm: she was their leader. Being the headstrong and opinionated woman she was, she never conformed to the societal norms of her people. Inferiors. Yet, her words today made Elizabeth doubt her mother's true originality. It made her wonder just how far her mother was willing to go for the sake of maintaining an image. Hopefully, it wasn't too far.

"Who supposedly am I marrying, mother?" Elizabeth hums absentmindedly, her thoughts unfortunately drifting down that alley. She might as well prepare to sign her life away - a good start would be knowing who would own her as their property.

"Why, a demon prince, of course," Her mother smiles simply. Sweetly. "It is the only fair trade for peace."

Well, there goes Elizabeth's hopes of a happy, sane marriage.


Responsibility. Throughout his entire life, Meliodas has always faced the grim reality of his responsibilities. Be it his duty to follow his father's direct orders, his obligation to both fight and win this war, or his birthright to the throne, Meliodas has always had the weight of responsibility placed upon his shoulders. His head. Whenever he could think of being selfish, of perhaps abandoning everything and dumping it onto his younger brother, responsibility would bring him back. Drag him back.

Perhaps that was why the prince was not surprised when his father requested a private meeting. Yet another responsibility for him to receive, fulfill. Just another meaningless task on the endless list to tick off in his mind, his thoughts.

"Meliodas," A direct address, rare for his father. Dark unwavering eyes stare at him, study him, as a hand thoughtfully pulls at a beard. "I have something to talk to you about."

"Father," Meliodas responds, plain, blunt, short. He has no real intention to drag out this conversation. He has no real desire to have a proper chat, a small heart-to-heart, with his profit-driven father. With all of the responsibility he has had pushed upon him, all the titles and duties and obligations, Meliodas was not one to humour the man who gave them to him. He was not willing to make his father believe that he enjoyed being what was essentially free labour.

All of this, the private meeting, the direct address, was just a way of making it appear that he was being validated. Appreciated. Meliodas knew that it was all just a trap into accepting yet another duty, another task. The only difference this time, though, is that he will refuse.

In the face of his son's bluntness, a hefty sigh leaves the Demon King, "After a lot of consideration, it has been decided that a peace treaty will be under way with the goddesses."

Something becomes alert within Meliodas. Tense. He feels his jaw tense, his teeth grit. A peace treaty? He had heard nothing of the sort and he believed that he would have because he has a rather high rank within the demon army. A general such as himself would know if they were nearing peace, an amicable agreement. His father always told him about the latest political developments of the war. Meliodas was always aware of what was going on.

Unless...

"Why does this concern me?" It leaves in a tight voice, wary like an animal backed into a corner. Meliodas does not like that. He is usually certain, confident, in his own knowledge and skill. He should not be displaying uncertainty, fear, in the face of his own father. "If peace is near, then you should be consulting your advisors."

"Yes, and I will in due time," The Demon King nods, a small grin splitting his features. Amused, he chuckles as he spots the stiffness to his son's stance, the terse shape of his curled fists. "But the matters of the treaty involve you directly, Meliodas. Your actions matter greatly in the future relationship between our domain and the goddesses', and I wanted to speak to you to ensure that you do not screw it up."

"Screw it up?" Meliodas echoes, full of sarcasm. He almost snorts at the idea of him, the best weapon his father ever had, ruining the war. If there was one thing that would never happen, it was that. Meliodas would never risk unraveling the precise and exhausting work he had done to get them this far, this close, to winning. "You should fear doing that yourself. I'm more aware of what is going on than you are. As we speak, there are many of your own people willing to- "

"You fool yourself, boy," The Demon King's laughter cuts Meliodas short, reverberating around the room. Deep and ominous, it sends a chill down Meliodas' spine, forcing the blonde to swallow and regain his wits. His stance. He will not allow his father to overcome him, intimidate him. "I know more than you can ever see. I see more than you can ever hear. You have much to learn Meliodas and you will see that when you meet your future bride."

"My..." Everything runs cold within Meliodas. All of his hearts stop, beat silent, as he could only stare - gape - at his father in disbelief. Complete incredulity. There is no way. There is no possible way that this can be true. Yet, his father still sits there, grinning, smug as ever.

Like a flash of lightning, all shock fades into bitterness, outrage, as Meliodas' hearts pump fast and his blood roars, boiling, in his ears. He spits, "Are you trying to tell me that I'm being offered as a peace gift?"

Darkness flares around the blonde, climbing upwards at the surge in his anger. Discontent. It longed to destroy, rip and claw and pinch, just to illustrate the sheer fury its host felt. Breathed. If looks could kill, then the glare Meliodas wore could disintegrate. Eradicate with just a single blink. Everything within that room, even the stone pillars, would have been crumbled and crushed into fine, powdered ash and dust.

"Yes," The Demon King's grin only grows wider, bigger, stretching across his features. His dark eyes glimmer with amusement, humour, as he glances at his son, not at all frightened of his murderous expression. "It was part of the peace treaty." Leaning back into his throne, he pulls at his beard once more. "Although, you would've already known that. Wouldn't you, Meliodas?"

Checkmate - that is what is happening. His father has Meliodas trapped beneath his thumb, like a useful little pawn, his grasp being what controls his future movement. It didn't matter that Meliodas had his own connections, it didn't matter that he had gained mass amounts of power and influence, it didn't even matter that he could attempt to kill his father: the Demon King would always have him under control. Meliodas would always be trapped under his crushing thumb.

"No," The words are bitten, terse, caught between the prince's locked jaw and grit teeth. He remains steeled. "My answer is no."

"You have no true choice," The Demon King chuckles once more. "It's all been finalized. Your portrait is to be done today."

No words. Nothing. All Meliodas can bring himself to do is stiffly storm out of the room, knowing that senseless anger against his father will not work. Not today, not tomorrow, not in an eternity. If he wanted to convince him, fool him, into refusing the stupid peace treaty, then Meliodas needed to be smart about it.

He needed to scare away that blasted bride.


Wearing heels was uncomfortable. So was wearing a corset. All of the finery and extravagance of clothes only made for show were always bothersome to Elizabeth; she liked to be free, unrestricted, airy. Wearing loose dresses she could easily frolic and wander in were her usual go-to for everyday wear. Never would she willingly throw on the multiple tangling layers that came with a gown, underdress and petticoat. Most of the time she just went out in the underdress.

But today, Elizabeth had no say in her attire, her mother being explicitly clear in her expectations: Elizabeth was to stay still, like a perfect piece of art, and was to follow the painter's every instruction. She would not move, would not fidget with the piles of jewelry thrown onto her body, and definitely would not interfere with the portrait. That was the big no-no: interfering with the portrait. If she even dared to do such a thing, she would be placed within extreme trouble.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Elizabeth allows her gaze to drift from the room's walls to a window. All morning she'd been sitting on this damned chair, a hand placed beneath her chin and her face tilted to an angle. At first, it had been a comfortable position, one she often took when bored or day-dreaming during a boring conversation, but after an hour, the aches and pins and needles had began to settle. Thickly.

Each and every part of her aches to just move, shift - even just a tiny bit. Every draw of air was like pressing the firm wall of her corset against her ribs. Every passing second her arm begged to see some sort of rest. Even her eyes, which had routinely switched from wall, to floor, to ceiling, to window, were growing tired of staring. Waiting.

Elizabeth just wanted this to be over and done with.

"I must say we have a great composition going," The painter nods, a warm grin spread over her features as she breaks the filmy silence. A paint-splattered smock was thrown over her navy tunic, the flecks mostly dry and fading. In her hand was a wooden paintbrush, the jet black bristles coated in thick oil paint. "It'll be sure to please anyone."

"Of course it would," Elizabeth lets the words slip from her mouth in a dull tone. Lightly, her fingers tap against her jaw, allowing her to slip slightly from her torturous pose. "My mother only allows the best."

"And what an honour it is to be thought of as one," The painter hums, her bewitching eyes flickering back to the canvas. Delicately, the brush moves in her hold, completing the blocked out pose of the goddess.

Once again, silence settles between the two, like a thick bubble. This had also been happening all morning - odd boughts of conversation. Of course, Elizabeth knew that the painter had to focus on her work, specifically because her whole career was on the line, but she figured that they might be a little more talkative. The only speech that punctuated the room was awkward comments on the portrait, or strange mentions about the weather and how exciting it would be to get married.

As a whole, Elizabeth could rate this experience as a thousand percent awkward out of a hundred percent forced. It was just that weird. That odd. Sitting in a room while someone repeatedly looked at you, hummed to themselves and then adjusted a canvas as fit. For three hours so far - not including tomorrow and the day after.

Thankfully, a reprieve arrives in the form of lunch hour, the painter exclaiming how Elizabeth must be starving sitting there for three hours straight. Like anyone could feel hungry from just sitting there - how is that possible? But, seeking for an easy escape of further painting and sitting, Elizabeth had agreed and a lunch tray had been summoned from the royal kitchens.

Now away from her work, the painter became a little more sociable towards the goddess. Before eating, she had removed her paint-smeared smock and placed down her paintbrush. It was once those items were removed - and the work was pushed aside - that the painter revealed a little more of her personality, easily falling into conversation with Elizabeth.

That had led to the painter showing her the progress they'd made, the once blank canvas now housing a background of heavy velvet curtains and a blocked-out person sat upon a the chair. Only the bare minimum had been added to Elizabeth herself, her skin tone, dress colour and hair colour filling majority of the minimalist beginning. However, even with the bare minimum, the goddess could spot the artist's skill as well as the thought behind the piece.

Nevertheless, seeing how much had really been achieved in three hours, Elizabeth could feel her hope deflating. If it took three hours to block her out and paint the background, then how long would it take to finish it all? How long would it take to fill in the many details of her dress, hair and face?

"How much longer do we have?" The question leaves automatically, inadvertently, the goddess' face filling with pink as she blinks at the painter. She shouldn't have said that; it was rude. Very rude.

Taking nothing from the question, the artist simply chuckles, "Well, if we keep going at this rate I could be done in a few days." Thoughtfully, she taps her chin as she looks at her painting, already seeing a few things that could be fixed. Critically, she hums, "But it's far from perfect, isn't it?"

"Yes," Elizabeth responds demurely, biting into her bottom lip. Her blue eyes remained fixed to the portrait, the symbol of the big change approaching in her life. "It is."

Raising a brow, the painter turns and stares intently at the goddess. Something unknown flashes within her bright eyes, a sort of spark, and her grin suddenly drops. Vanishes. Instead, a tired and fatigued look passes over her features, clouded with a wisdom that could put the Gods to shame.

"I know that look," The painter eventually sighs, flicking a stray strand of hair from her face. "I've seen it many times on all the nobles I've painted over the years, time and time again. You don't really want to do this."

Elizabeth's eyes widen, the air knocked from her lungs, "How did you- "

"A painter sees the reality hidden to others," The painter chuckles, a small grin spreading as she taps her nose. "We seek the hidden truth in reality so we can add it to our artwork. A good painter can always tell how their subject is feeling - or if that particular object has a certain shine."

Confused, Elizabeth's brows furrowed as the painter began to explain in great detail about how art and reality are very closely interlinked. Something about it being an interpretation of real life and the window between subconscious and conscious. A way to spread messages without being so obvious about it. In reality, she had lost Elizabeth after babbling about the 'shine' objects had and how lighting can convey more than feeling.

In the end, the painter had to reign herself back in, shaking her head and making a rather odd noise.

"That being said," The painter regathers her concentration, focusing her attention upon the confused goddess. Her hands clap together. "I have an idea on how to assist you!"

"An idea?" Now Elizabeth could understand this strange lady. All ideas had some sort of basis, some kind of thing you could understand to a certain degree. Even if an idea could be a little out there, you could understand where it came from. How it came to be. Hopefully, this painter's ideas were better than her explanations about art and reality being linked together.

"Let's just say that I know a person. Let's call her Merl," The painter continues, taking a sandwich and firmly biting into it. She continues, between bites. "They can enchant the painting to appear grotesque to whoever sets their eyes upon it." The painter pauses, taking in the wide eyes of the goddess. "However, if you are nearby, it will reveal its true form."

Nothing rejecting the idea wavers across Elizabeth's face. It all seemed like a good enough bargain. When the portrait is presented to her mother for inspection, it will look perfect and stunning - just how she wants it to. Then, the portrait will be sent to the demon realm, where it will look terrible and grotesque to the demon prince, which will result in the entire marriage being called off. By the time the portrait returns back to her kingdom, everything will be back to normal. Elizabeth will not have to get married and her mother would not be disappointed in her. It was a perfect win-win.

"Can they really do that?" Elizabeth asks, her voice a tiny whisper despite the room lacking any other persons.

"Easily," The painter cackles, rubbing her hands together in glee. She then sends Elizabeth a sly grin, winking. "And the best part is, no-one knows that it's enchanted."


Why must painting take so long?

That is what Meliodas thinks as he disinterestedly stands in Cusack's desired pose, holding a sharp and gleaming sword, whilst staring blankly into complete nothingness. After being forced into very tight and stuffy clothing - just to please the stupid treaty-makers - and having stood there for hours on end, Meliodas feels annoyed. Beyond annoyed. It has been several hours, too long, since he had felt unrestricted. And while not a bit of numbness or aching has crept into his bones, boredom has made itself known, evident. It slithers through Meliodas' mind, builds at his agitation, and makes his jaw twitch as he tries his best not to throw down the stupid sword in retaliation and announce that he was about to challenge the king once more.

But, alas, Meliodas was never good at prolonging his agitation. Being raised to be a monstrous and cruel fiend, he had not time for patience nor calmness. So, in one swift movement, he throws down the sword and storms away.

"I've had enough!"

"Young Master!" Chandler, his own personal trainer, races after him, sounding as lighthearted as possible. Like a jolly old man, he is quick to smile and grin at the situation, make the best of it. His arms spread wide, an attempt to calm and counsel his enraged ward, however it falls on stubbornly deaf ears.

With no more than a blast of air, the heavy doors to the room slam shut and the two high-ranking demons are left alone, stunned. It was no surprise that Meliodas didn't want to go along with this treaty; it was no surprise that he was putting up such a fight. Meliodas was always the fighter of the sons, born first and forced to establish and prove himself without no-one to really guide him. The youngest of the two, Zeldris had been luck in that regard. Privileged. He never had to shoulder the burdens Meliodas did and hopefully he never would.

Yet, it didn't merit the behaviour he was displaying. Both Chandler and Cusack knew that. Being the next in line, Meliodas had to be a little more mature about matters of diplomacy and peace. Even if marrying the goddess princess was something he abhorred, Meliodas would have to deal with the cards he'd been given. Everyone, even gods, must obey the rules that fate dictate to them. There is no way to escape one's destined path.

Not ten minutes later, Meliodas bursts back into the room, dragging in a rather grotesque creature behind him. Deep yellowed eyes with glassy pupils and dark, wrinkled bags blinked, alarmed, as they took in the room, the two high-class demons and the weird setup laid before it. Between its lips sat a snakelike tongue, thick and long and pointed at the tip. Instead of looking humanoid, even remotely pleasant and aesthetically pleasing, its skin was like scales, shiny and sharp and brilliant, and a pair of stubby wings stuck out of its back. Uneven and unsteady limbs made it hobble behind Meliodas, dragging behind it a scorpion-like tail.

This creature, this weird blend of many different creatures and beasts, looked like something out of a nightmare. It was both unpleasant and horrid, putrid and stomach-churning, and it was the complete opposite of what anyone would want to marry. It was the complete opposite of what anyone or thing would want to love. Even a dragon, blinded by volcanic ash, wouldn't dare to turn and see this thing. Wouldn't dare to even be near it.

"That is your subject," Meliodas instructs, gesturing towards the grotesque creature he had found. At the mention of it, its horned head reared a little. If the prince wanted to succeed in scaring away the goddess, then he needed to make this portrait as ugly as possible. As horrid as possible. With just one glance, the portrait should be able to make her feel utterly, entirely repulsed. "Make it as disgusting as possible."

"But young mas- "

His expression hardens, darkens, "That's a direct order."

No other words said, Meliodas leaves the room, done and dusted with the entire ordeal. He is not in the mood to humour the two lesser demons. He is in no mood to deal with a half-assed scolding and a terrible attempt at persuasion. He knows that and so do they. So it's no surprise when he is uninterrupted, both Chandler and Cusack knowing that giving chase would be futile. Meliodas was like a stubborn bull and when approached in the wrong way, he would rear his head and charge at them both.

Swallowing thickly, both Chandler and Cusack shared a look. A tired, knowing look. Not only would they have to deal with this horrid thing for well over an intolerable hour, but they would also have to clean up the prince's mess. What a splendid punishment! What a wonderful way for fate to mock and berate them for daring to become traitors against their glorious king! It is no wonder why they were dealt with this hand.

"We'll have to use an enchantment when we present it to the King," Chandler sighs, shaking his head. He still stared after his young master, wondering just when he will grow into the role he was so rightfully born to play. "It's the only way we'll get this done in time."

"You're right. I'll grab my gear," Cusak sighs, setting down his teacup. His stomach is now certainly soured for another century. Another eon.

Both demons glanced at the horrid thing before them, stomaching their growing disgust and sharing a shiver. It is disgusting, putrid, sends a terribly cold shiver down one's spine and most certainly does not comfort them one bit.

Damn the King for thinking of this solution.


After the considerable toil of the artists, both portraits were shipped away to their respective realms.

Elizabeth's portrait, one enchanted to look beauteous and wonderful whenever she was near, won the immediate praise and approval of the Supreme Deity. Constantly, she gushed and fawned over the perfect details: the wonderful sheen to her starlight silver hair, the innocent blue of her eyes, the perfect soft curve of her face and lips. According to the goddess leader, everything was down to a tee. A perfect, gorgeous replica of her prized daughter.

Similarly, Cusack managed to meddle with Meliodas' portrait. It had taken a lot of trial and error - some assistance from Gowther the Selfless - and a lot of resistance to throw up in the sight of the grotesque and malformed creature Meliodas chose as his replacement. When presented to the Demon King, Meliodas' portrait was a wondrous sensation. Again, the details were perfect: somehow managing to make him look both mature and yet youthful, a good, strong nose, capturing the wildness of hair. Not a fault could be found. Not a single hint of the true grotesque image of the portrait was found.

So both were sent and received.

Upon reception, the portrait from the demon realm was immediately the center of the goddess realm's gossip. Never before had one of their kind wed a demon and many of them had seen examples of the more disgusting and unsightly demons. Pity had been the main subject of the whispers, many feeling sorry for the princess as she was forced to wed a monster in the name of peace. When the portrait had arrived, it was no different.

Immediately, the castle staff had peeked at the piece only to cover it and promptly scurry away to throw up somewhere. Shaky hands and pale faces had been present when they had to present the portrait to the Supreme Deity and her daughter, the fingers trembling as they hesitated on the cover. How could they explain this? How could they comfort the princess when she was going to marry that? It wasn't their place. It wasn't their duty. And yet-

"Unveil it then!" The Supreme Deity clapped her hands, the sound harsh and urgent. "Chop chop! We don't have all day to waste. The engagement party is set for next week!"

Taking in a deep breath, the staff unveiled the piece and immediately turned away from it. They couldn't look at it again; they couldn't live with themselves if they stared at it again. And the Supreme Deity and her daughter seemed to reflect that, both of them pale-faced and shocked, poor Princess Elizabeth's jaw twitching with despair toward her future husband.

Silence was the only thing that filled the throne room for a long time. Elizabeth repeatedly blinked, double-checked, and swallowed thickly. The Supreme Deity steadily grew angrier, enraged, her jaw tensing and her fist clenching around the throne's armrest the longer she stared. Both royal's reactions spoke of how truly unsightly the portrait was. Both royal's reactions spoke of how terribly unfortunate Elizabeth's future will be.

"It's...not so bad," Elizabeth finally spoke, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. Bile filled it.

"It's absolutely horrible!" Her mother cried out, standing up from her throne with agitation. "That king lied to me! He said that his son was not so horrible to look at, but upon seeing this I can see why he lied. I can tell why he was so desperate to have him offered as a bargaining chip for peace. A creature like that will never find someone who loves them. A creature like that will never marry my daughter!"

"But mother," Elizabeth spoke quietly, controlled. "You said that it was for peace."

"This is not worth peace," The Supreme Deity interrupted. "This is not worth anything. Hopefully, he is better in person. For you, daughter, I pray that he is."

In the demon realm, the reaction was not much better. Once again, the whole realm was abuzz with gossip, wondering about how the goddess princess appeared. Some believed she would be the image of a cherub, all flowery and angelic and pure. Others believed she would look like the monstrous goddesses, the ones with sharp teeth and three heads and orange eyes blazing with hatred toward the demon race.

Eager eyes had peeked at the portrait early once more, lifting the white cotton cover to reveal a portrait that was as unsightly as the goddesses preached to be pure. A creature, with two heads and hair the shade of a bloody river, stared at them from the canvas. Both heads had differing eye colours, one with darkened blue and another the blazing orange eyes, filled with demon hatred. Her features were big and unsightly, a twisted nose and lips too thin to be any good. She looked emaciated, thin to be graceful but too thin to be healthy. Two pairs of wings stretched behind it, pure and white; the only tolerable thing to stare at in the whole portrait.

Presenting this to the prince, the king, would be challenging. The staff would be punished. The staff would probably die from both the king and prince's hand. Both were known for their terrible tempers, both were known for not being the nicest beings in existence. The only thing that would save them was if luck was on their side. The only thing that would save them was saying that the portrait went missing.

"I'll present it," Cusack interrupts the panicking staff, easily recovering the portrait and taking it. "It would be best if I did."

With that, the higher-ranked demon prepared to break the horrible news to the king.

Unveiling the portrait was not easy. It took everything Cusack had to smoothly lift the cotton cover with a flourish, acting as if the ugly girl beneath it was anything glamorous or wondrous. Chandler saw right through him. Zeldris saw right through him. The Demon King did not.

"What an ugly woman!" That's the first outcry, Zeldris' face scrunching at the portrait.

Laughter follows the outcry, the Demon King's laughter.

"She sure is a fixer-upper!" His laughter is mirthful, full of humour and jest, as he looks at his eldest son. Still and tense, Meliodas is yet to speak. Meliodas is finding that he cannot say anything in this moment. "What do you think, son?"

"I'm not marrying that," Meliodas manages to say, averting his gaze from the eye-sore of the room. "There is no way."

"Well, you'd better change that opinion," The Demon King warns, his voice rumbling through the palace walls. "Because you're meeting her in a week and you are not going to be the reason why this peace treaty falls through."

The warning is clear. Very clear.

Too bad Meliodas was never very good at following warnings.


True to both monarch's words, the engagement party was set for the following week in a human realm kingdom - neutral grounds for both realms. Unfortunately, that poor kingdom happened to be the advanced city of Belialuin, the city of wizards and other magical prodigies, all against the monarch system and all for a democratic government. Not many of its citizens were abuzz with the news of the royal celebrations, especially as they were very truth-based, however the decision had been made in the face of any attempts to make the treaty fall through, especially anything dipping below the morally correct area. Any other kingdom would have taken advantage.

So a week passed by, filled with a lot of planning, rushing and bustling about. Invitations had to be sent, arrangements made and frequent contact with the governing council of the hosting kingdom. Grandeur was to be the one thing people thought of, grand and big and imposing and impressive. There would be fireworks, music, a grand big show to show off to everyone else how this treaty would lead to ever-lasting prosperity and peace. Success.

Only, neither betrothed royals were looking forward to it.

"I don't have a good feeling about this..." Jelamet grumbled, gnawing on her cheek as she scanned the mingling guests. Stationed at her post by the princess, the personal guard was agitated, never liking big events. Her duty was to protect the princess, to keep her safe, and these events made that job very bothersome.

"Don't worry too much, Jelamet," Elizabeth gives her a gentle smile, a soft hand resting on a plated shoulder. Cool steel meets silky gloves. "The security for today is extremely tight and thought-out. I'll be safe."

"I'm not worried about that!" The guard spat, her gorgeous features twisted with apprehension, disgust. Firmly, her fingers tighten around her sword, strangling the handle. "Even though I would never forgive myself if you got injured, your safety isn't what's bothering me. It's...your future husband."

Instantly, Elizabeth understands the compact, tense terseness that fills her closest guard and confidant. Her soul sister. Rumors had not run dry in the Celestial realm, the castle and its grounds aflutter with avid gossip about the crown demon prince. Conversations and whispers about the portrait, the unsightly, bile-inducing creature that Elizabeth was forced to marry, had been flowing as strongly as a river back home.

Worry hadn't been short. Pity hadn't been either. But Elizabeth did not want any of it. In fact, she was hoping, praying, that her own portrait was enough to call this whole thing off. She was banking on it saving her. However, something about tonight, about it all being real and final, only made her doubt the portrait's success.

Slowly, deeply, Elizabeth takes in a breath, "I know that he is..."

"Ugly?" Jelamet raises a brow. "Unsightly? Grotesque? Needs to be put down?"

"Ok, ok, I get it," Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head at the words that pop up from her memory of the portrait. Grotesque does not do it justice. "However, I have to do this Jelamet. My mother has been trying to secure this treaty for years now and I will not let it fall through because of...appearance."

Scoffing, Jelamet turns back to the guests, her blue eyes unreadable as she grips her sword. "You're too selfless," She says, her awe not at all hidden. "You're too pure to ever be worthy of our thanks nor gratitude."

"I'm only doing what I must," Elizabeth answers back, her voice soft and quiet against the hubbub. "It is my duty as a princess."

"Crown princess," Jelamet reminds.

Fanfare is the first clue to the arrival of her betrothed. Grand, brass fanfare that is always given before a royal's arrival - even if they do not ask for such a flashy and tell-tale calling card. Then, the king is proudly walking in, his features merry and bright as his two sons and entourage follow. Gaudy, late, over-the-top, that's what Elizabeth thinks as she first sees them. They have this swagger, this glamorous show-off fashion that makes them seem arrogant and condescending as they march in. It's the complete opposite of what she knows.

Goddesses, their kingdom, their race, follow a completely different ethos. Simplicity and frugality are key. One's movements must be done with grace and wisdom, appearing seamless and perfect like the glass in a mirror. They arrive with fanfare, but it is with woodwind flutes and sounds light and lifting and beautiful. They walk in a way that does not call attention, in a way that looks like gliding more than walking, and do not appear glamorous. They appear untouchable yet humble.

However, the contrasts between her own race and her betrothed's are not what stuns Elizabeth. It's not the way the Demon King appears so certain and smug; it's not the way the entourage follow with guarded, serious deamours; it's not even the blasting, echoing sound of brass notes ringing in the air. What stuns Elizabeth is the announcement of her future husband's arrival, or rather the sight of someone who looks nothing like the portrait she received.

Untrue to the portrait, the king's sons look relatively human. No shiny, sharp scales; chipped, cracking hooves; or even the twisting, gnarled horns could be seen. They were peach-toned, young-looking, handsome creatures. Ten fingers, two hands, two legs, one head: they were human-looking, normal-looking, not at all monstrous nor grotesque. They had straight noses and sharp, attentive eyes and pressed, focused faces. The only thing that marked them out as demons were their dark onyx eyes, matching with the marks they wore above their brows.

"Is that the crown prince?" Elizabeth asks innocently enough, drawing the attention of her also puzzled guard.

"What? You mean one of the short stumps?" Jelamet asks, narrowing her blue eyes as she peered at them. Her painted lips were turned into a frown, her perfect brows also arched downward. "Yeah, one of them is. Though I'm not entirely sure which."

Elizabeth remains silent, watching the group with a newfound intensity. After receiving such a horrid portrait, she'd figured that they would refuse the marriage deal. However, it appeared that the Demon King had also wanted to wait for today, to see his future daughter-in-law in the flesh - much like how her mother had hoped that today would reap a better result than a week ago. Unfortunately, they had been correct to surmise as much.

"Well, one of those two midgets is definitely your fiance," Jelamet goes back to standing straight, her red lips pressed. "Although, judging by how that black-haired one is looking at the vampire, the blonde one is most likely the crown prince."

"Thank you, Jelamet," Elizabeth responded, a little sarcasm entering her voice. "I could have guessed that because he's talking to my mother."

"He is!" Jelamet's eyes widen, fixing onto the scene of her ruler actually laughing and smiling at a demon. "Well, this is definitely a first."

Just as Elizabeth had said, the blonde demon had struck up conversation with the Supreme Deity, seeming like quite the charmer as he did so. He had this look about him, this boyish charm that played with his youthful but handsome features, making him seem like quite the charismatic person. As if supporting that fact, the Supreme Deity smiled and laughed at the demon, seeming amused by whatever he said, before pointing toward her idle daughter.

"Incoming..." Jelamet murmured, becoming a rigid and stoic guard almost automatically.

Elizabeth could only squeak and panic in response, her face pinking with bashfulness. She wasn't ready for this! She wasn't ready to meet her future husband - even if he did look quite appealing. It was much too soon, much too rushed, and definitely much too forced. Plus, him looking appealing made it all the more worse! Now all she could think about was how he looked, the white button-up he wore with that jacket doing wonders for her imagination.

Yet, as Elizabeth finally gathered the courage to check if Jelamet's words were true, she found herself blinking in surprise. He was no longer grinning, he was no longer anything indecipherable. Upon seeing Elizabeth, he faltered. And smoothly covered it up.

"You must be Elizabeth," He addresses her with no sentiment, no clear kindness nor dislike, as he extends a hand for her to take. A handshake. A formality. Something expected for them both if they were meant to be a married couple.

"And you Meliodas," Graciously, Elizabeth accepts his hand and instead of shaking it, he places a gentle kiss upon the soft silk of her glove. Forward. Much too forward. Elizabeth feels a blush brew on her cheeks. From the way his dark eyes stare at her, she knows that he can see it. "Excuse me. I just didn't expect you to be so..." Elizabeth trails off, catching her thoughts by the tiny millisecond. Definitely inappropriate.

"Irresistible?" Meliodas raises a brow, finishing her sentence. Her thoughts. He has this air about him, this smugness that seems justified, and it only makes the slight grin he wears feel all the more charming. All the more...irresistible. Damn, Elizabeth was definitely thinking it!

"I was going to say arrogant," Elizabeth reddens, biting into her lower lip. Her hand nervously twists into the fabric of her skirt, pinching and balling it between her fingers. Being proper and refined, she wasn't used to this, being flirted and courted with in such a teasing manner. Sure, she had strings of secret admirers, men who would stare and gawk and sing, but none of them were ever so forward. None of them were ever so bold.

Bright and red, Elizabeth face betrays her fluster, "But yes, in a way, you are correct."

"Well, that makes two of us, princess," Meliodas responds, and Elizabeth's not sure if she should take it as a compliment or an insult. Did he mean she was arrogant? Pretty? Or did he mean both? Not much could be deciphered from him.

However, more pressing matters are at hand. Even though Elizabeth is dying to know what he means, what he thinks of her, she has something more urgent to ask. Something more pressing. Something to do with the portraits and the fact that they had both chosen to appear as unsightly as possible in order to scare away their future spouse. After all, he was quite the charming man, well-raised, good-looking and definitely not lacking in finance. If he had his way, he could choose more or less any woman in Britannia as his own. Yet, despite being able to expand his own kingdom's reach, the demon prince had chosen to throw it away. He chose to try and scare Elizabeth away.

"Why - why did you decide to enchant your portrait?" Elizabeth finally asks, the question breathy, airy. She peers at the blonde with wide blue eyes, her face painted with pink and her lips reddened from nervous gnawing.

"Same reason you did," Meliodas shrugs, watching as people began to whisper around the room. He did not miss their attempts at snatched glances towards the young pair, curious as to how well they were faring together. Waiting for them to erupt into a dispute. The sight of it agitated him. "I didn't want to get married to a complete stranger."

"How do you know..." Elizabeth stops herself at Meliodas' expression, a shy smile forming on her still apple-red cheeks. Somehow, she is actually enjoying the fact that he can read her mind. "Fair point."

Silence had sunk between them, an oddly comfortable silence that naturally seeped into the air. Conversation was not needed, interaction was not needed. There was the peculiar sense of normality in just remaining quiet, remaining still, just thinking of what to say next. Of what to breach the silence with and yet also not completely destroy it. Loose notes of music shifted in the air, their source from the gifted musicians of Belialuin. They had instruments unlike any other kingdoms, the sort that gave otherworldly sounds and yet were just as addicting and soothing as deep cellos and tinkling silver bells.

"So what shall we do to fix this?" Elizabeth breaks the silence, also watching others around the room. Trying to present them as a more normal couple, she places her hand upon his shoulder, smiling as she whispered to him. "I doubt you want to pretend to be enamored with me all evening."

"I'm not exactly complaining about it," Meliodas grins back, rather enjoying the tingling sensation her touch sent through his system. However, he soon grimaces once more, spotting the ever-watching eyes of their audience. "But you're right. This is terrible."

Another little silence. Thoughtful, natural, short.

"Maybe we could get into some sort of fake argument?" Elizabeth suggests, noting how a lot of the other goddesses were gossiping away. Little wing flutters, the odd eye wandering, small smirks and judging frowns: Elizabeth could read it all and she knew what they were thinking. She knew what they were gathering. Information. Rumors. Theories.

"A good start, but that's too obvious," Meliodas shakes his head, a small smile settling on his lips. He pats her shoulder in a small little 'you-tried-but-it-just-wasn't-it' before going back to scanning the guests - more specifically the watchful eyes of his own race. "We need something more..."

Suddenly, he plops his head right in the middle of Elizabeth's chest. Immediately, she squeals, his hot breath fanning against her cool skin as her entire mind is mortified, shocked, by their sudden bold action. Acting on their own, her arms move to remove the blonde head from her chest, however, as if adding insult to injury, a greedy hand grasps a handful of her rear, pinching the plump flesh in a rather outrageous motion.

"Meliodas!" Elizabeth reddens, pushing the blonde from her form. Blazing like a lit fire, Elizabeth's cheeks and anger fuel her words, her eyes wide with mortification and complete shock. "That is the most- "

It's then the princess notices all eyes on her, the watching waiting crowd that anticipates yet more gossip to fuel their mill. Fans are shielding grinning lips, poker faces are masking the true glee at the much anticipated disagreement. Everyone was waiting for something like this. Everyone was waiting for one of them to lash out. This moment was one that was destined to happen. However, Meliodas had engineered it so that it worked entirely to their advantage.

Blinking, Elizabeth looks at him and he stares back, unreadable and yet also expecting. The goddess couldn't say how, but she felt like he was waiting for her to do something. To act out the role she had to play in this impromptu play. So, following his lead, Elizabeth did just that.

"You - You pig!" Elizabeth spits, grabbing angry handfuls of her skirts. She played on her expected outraged, fed into the fact that she should be infuriated at the fact that he had tried to taint her purity. Had approached her so boldly and vulgarly. "How could you- "

Meliodas expression morphs, entirely innocent and unknowing, "It's completely- "

"Don't use that as an excuse!" Elizabeth interjects, raising her voice for all to hear. Huffing, she begins to stomp away, making sure her heels clack against the stone floor. "Unbelievable! Completely unbelievable!"

Allowing herself to play her role, Elizabeth storms right out of the hall, leaving behind the watching eyes, her nonchalant mother and her very distressed personal guard. No-one dares to follow the enraged goddess princess, not even those powerful enough to go toe to toe with her, and so it's no surprise when no-one but Meliodas comes after her, the blonde demon looking as if he were chasing after a rather annoying child. However, that expression instantly fades once he's left the hall.

"Do you think it worked?" Elizabeth asked quietly, watching the now cheering guests as they watched a few people dance. Bright fabrics flapped like brilliant birds' wings as gowns billowed in the middle of a big twirl.

"Probably, you're a pretty good actress," Meliodas shrugged, not at all bothered about the guests. Now that he was out of their eye and earshot, he was planning on sneaking off and shucking off his royal duties. Belialuin called for a special adventure.

Mindlessly, he grabbed Elizabeth's hand, dragging her along with him, "Now, come on. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Elizabeth asked.

"You'll see," Meliodas grinned.


Playing hooky with a goddess was the last thing Meliodas would ever think he'd ever do. Playing hooky was something often did alone, the thrill and buzz of it all being something he preferred to experience alone. Massacring an innocent village? Best done when you can claim the best kill. Drinking a tavern dry? Why, what was the fun in sharing all the booze? Going MIA for a whole week? Well, does that one even need to explained?

Being alone was something Meliodas was a master at. Solitary confinement was his life, his existence, a few people sprinkled in between his periods of isolation and being entirely alone. Only the activities he took part in distracted the blonde from his isolation. Only the mindless cycle of killing, drinking and hunting had distracted him from how lonely he was really getting. But Meliodas hadn't minded. He didn't mind at all.

Well, not until today.

"So, you do this often?" Elizabeth asks, her silver hair shining bright under the light of the moon. Carefully, cautiously, she takes a small sip of her ale, her legs swinging from the railing.

"Most of the time," Meliodas responds, easily gulping the contents of his tankard. Drinking wasn't anything new to him; recklessness was something he was born with. Mindlessly, he leans back as he stares into the starry sky. "It's a break from all the responsibility, ya know?"

"I've...I've never done that before," Elizabeth admits, her blue eyes glumly glancing down into her drink. Teeth sink into her bottom lip, worrying it. "For me, responsibility has always been something I have to face. I was born to fulfill and take care of it, therefore I had to."

For a moment, Meliodas stares at her, studies her beautiful face beneath the silver moon, and thinks that she is so alike to him that it is scary. They are so alike, so similar, and yet, at the same time, they are dissimilar. Elizabeth is prim and proper and polite, a model princess and someone who would never break a rule; Meliodas is brash and arrogant and cruel, someone who is hardened and strengthened by his harsh reality. Meliodas would break a rule. Meliodas would run into danger headfirst. But tonight, Elizabeth also did.

Maybe they are more similar than dissimilar than he thinks.

"You're not alone there," Meliodas quietly admits, another gulp of ale entering his system. He allows himself to think that it is the ale, the alcohol, that is making him tell her so much. It's not her pretty face that he wants to hold within his large, battle-worn hands, it's not those pink and plush lips that he wants to crush beneath his own, it's not those innocent doe eyes that blink at him in unknowing questioning, unaware to just how damaged he is.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asks, just as quietly, scooting closer to him as if they were sharing a sacred secret.

"You're not the only one with a lot to shoulder," Meliodas repeats, making his explanation a little more clear. He turns to her, nose-to-nose, his own dark eyes meeting her eyes. They glittered, like sapphires, dotted with soft light from the moon. "Being the first-born is always the hardest."

"I...I wouldn't know," Elizabeth pulls away, shrinking a little with her words. "I'm the first...successful child. My other siblings - they didn't live past infancy."

"Oh..." Meliodas breathes, cursing himself for being so silly. So presumptuous. They are alike, but they are also different. He may have a sibling, but Elizabeth was not guaranteed to have one too. He had to remember that his life was not exactly like her own, just like her own was not like his entirely too.

But, what makes him more ashamed than his own presumption is the look on her face. The forlorn sadness that fills her blue eyes as she thinks of all those siblings she never got to meet. The ones who died before they even got the chance to run about and play. That look, the sadness that made all of his hearts ache and his stomach churn, made Meliodas act and say the most unexpected thing he'd ever say in his life.

"Well, I'll tell you what goddess, if we have kids then they can have tons of siblings."

"Oh Meliodas..." Elizabeth giggles, smiling sweetly at his dopey grin. A warm intoxicated blush is on her cheeks, perfect and pink, and instead of being embarrassed she is touched - so much so that she wraps him into a hug.

"Elizabeth?" Meliodas asks, looking up at her, feeling warm and gooey inside from her lovely smile. Her wonderful laugh. The lovely comfy chest that cushions his head. "You make a great pillow. Can I lay her forever?"

"I believe you're drunk," She says, just as sweetly, just as nicely, as she carefully takes his tankard from him. However, she lets his remain where he is, happily trapped within her arms. "But that was a very lovely thing to say."

The kiss she leaves on his cheek tingles, buzzes, and a blush brews to his cheeks before he can stop it. Then, just as he's about to say something, he feels something slip in his brain, something important, before he drops backward from the railing, right onto the balcony floor.

"Meliodas!"

"I'm fine," He groans, definitely sobered up. Damn the drop hurt like a bitch. "I'm fine..."

The goddess giggles at his antics, and despite his wounded pride, the demon smiles. Something tells him that this will be a very happy marriage.