Hell Revisited

A/N: Ack, can't stop thinking about Renaissance France, guns, seduction, assassination, and death. The result of which is this chapter. I apologize in advance for the lack of description, but I think that my readers are smart, imaginative, fun people. Hello there.

One: Bourgeoisie

Sixteen years, mother. It has been sixteen years since I met the eyes of a resident of Hell. I am terrified mother. I am afraid that I might not be able to live another night without seeing blood on my dress. I confess dear mother, she was beautiful, she was enthralling, she was manipulative, she was something far more horrifying than I could have ever imagined. Her eyes were reflecting knives that would often pierce into the back of my neck as she would speak, and her words are nothing close to feathered sheets. Her voice is a shrill dagger pointed to my throat. I often find myself gawking at her, she carries herself so flawlessly; striding in manicured dresses or strutting in lingerie that only the rich may think about. She might be an angel when you look at her from afar, but I fear that the mere vision of her might burn men's skulls and tear their souls away from the earth. She has never aged, mother, she might be an immortal. She might be a god, mother. I might be affectionate towards a god, an affection that the Church would hardly acknowledge. I might give her roses, mother, I might give her diamonds, I might give her the finest Indian silk, and I might even give her my soul.

"What are you writing, boy?" It was she, in all her condescending glory. She stares me down as I covered the letter with my arms. "You should keep indoors, bad weather might come soon."

As if on cue, the rain starts to pour and she fluidly unsheathes a dark-colored umbrella from her side. The dark shadow looms over the both of us, but at least the rain is kept away from us.

"Thank you," I murmur as I clutch my things to my chest, preventing myself from shivering due to a cold breeze.

"You looked deep in your work, it was simple etiquette." She moves her back to me, "Shall we?"

We? We? Is she—?

"A-alright," I muster a small smile, standing to walk with her through the paved walkway.

We kept a conversation, light and friendly despite the heavy atmospshere.

"Would it be inappropriate of me to ask one thing of you?" I faced her, she faced forward.

"It depends," She faced me this time, blue eyes glowing. "What do you ask of me?"

"Would it be foolish of me to ask a kiss from you?"

"It is, dear boy." She chuckles darkly, "But is it what you desire?" She leans close.

"Desire? What—what do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes, "Is it something that you would give your soul for?"

Soul, see mother? I might give her my soul.

"It might be."

"Is it?" She tilts her head downwards, seductively. "Would you trade your soul for a kiss?"

"I would, if it might be something that would.."

"Sell your soul to the devil," She whispered close, hot breath teasing my sweating cheek—I was sweating?

The moment her colored lips met mine, I could have seen angels part the clouds to heaven.

From afar the picturesque view of a couple kissing within such a foul weather is heartwarming. The picture after, the picture of a man dead on the wet pavement and the woman walking briskly is devastating.

"You should have given him more time with you,"

She stopped, her eyes closed and her lips in a scowl, "I have had enough time with their kind already."

"Live in luxury, die in luxury."

"Live being passed around from man to man, hands and hands over your skin. It's disgusting!"

"You say it as if it's my fault."

"Because it is."

He emerges from the shadowed wall, as common as all assassins, and approaches her. His smirk meets her own.

"I have done no wrong." He says smoothly, brushing his shoulders with a gloved hand.

"Your existence is wrong."

"The way you made that man suffer was wrong."

"What would you have me do," She reveals an elaborately carved gun, "Shoot at his head?"

"It was cruel, all he ever asked for was a simple kiss."

"And he asked from a starving being."

"You should have been more generous."

"I already was."

"Then be a little more kinder."

"Says the one who massacred thousands."

"To the one who held onto anger as she was hauled from man to the other."

He was already a foot from her.

"You disgust me."

"I always have."

"Two hundred years you've made me suffer in this realm."

"I must like having you around, someone to toy with other than these humans."

"That must be the reason you killed him."

"He was nothing."

Half a foot from her.

"Then the pretty bird must be nothing as well."

"She was beautiful, unlike you."

"And he was someone more tolerable than you."

"He smelled foul."

"She smelled of a hundred more."

"He's a coward."

"She's a whore."

"You're pitiful."

"And you must want me."

"Unfortunately you want me."

"Dead and bleeding."

"You are a masochist."

"Then whoever bleeds first loses."

He takes her word as a challenge, stepping ever closer to her, touching his forehead to her. She places the barrel of her gun to the side of his head.

"You are still so gullible." She says before snatching her gun and herself away, running up the brick walls and climbing past the fence of the third-floor balcony.

She leans towards him, against the fence, "Even when you're hiding in the shadows, it's already obvious as it is." She rolls her eyes and drops a wilted rose towards him, "Here's until your death butler."

She smirks as she turns her back to the fence, and she meets his humored gaze, the rose stem in-between his teeth.

"Again, we are—"

He presses close to her and meets her lips with his, stem also. She flushes to him as his hands press on the back of her head and her neck. The thorns press into skin and draw an amount of blood, applying pain to the wet and warm pleasure. He slips his tongue past her lips and below the stem, pressing the muscle to the lower set of teeth, as she sighs in subtle disappointment.

"—at each other's heels." She coughs as she puts a sizable distance between them.

"We shall meet again." It sounds like a promise.

She scoffs, "I'd rather not."

"It's inevitable. You're drawn to me."

She shoves past him, "Like a moth to a dead flame, I am."

"In time, we'll meet again."

"You have high hopes, butler. I might respect that."

"Velvet ropes, satin sheets, and since we're in France after all, a racy set of lingerie." He suggests freely.

"Find a pretty woman in the heart of France, make her feel loved, she will sell her soul to you just because she wants you to be on her once more, have another round, take her soul, and then you can be fully satisfied." She replies in quick, unfazed succession. "Yes?" She cocks her head to the side.

"Poorly."

"Then go back to the bowels of where you came from."

"Harsh."

"I consider this kind." She laughs, "Usually I would try to kill you."

"And usually you would deny your complete adoration for me."

"I have."

"It doesn't seem that convincing."

"What would you have me do, find another mate for you to kill?"

"You could, but that wouldn't happen anyway, there's not a fool in the world for you."

"Except you." She points out in disgust.

"I am simply no match for you."

"Then why go pinning after me?" She exclaims.

"You seem far too interesting and far too dangerous to leave alone."

She turns her back to him and sighs in frustration. "You are one of a kind, butler."

"One hell of a kind, you mean." He impishly suggests as he disappears from her.

"It makes me want to kill you even more." She says before opening the doors, sliding herself into a rich, lavish party.

Thirteen years left to go.

A/N: Aaaaah, I can't stop writing prologues. I hate myself for that. Sorry for the late update, I had no access to interest for the past few weeks. Thankfully there's a four-day weekend ahead of me; one day down and three more to go. I plan to update the next chapter within next week, but you know me. Read and review?