The hotel lobby rested in a deceptive calm. Reddish lights flickered with an irregular cadence, casting long shadows across the cracked marble floor. From afar drifted muffled laughter, the murmur of unfinished conversations, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the bar. The air smelled of stale alcohol, sweet smoke, and something metallic that never fully left the place.
Ishnofel stood motionless, watching. His figure seemed carved from the gloom, like a statue forgotten by time. To him, hours held no weight or shape; he didn't even notice the growing emptiness inside him, the silent sign that he had gone too long without feeding.
From the other end of the lobby, Charlie watched him. His rigid posture, the way his gaze pierced the space without focusing on anything specific… something felt off. She hesitated for a few seconds, tightening her grip on the tray, but in the end she did what she always did when she sensed someone quietly breaking apart: she acted.
She moved forward slowly, with careful steps that barely echoed on the cold floor. The light reflected off the food tray as she approached, doing her best not to startle him.
—Hey… I brought you something to eat —she said softly, almost as if she feared a louder word might shatter him—. You can't stay here all day without eating.
Ishnofel barely reacted; he turned his head just enough to recognize her. His eyes, dull and tired, met hers.
—Thank you… princess —he replied, with an ancient formality, worn down by centuries of use.
Charlie let out a small, nervous laugh, breaking some of the tension hanging between them.
—You don't have to call me that. Charlie is fine.
He studied her carefully, as if weighing every syllable before allowing it to exist.
—You are the heir to Hell —he replied—. Calling you anything else would be disrespectful.
Silence settled between them again, dense but not hostile. Charlie tilted her head slightly, studying him. There was no arrogance in his voice, only a learned distance… a barrier built through repeated blows.
—You know… —she finally said— you don't have to carry everything alone. Everyone here is broken in some way. You're not that different.
Ishnofel let out a brief, dry laugh that vanished among the echoes of the lobby.
—No —he answered—. You are still… people. Flawed, yes, but alive inside. I am not.
The flickering lights seemed to sync with his pause. The weight of his own words fell slowly, like ash.
—To most, I'm just a monster. And if no one trusts me… why should I trust them?
Charlie felt a knot tighten in her chest. She wanted to contradict him, but the resignation in his tone stopped her.
—Go back to your room, princess —he added, with forced gentleness—. It's late. It isn't safe for you to be here.
Charlie obeyed, though reluctantly. Before leaving, she turned back one last time. The reddish light outlined her sincere smile.
—I do trust you —she said—. And I don't plan on changing my mind.
When she left, her words didn't fade. They lingered in the tainted air… and, without his intending it, in Ishnofel's mind as well.
The memory of Eliana surfaced with painful clarity. Her voice, her gaze, telling him the exact same thing even when he could no longer hold himself together.
He remained there a few more minutes, trapped between past and present, until a sudden shift in the atmosphere snapped him back to reality. The bar door burst open, letting out distorted music, shrill laughter, and a cloud of thick smoke. Angel Dust walked in laughing, followed by Valentino.
Angel's smile… too wide, too tense. Ishnofel recognized it instantly.
Without thinking much, he moved forward.
—Everything okay?
Angel looked up, surprised by the bluntness. Husk slid a drink across the bar as Ishnofel took a seat beside him, as if the gesture were the most natural thing in the world. The bar vibrated with noise, but an uncomfortable bubble formed between them.
—Well, this is new —Angel said, regaining his exaggerated smile—. The lord of suffering socializing.
He looked him up and down. —Tell me, handsome… do those horns come with special features?
—Don't act with me —Ishnofel replied calmly—. I know you're suffering. And I know you want out of that contract.
Angel's smile froze. The bar's noise seemed to fade away.
—What the hell are you talking about…? —he murmured.
—I'm talking about being trapped —Ishnofel continued—. About feeling like you don't belong to yourself. About someone using you and making you believe there's no way out.
Angel looked away, fingers tightening around his glass.
—Listen to me carefully —Ishnofel added, leaning in slightly—. If Valentino ever touches you again without your consent… tell me.
His eyes shone with a dangerous calm.
—He won't do it twice.
He stood up without waiting for a response and left the bar, leaving behind a heavy, almost reverent silence.
Husk watched Angel for a few more seconds, then poured himself another drink and muttered, as the noise slowly returned:
—After all… I think that guy isn't the monster everyone says he is.