“Hey,” she said, sleepy and soft. “Do you ever regret it?”
She was tall. Not supermodel tall— intimidating tall. Hair the color of a raven’s broken dream, cut into a jagged bob. Skin pale as fresh parchment. Lips that looked like they’d been stained with blackberries. And her eyes… they were the exact shade of a shallow, sun-drenched sea—turquoise, warm, and utterly, terrifyingly human. “Hey,” she said, sleepy and soft
And in that moment, surrounded by hellfire and hormone-fueled chaos, with Satan crying actual tears in the corner and a literal demon midwife asking if I wanted to cut the cord with a flaming sword, I realized something. Hair the color of a raven’s broken dream,
The next nine months—or ‘infernal trimesters,’ which are roughly 117 days each—were a waking nightmare. And her eyes… they were the exact shade
BeelzeBubba (a pen name)
She burst into tears. Not pretty tears. Ugly, snotty, hormonal sobs. “My father is going to kill you. Then he’s going to resurrect you. Then he’s going to kill you again, slower, while making you watch a marathon of The Bachelor .”
Damien was born at 3:33 AM on a Wednesday. The sky turned blood red. The bakery downstairs started producing cursed croissants. And Lilith, my beautiful, terrifying, pregnant demon princess, squeezed my hand so hard she broke three of my fingers.