Witches.

Beautiful, radiant, and devilishly playful. But still witches. Evil and tempting creatures who hide in their lace, wrap themselves in bows and veils of a thousand colors. Day and night demons, whose golden promises are worth a Lira.

I hate you, witches.

Archdevil looks at the charred arm sticking out of the floor. He hated Prince Coralla too, he has no doubt about it. The few times he had come to visit the palace, which had been enough to make him unbearable. Although, given the circumstances, the attempted poisoning of its owner was a good attempt. How Delphine discovered this remains a mystery to Archdevil.

But that's not the point. The point is the laughter and gossip that fill the room. The cries of a desperate little girl, as hateful as her mother. But never as despicable as the President.

Archdevil watches her, while the President doesn't care about him, too busy chatting with Delphine and the Sixteenth Witch.

That idiot Archdevil Executor, first among the clowns, has got in the way, he wants to make a proposal.

I also have a proposal.

Archdevil caresses the grip of the revolver. .40 caliber, more than enough to kill most of those present. The monster doesn't know whether to consider the husbands and servants victims or extensions of the witches.

Whatever the case, the decrepit would take my head. Or maybe the First Bitch would make me orbit next to the evil star. 500,000%... big deal if First is senselessly rich and Third can just order me to commit suicide.

Archdevil sighs, let’s go of the hilt. He looks around and notices that Camelia has moved away from the center of the room. Pale, she leans against a column and pants. She has her braids loose for the occasion and her long black-brown hair hangs straight.

Looking at her in the sumptuous dress, in orange and black colors, with the long gloves and the short-flounced skirt, Archdevil finds her similar to all the others. She even has her cleavage covered by a semi-transparent black veil. But there is no emblem beneath her, nor does her face reveal any effort to disguise the horror.

But what did you think when you came to work here? Did she think there were real smiles? That nobility had a different meaning than cruelty? Just because there hasn't been an opportunity in recent months doesn't mean anything.

Silly. This is their true nature.

Archdevil approaches her, he wants to say something, but a voice interrupts him.

“So be it. You speak as well, Archdevil Executor.”

The President pricks the beard of the First among Equals, protruding one breast that Archdevil Shield can't help but look at, he hates that trait of him, but he can't do anything about it. He finds them all beautiful, irresistible.

How does that mummy remain impassive? And then the President is always hot, damn her, I can hear her from here.

Someone pulls on the sleeve of the coat, attracting Archdevil's attention.

Camelia stares at him.

“What do you want?”

“I want to leave…” the girl whispers.

“And I would like to kill—Look, what can I do?”

The girl lets go of her sleeve and looks down.

“Could you tell the gendarmes on guard that I have to go out? You're in charge of security, right?”

“You need to talk to the little creature over there about it.” Archdevil points with a claw at the Wall Witch, supported by the arms of a strong scion of a minor family. She is dressed in pure white, covered just where she needs it, with a cream-colored beret and pink bows. Of all those present, she is perhaps the most hateful. She tried to approach him on several occasions, but Archdevil always had to avoid her. She despises servants, she's always up to something.

Camelia is about to reply but the Archdevil Executor's hoarse voice interrupts the discussion.

“Well, my Holy Ladies. I propose that the possibility of redemption be offered.”

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A chorus of “BUH” suddenly rises up. Delphine amplifies the sound of the fan closing to silence the fans.

“My Holy and Honored Guests, let me explain what I have to explain. Not only is he our equal by law, but the President has already given him the floor.”

“Viola, yes but I mean—”

Delphine interrupts the First Witch, pulling her close and whispering something in her ear. Archdevil notices the change in expression on the Witch's face—from incredulous to sadistically pleased.

“Well, Viola is right. I forbid everyone from interrupting our ‘equal’” concedes the President.

Many of those present stand with their arms folded, snort, and look up at the ceiling, but they all fall silent.

“Thank you, Your Holiness.” Archdevil Great-Puppet takes yet another bow. “I was saying, let's give them the chance for redemption. The Empire is always hungry for gold and, as you well know, gold cannot be created with magic.”

“Get to the point. If your words are to be lessons, we can do without them.” Despite the warnings, the First Witch is the first to violate her own directives.

“Yes, sorry Your Holiness. We are talking about children in the most important positions in the state. Hordes of small-time witches might interpret the loss of heirs as a sign of weakness, prompting them to act. Since this is such a complex case, we could send them to search for gold in the mining islands of the north. There is a vast area under preparation there, but the people are unruly, and the local witches are uncooperative. Sending two scions there, with intermediate levels of command, could be a way to strengthen your government and make mining activity more efficient. Besides, it's hard and dirty work, I think their conspiracy skills can come in handy. If they then die, justice will be served. In mines and quarries, the accident rate is quite common, I know you know.”

Murky and evil smiles pop up here and there.

Only Viola-Maria, who has stood up and is now staring into space, is an inscrutable mask.

Delphine applauds and is visibly relieved. Attitude that Archdevil doesn't understand. Definitely a surprise for him too. The applause, a gesture of formal approval, slowly spreads and in the end infects everyone present. All except the too busy Wall Witch…

Impatient, Archdevil grabs the maid's thin wrist and starts to leave.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Camelia speaks in a faint voice.

“I'll step away and take you out. Do you prefer to clap?”

The maid falls silent and lets herself be carried away.

The gendarmes at the door look at Archdevil perplexed. They exchange glances and stare at him from the top of their statuesque masses.

“Get up, I have to take her out.”

“Is there any problem with Miss Camelia? From what we knew—”

“From what you knew, he will soon vomit in the room, perhaps on your Holiness's beautiful dress.”

The gendarmes look at each other, make gestures with their arms, and raise their hands or shrug their shoulders.

None of them want to take responsibility in the matter. Inflated and ornamental puppets that…

“Wait.” Viola-Maria's voice breaks in. Archdevil turns to stare at her. The girl is not talking to them, but to her mother, to the President, to the Archdevil Executor.

“If this is the fate you intend to leave us with, I—”

“I didn't give you my word, traitor.” The President throws some coal. Her living embers surround the vent of her mouthpiece in orange. “Let me clarify,” she addresses the Archdevil Executor. “I have not the slightest intention of bringing my son back to life. I have others, much more faithful and equally marriageable. But I like your idea, Viola, what do you think? For your daughter you have complete freedom.”

Archdevil takes his eyes off the President, Delphine, the Princess and returns to focus on the gendarmes.

“Will you let me out, or should I go out?”

“Well, really…”

“First Witch, giving me freedom of decision is an honor.” Delphine starts talking again, and Archdevil watches her from the corner of her eye. “I appreciate the idea of Archdevil Executor and accept it. But with one clarification, you will have to have someone to supervise you. I don't trust my daughter, so if you resurrected your son, Holy President, I would be calmer.”

The President makes a cheeky gesture.

“Too much money for a latrine. An overseer, huh? Well, Archdevil proposed, Archdevil will contribute.”

“Honored by the words you address to me.” Archdevil Executor kneels on those strange knees, for the umpteenth time.

“No.” Delphine taps her fan on her hand. “I don't trust someone else's Archdevil, no offense. The Second Witch didn't show up, but you belong to her anyway.”

“As painful as it is to hear, what you say is true Your Holiness. I propose, then, President permitting, that your Archdevil Shield fulfill the task.”

Archdevil Shield leaves Camelia's wrist. He sprints towards the center of the room.

“Hey, old man. Does not exist! I—”

Delphine raises a finger, and the Archdevil Shield falls silent.

“So, it is decided, then. President?”

“Oh, yeah-yeah, okay. Solution found. I was afraid that the party was about to be reduced to a bureaucratic discussion.” The President addresses those present in the room. “Anyone disagree? Nobody? Well, approved. The Archdevil Shield will supervise the management of the mines indicated for Princess Viola-Maria. Obviously, the titles will be revoked until rehabilitation is completed. Well?”

No, not that it's not good. Archdevil seethe with anger, he wants to point it out, but his mouth is closed. Viola-Maria observes him without saying anything, expressionless, surrendered.

“Noble Mother,” she asks as the guests begin to stream out. “Can I at least bring me a servant?” she looks blankly at Archdevil.

Delphine nods, more interested in the people crowding at the exits.

“Choose whichever one you like, just get out of the way. It's already a lot that I saved you.”

Something grips Archdevil's sleeve. It's Camelia again.

“I am afraid. Why didn't you take me away…”

He wants to answer, but he doesn't understand. Why would he be afraid, why—

“Camelia will come with me.”