Maybe that’s why he had chosen her.

She had nothing but the need to survive. She was no one but a slave he had freed from her shackles - he was still holding the whip. She could feel it. He was waiting for her to make a choice : to bend or to break. He had killed Sarah enough times to water down her essence to almost nothing, from dark red blood to the rosy skin of a newborn, even their scent was pathetically similar; but Sissy’s was still weaker.

Nonetheless the smile on her face wouldn’t fade.

She’d bend.

“You should look around these days. See if you see anything unusual.”

There was a hint of anticipation in his words, despite his tone being rather flat. That scared Sissy shitless, the corners of her mouth dropped. The devil climbed down the spiderweb without another word and landed on his feet next to her.

“Let’s go home,” he concluded laconically, and just like that it was settled.

**

They walked home in silence, her a little bit behind.

Now that she was seeing this world for what it was, it was quite ugly. People they crossed paths with were all quite similar in appearance, and it was impossible to look them in the eye. Every time she tried, she’d get this buzzing in her ears. It’d wake up the same primal fear that the worm used to distillate in her; so she dropped it. Instead she looked at the sky, the one thing that didn’t seem fake here. Sounds of traffic could be heard around them, but she barely saw any car. Houses were lined up like dollhouses. Same front door, same box mail. No name on it, though. Maybe no one was even living here, she thought absent-mindedly as she dragged her feet. She didn’t want to go “home”.

And she knew exactly why.

The worm had left traces of its passage, strings of information floating inside her mind like strands of silk. She remembered Christmases spent in misery, her father draping an arm over her shoulders, playing buddy buddy, then grabbing her by the nape of her neck when she’d dismiss him. He seemed to believe she owed him something. It was quite the opposite, actually. Without Nate and her, he wouldn't be the neighborhood's eligible single father; he would just be another sad cunt. So really, he should be counting his blessings. But instead, he was counting her sins.

That's all the worm knew about their relationship.

Sissy held a grudge against her father because she suspected him to be the reason her mother left; Peter was holding a grudge against his daughter because she was determined to fail his expectations.

And now she hated a stranger.

How fun.

First she was grieving one, secondly she was mad at another. She could feel it in the way she breathed: she was becoming restless as she was approaching their destination. Her palms were hot, she recognized the fire that was burning her from Sophie’s memory. Sophie would have clenched her fists. Sissy kept her hands open, because she knew she had never celebrated Christmas in this life. The memory only existed in her mind and nowhere else. That phantom weight on her neck, the shiver across her back - this need to bite off her own tongue. They didn’t belong to her, she was just carrying them along. It was becoming quite heavy for a newborn, though.

But to bend or to break - she’d still bend.

Their family house was just ahead, she tried to compose herself. She didn’t know how she used to act around her father, because those minute details weren’t recorded; so she’d wait for him to start the conversation. Nate pushed the front door, she unclenched her jaw. From deep within the house, Peter’s voice came through.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“So ? You found her ?”

**

When Sissy saw her father’s face, she wondered if those feelings of anger weren’t older than her.

Because that man had the exact same face that the Chosen One’s lackey - the one Sarah had theorized to be his lover.

Ah, she thought, this sucks.

Maybe even heavier than the worm’s memories, were the memories of the ones that came before her. Sarah’s disgust, Sophie’s rage. Was it because she was too young yet ? The only thing that was hers was this bone-rooted loneliness that was born with her, like ivy wrapped around a sapling. Now that Peter was in front of her, and that he wasn’t even hers to despise, she felt so empty that she wanted to cry.

But then he rudely interrupted her.

“You smell terrible.”

She made a pause. Maybe he was hers to despise, after all. Should she be thankful that he was so quick to remind her what their relationship looked like ? That bitch couldn't even pretend to be a stranger for a second.

“You’re not going to say anything ?”

No, she wasn’t. He stared at her like she was to change her mind. Peter had made dinner and the smell of it was permeating the kitchen air. Breathing in, Sissy only then realized how deeply hungry she was. She stayed still for a second, then decided to compromise. She lowered her gaze towards the floor like a wounded beast - to appease him.

It worked.

He turned away with a snort.

“Take a shower first."

“No.”

She had no patience for that. Her father was taken aback for a second.

“I’ll eat first,” she added, then she sat down at the dinner table.

Nate followed silently and soon only Peter was left standing. Humiliation and rage immediately bursted in his chest. He couldn't stand a lack of respect - that's how he justified the feeling to himself. His change of mood was so quick Sissy didn't see it coming. He turned around with mad eyes, ready to grab her and throw her out. If she wasn't going to follow his words, she didn't need to eat. But as his hand fell on her shoulder, the devil suddenly spoke up.

"I'm hungry," he said softly.

Peter immediately stopped in his tracks. The hand on Sissy's shoulder was as heavy as a dead body. She was paralyzed by fear as tension built up from Peter's inaction. He took him a few seconds to let go. She didn't really understand what happened. No, she understood nothing. She wasn't sure she wanted to do this anymore.

The need to cry came back.

Peter sat down to eat.

Silence took a seat too.

Sissy was bothered in more ways than one. The tacit agreement between the devil and Peter was strange and uncomfortable to her. She remembered that Peter had been at his service in his first life, and she wondered if the devil had chosen him to be their adoptive father in this life because he trusted him. Was Peter aware of this world's true nature ? Did the devil lie to her when he told her she was the only one he chose ?

Sissy glanced at Nate while eating. Despite the scare, she was stuffing her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in days. It just happened that he was looking at her at the same moment.

Except he didn't happen to look at her at the right time, because he was always looking at her.

It had been the same since Sophie. Whenever he was near, she could feel his eyes on her. She didn't know why. Along the way it had just become something she took for granted. She stared at him with confusion, mouth slightly agape.

That annoyed Peter.

"Close your goddamn mouth. I swear, you're a fucking animal."

Her eyes immediately shifted away from the devil's face and her cheeks flushed red. She couldn’t see herself to realize this, but she felt the heat on her face and ears. She realized she was choking, she tried to breathe through her nose. Something was dyeing her insides a color she had not seen before - deep purple. In the silence that ensued, she felt her beliefs crumble.

The devil didn’t say a thing, and it felt like tacit approval.

That’s when she realized that he didn’t need her like she needed him. It should have been obvious. He had woken her up for a specific purpose, but she wasn’t the only one capable of accomplishing it; Peter was right there, after all, and he was a pious man. But her, in the other end ? She didn’t know how to pray and she was so desperate to belong, like all living things, that she didn’t mind belonging to someone else’s plan. When he said he had chosen her, he had given her something greater than a curse.

He had given her a sense of purpose.

The one she had so desperately missed before, when she was nothing but a name on the next page of a stranger's autobiography. And now that she had it, she couldn’t do without; even death wouldn’t relieve the agony of knowing she had lived uselessly, shaped and defeated by the same cold hand.