Antipode

In this tiny chamber, the world has been locked out and its voice deafened. In the wake of the silence, a chronic buzzing emerges from within the focal point of room: a massive statue bathing in golden light. It occupies the majority of the space in the room, its arms stretching from one side to another. On its back are folded wings, angelic in design. The feminine face has a placid smile draped across it, accompanied by closed eyes. The head is supported by a body depicted as wearing a wide dress, ensuring that it takes up the little floor available. In its right hand, it carries a sun; in its left, a moon. To think that this, of all things, would be what became of the throne room after the younger sister, is something the blonde observing the contraption finds unbelievable. She doesn’t recall this room looked like when her mother was the empress, but she has a vague recollection involving an actual throne and pedestals. Not this… Kitsch shit that her “aunt” had ordered them to create.

She doesn’t even want to recognize this monstrosity as her aunt. She might be her mother’s sister, but she’s far too childish to even be considered an adult – especially her appearance. Oh Zeref, her appearance is just ridiculous. She cultivates this image of total innocence, school-girl giggles included, whenever she decides to make an appearance to humans. She can feel it now, the seething rage setting her skin ablaze. Fingers ball into fists and tremor as she digs the nails into skin. A cool hand pats her shoulder. The very instant it hits her, the young demon turns, eyes glinting. The blank gaze of her sister greets her. The hand she placed is soft, yet firm; she doesn’t want the demon clad in a witch’s garbs to lose her temper.

She forgets that things are like this when they get heated, occasionally. The fact that their minds can be one and the same. Her hands loosen, and she exhales. “Thanks, Nazaria”, she conveys telepathically. They can speak, as well, but refrains from doing so. It’s easier to just revel in the silence now that they got the opportunity. Besides, the telepathy just means they won’t disturb her while she’s busy doing… Whatever she is doing. It could be anything ranging from self-obsessing to petty scheming. She doesn’t want to care, but she’s curious and unsettled. One never knows what the queen plans to do. In that sense, she’s a loose cannon and fires when she feels like it. Yet, Nazaria worries not about their mistress’ escapades. She retains a dignified air of aloofness in this situation, being situated behind her sister. Waiting, ever so patiently. First and foremost, the blue-haired figure is waiting for orders. The castle is a dull place, void of activity. On the other side of the fence, the grass is greener and the opportunities more golden. Sure, she doesn’t like going alone and is dependent on her sister for the duration of the stay, but even then, Nazaria’s eyes often widen with curiosity and joy.

The final event she is waiting for is the resurrection of their true master, and by extension, her mother. That was her only passion: reuniting with the long lost maternal figure. The petite figure’s wings wag slightly at the prospect of seeing her again. The elder sister doesn’t intend to send her thoughts on this course, but she does so anyways. “I wish we could see mother soon.” Once she realizes what she has done, the blue-haired girl lowers her head in shame. They both miss her. She knows that. Nazaria had needlessly ripped open a wound that will never heal in not just her heart, but in her sister’s as well. “S-sorry, Dellcaria,” she girl mutters audibly with befuddlement. The demon refrains from using telepathy in this instance, seeing the brief speech as some sort of impulse. Warm hands caress her shoulder, as her sister has turned around facing her completely now. Worried eyes greet her own shaking ponds. “It’s gonna be okay, Nazaria. If we do what the witch says, then we’re gonna find ma again. Promise.” Her sister still maintains the telepathic link, knowing that such language would be inappropriate in the presence of the self-proclaimed queen. One hand is removed from the elder sister’s shoulders and Dellcaria proceeds to bend all of her fingers, sans the pinky. “I swear on it.” Her sister reciprocates the gesture by mimicking it and placing her pinky around her sister’s. They both curve slightly, becoming hooks of trust, as the oath is performed. “Yeah.”

Out of the blue, the younger demon’s ears catch a faint sound in this otherwise silent world. It emerges from within the massive statue, more precisely its hollow cavity. For the statue is not just a statue, oh no; the wretched wench had the two demons, in addition to a number of humans, construct it so it could double as a personal chamber for their mistress too. The work hours that had been required were just about ridiculous. Not to mention what happened to the humans that died during the construction. Their bodies are still stuck inside the gold, in what the blonde assumed would be grotesque and gnarled positions. While the both of them considered the workers to be sloppy and inefficient, in addition to human to a fault, they still find the antipode demon’s obliviousness nothing short of repulsive. Just like humans wouldn’t leave dead rats around, they should not leave dead humans around either! “Efficient disposal is the way to go,” Dellcaria notes mentally and nods at her sister, as to show how she agrees with her own ideas. Nazaria sends a smile with minimal effort in the direction of her sister. “Good luck telling that to her, though.” The golden eyes shift from the blue-haired girl to the gilded statue. The shorter girl’s hands ball into fists, akin to what her sister had done earlier. But she does this out of anxiousness, not rage. It wasn’t easy to anticipate just what their leader would do. At times, her mercurial personality shifts towards the cheerful child she embodies, with giggles and humming. During others, she becomes a dark cumulus, releasing the pent-up lightning inside. A terrifying recollection of the white-clad demon, eyes sparkling, smashing Dellcaria into a wall while threating to obliterate her manifests in Nazaria’s mind. There had been  the ugly kind of crying, bruises and begging involved. The tears and begging were both courtesy of her. What would she do without Dellcaria?

What would they do to her without Dellcaria? The questions were numerous and just about equally difficult to answer. Besides, thinking about them just gives her this unpleasant sensation of muscles wringing in her abdomen. She prefers to not give away these thoughts to her sister. They can potentially cause the rise of uncomfortable future conversations. So she instead nudges Dellcaria, with as meek movements as she can, eyeing her expectantly. Despite her movements, Nazaria is not bored, like her sister. She just plays on what her sister feels, agrees as subtly as she can, to receive approval. This time, it seems like her plan works; the blonde impatiently rubs her heel into the concrete floor and sneers as lightly as she can. She doesn’t want to wait here for much longer, for time wasted preparing oneself for a banquet is time wasted searching for their mother. Or devising plans to do so, at the very least. She wants to go ahead and tell their strange subjects that the leader is running late, but she doesn’t want to egg her on. So she stands diligently, with her sister by her side, and waits for the angel to finish.

Fingers tug in her black blouse. It is her sister again. “What do you think they will be serving today?” Baby blue eyes stare upwards, straight into golden ones. She ponders for a brief moment. Who did the doorman say had arranged for the banquet to be held? Because the assortment of food usually boiled down the individual behind the feast, what to expect also boiled down to the simple “whom”. If it was the gold-hogger, then there would be all kinds of exotic dishes. Snake testicles, basilisk filet and koi tongue were some typical dishes. If it was the drunkard, it would be a primarily meat. Probably different kinds too. She then recalls the simple whom in this particular situation out of the blue. “I guess we should just expect the usual, to be honest.” ‘The usual’ is not a bad thing, despite how plain she thinks it will be. At least it won’t be the pervert claiming to arrange a feast, then eating everything himself while in the kitchen with the servants. “Yeah, I guess…” Nazaria replies, then bows her head and looks down. She certainly had her hopes up for something else, but this is something she definitely can settle for.

The doors to the inner chamber creak as they open, slowly unveiling the silhouette standing in the middle. She stands there, several meters away from the two girls, underneath the statue of her likeness. Their smiles are identically placid. Their eyes are vastly different, however. Where the statue’s eyes were blissfully closed, the angelic figure’s are half-lidded, but still noticeably open. The shade of gold in them meshes well with the statue’s material, causing her to look as if she was part of the gigantic figure. Her wings are spread, covering the entire entrance with their length. Her attire is a more formal variant of her usual white robe. The red ribbon usually tied into her hair has been replaced by a magnificent ruby bow, sparkling in the light. “She’s looking pretty tonight,” Nazaria’s voice whispers in Dellcaria’s mind, as if she was frightened of their master’s response. “When isn’t she?” Dellcaria telepathically mutters back with underlying envy.

The demoness proceeds to hover closer to them with minimal movement of her wings. Instinctively, the two girls lower their upper bodies and bow to her. “Master Maricia,” they speak in unison with as much respect as they can muster. The servants rise and see a profound smirk draped across her childish face. They both feel it; the urge to look at one another in confusion. But instead, the two decide to do the less disrespectful thing: telepathic communication. “What do you think she’s up to now?” Dellcaria feels no need to even ask if Maricia has any schemes in mind, for when this facial expression manifests, something is definitely going on. “I-I… I’m not sure,” Nazaria stutters in reply. She is close to starting to fidget in a fit of nervousness, but her sister reassures her. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it involves Les Atouts Maudits… Not us. It’s usually like that.” The regal demon floats a few more meters, nearly passing the two lesser creatures. It was their cue.

“Ready when you are, milady,” they speak in united synchronization and turn to follow their leader.

End Chapter.