“Stop... please” Azazel groaned as she threw her head back against the tiled wall of her bathroom. She sat slumped over in the corner between her sink and the bath. Another attack.
“You can do it. All you need to do is pray. He will accept you. He will take you back. You just need to repent your sins.”
“Never. You can’t do that. You are their teacher. They need you. They worship you. They love you in every way a sinner could love another.”
“But you want to go home, right? You can’t keep doing this. There will be no good outcome from this.”
“Oh but you can, my dear. You will be glorious. You will be great. Forget your brothers. Forget your sisters. Where are they now, Azazel? You need them and they are nowhere. You’re arguing with yourself. Look at you. LOOK AT YOU!”
Azazel found herself standing, lurching over her sink with her arms holding her upright over it for support. Mascara stained her cheeks as she gazed into the mirror. No words had left her mouth. But her mind was running riot again. She quietly cried to herself as it took hold of her vessel.
“Pathetic. You’re pathetic. You’re here, crying. You kill people for fun. It’s child’s play to you. Get it together. You can do great things. You’ll be noticed. But not by dear daddy~”
“But I want to go home!” Azazel shrieked at her reflection, her bottom lip quivering as tears continued to stream down her blotchy, pink cheeks. Flustered and confused, her mind continued.
“You will go home. Just pray. Pray for love. Pray for the light!”
“Yes, you can do it!"
“No – never pray. You do not deserve to fall to your knees. You have no forgiveness to plead. You never did anything wrong!”
“But you did. You know you did. But it’s OK. He will listen! He always listens!”
“Then why hasn’t he, Azazel? Why hasn’t he listened?!”
“WHERE IS HE?!” Azazel questioned in a distressed scream, her hand lunging forward at her reflection and shattering the mirrored glass. Instantly she broke the skin on her knuckles. But she didn’t care. She wept as she fell to her knees, arms becoming like that of a ragdoll as she fell forward, slowly sliding down the base of the sink with no remorse for her well-being. Her cheeks slid down the porcelain until she found herself in a foetal position. Shaking and sobbing, she tucked her chin into her neck and extended her wings to wrap them around herself. Hiding underneath her feathers like a cat which was afraid to face its demons. She couldn’t physically face hers though. The kitten was trapped in her own delirious mind.
“See, Azazel? He doesn’t listen.”
“You’re a beautiful soul. You don’t need to do this.”
“I’m.. beautiful?” Azazel whispered to herself, clutching her knees as she held them to her chest; smearing the blood from her knuckles against her soft skin and her feathers as she confined herself to her own physical bubble. A personal hideout which came with her everywhere.
“I’m beautiful…” She repeated as she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into deep psychosis.