Heir Of Argranos

4

Immediately I had put away the things in the shopping bags to their appropriate places, I stripped out of my clothes and made my way to the bathroom connected to the room. Back in the underworld, there wasn’t any need for me to use a bathroom, as I was constantly in my demon form, and we demons didn’t need continuous care like the human body does.

“What in the screaming souls…” I muttered to myself, as I glanced at my current human form for the first time, through my reflection on the bathroom mirror.

Dull, shaggy brown hair that looked more like a rat’s nest framed a round, egg-shaped face, and on closer inspection, I could see wrinkles and crow’s feet at the corner of my eyes. This girl that stared at me through the reflection looked like the average human female, only a little bit uglier and a whole lot wrinkly than she should be, with skin the color of undercooked chicken.

I shook my head. “Oh hell naw… I’m not spending a whole year in this place looking like a descendant of Mammon.”

Thinking to myself, I mentally sorted through the human pictures I had seen back in the underworld, just to get a more solid idea of what beauty meant to humans. There was too much diversity on the topic, as they had a saying themselves; “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

So instead of wasting my time trying to piece together and think of how the perfect and prettiest human being looked like, I simply chose three human celebrities and conjured up a face and body that drew inspiration from them.

The dull rat’s nest morphed and grew, becoming longer and darker, until it cascaded down my back, hanging luxuriously above my waist. I didn’t like the bone straight texture it had, so I made it wavy, the way it would shake and bounce full of life with every slight movement. However, with black hair now voluminous, it added a wild and untamed vibe to my overall appearance.

Obsidian eyes glinted back at me wickedly, and I winked at my own reflection, a spark of blood red specks floating in the bottomless black pits. They say the eyes are windows to the soul. I hope whoever looks into these eyes realize that they are hellish pits of a soulless creature. I smirked, and felt satisfaction due to the fact that my smile looked malicious, and would undoubtedly incite subtle fear in the hearts of mortals.

Life and color glowed unto my skin, with the previously patchy pale complexion turning a vibrant fawn shade, and tiny light brown freckles surfacing to add a little more flavor and interest to the flesh.

Yes, it was all coming together…

I grew almost a foot taller, so I could slightly tower over the average human female, and maybe even the average human male, if I was to wear the kind of shoes they call ‘heels’. The mortal flesh moved on my command, and the dips in my hips instantly filled up, curving nicely and slimming down my waist.

This was earth’s definition of hot, right?

“I’ll take this world by storm. And when I’m done, I’ll take over my father’s throne and become the Queen of Hell.” I spoke to my reflection.

Failure wasn’t an option, and whoever blocks my path or stands as an obstacle to my goal, will be crushed without mercy. Earth has no idea who just graced their humble abode.

But they will. They soon will.

-

Here’s a little dilemma; out of the fifteen pair of t-shirts and trousers, and the five different types of dresses I had found in the shopping bags, only an ugly beige shirt with the words ‘Save the bees! Save humanity!’ printed in bold lettering, and a pair of black shorts fitted me.

I still don’t regret shape shifting out of that averagely boring human being and into this gorgeous seventeen year old goddess.

‘Meh… she’s still not meaty enough. And the first one looked more responsible.’

‘Pops!’ I yelled through the now opened telepathic link. A feeling of relief flooded through me because slight worry had been building up in my mind ever since I came to earth and couldn’t access the mental link.

‘Why did you put up the barrier?’ I demanded, crossing hands over my chest. I knew to some extent, he could feel my body language, and if he chooses to, could even shift into my own consciousness and see things through my eyes. So I simply pretended like he was in the room with me, and was able to see me cross my arms.

‘We can’t communicate all the time, Harleah. You’re supposed to be banished, and all contact with the underworld revoked from you. If the Council of Elders pick up a link, which they eventually will if we keep our telepathy open long enough, they’ll know that I hadn’t stripped you of your demon powers.’ He explained.

‘When did you become so scared of a few old demons?’

The issue vaguely angered me. Why would my father keep up with disrespectful and undoubtedly disloyal old bastards, when he could wipe them all out of existence with a single command, and replace them with new ministers…

‘You’ve grown weak.’ I blurted out loud. I didn’t mean to say it verbally, and neither did I mean to let my father know that the thought had crossed my mind, but I couldn’t help the simmering anger that gripped me from just thinking of the twelve scoundrels who controlled my father’s actions like the throne of Hell belonged to them.

I mentally heard him sigh. ‘You’re right, I’ve grown weak. But I must do what I have to do as a father to keep you safe.’

‘I don’t need you to keep me safe! Give me the go ahead. No, send me back to Hell this instant and I promise you none of the twelve members of the Council will live to hear the midnight screams of the tortured souls.’ I paced back and forth, my hands curled into fists, my teeth grating against each other.

If only I had the power to summon myself back…

‘Making rash decisions will not make you a worthy Ruler.’

‘What were you expecting me to be? A benevolent queen?’ I spat out in contempt. ‘We’re demons father. We’ve been hated, hunted, and prosecuted for centuries, simply for being who we are. You taught me this, why are you trying to act saintly again?’

‘I’ll lower the barrier every Sunday. Until then, I hope you understand that being portrayed as evil doesn’t give us the obligation to actually be evil…’

I could hear the sadness in his voice, and it made my heart drop. For some reason however, it only fueled my anger, to the point where I could feel my skin prickling and the temperature around me rising. I tried to bring my fury and demonic side under control because I knew if I let loose, I’d cause massive wreckage on the house.

The barrier slid back into place, and I the telepathic link between my father and I snapped shut.

Yelling out in frustration, I grabbed the nearest item I could see, which was an alarm clock decked on my nightstand, and chucked it against the wall. The tiny device smashed into pieces with an audibly satisfying crash.

The door to my room swung open. “Frankie, are you…”

The boy stopped mid-sentence as I turned around and met his gaze, still breathing hard from the surge of tumultuous emotions I was currently experiencing.

The very first thing he reminded me of was a postcard of the Eiffel Tower I had seen once, with the grinning face of a young French artist peeking from the bottom frame of the photograph. Much like the boy that now stood gaping at me, the French artist had wispy, bleached out blonde hair, and a toothy grin.

“I thought… you’re… you’re not Frankie…” He stammered, blinking too many times in the span of only seconds. He had a weird way of pronouncing words, like he wasn’t very accustomed to the English language, and his tongue was greatly inconvenienced in forming the sentences. His ‘r’ pronunciation was also very guttural, and other vowels seemed to come out of his nose.

“I’m not Frankie. Who are you?”

“Henri. I live with Frankie. And you, mademoiselle… who are you, and why is your alarm clock in shambles?”

I gave him a once-over again. A worn out brown leather satchel dangled from his right shoulder, and the bag seemed to obviously be very heavy because it weighed down the balance of his right side a little. When he noticed me accessing his appearance, he pushed his circular glasses up, and gave me a toothy grin.

Exactly like the French artist…

“I’m…”

“Who in the raging f**k are you? And what are you doing in Harleah’s bedroom?!” Frankie demanded, appearing through the partially blocked doorway with pebble-sized eyes.

For a minute I thought her question was directed at Henri, until her sleepy and bloodshot eyes riveted on me, not breaking eye contact and silently demanding for an answer to the question she had asked.

Oh s**t… I keep forgetting that I’ve shape shifted into an entirely different human being.