Page 7 of Demon Daddy's Little Girl

Or scarred by it, I think, watching Rose's peaceful face. My fierce, beautiful girl who somehow maintains her light despite everything we've endured.

Dezoth gives me one last look before disappearing, and I find myself wondering if I can really do this. If I can really trusta demon. But as I scoop Rose up, I know that for her, I'd do anything.

Moonlight spills through gauzy curtains, painting silver patterns across the wooden floor of our new room. It's larger than any space we've had since fleeing, with a proper bed that Rose immediately claims as "the softest cloud ever" when I lay her down. She curls against me now, one hand clutching her treasured batlaz pillow from downstairs.

I trace my fingers along the window frame, testing its strength. Third floor, but there's a sturdy trellis that could work in an emergency. The back alley he mentioned provides a clear path to the market district, and from there...

"Mama?" Rose's sleepy voice breaks through my planning. "Are we staying?"

"For now, sweetheart." I smooth her honey-blonde curls, so like mine. "How are you feeling?"

She snuggles closer. "I like it here. Dezoth has nice books, and he didn't laugh when I touched his arm marks."

My chest tightens. "Rose, remember what we talked about? Being careful around-"

"But he's not scary." She yawns, violet eyes already drifting shut. "He looks so nice. Not like anyone else."

The comparison steals my breath. Those precious stolen moments in the manor gardens, when Rose's father would look at me like that when I was pregnant. Before everything shattered.

I slip from the bed once Rose's breathing evens out, pacing the room's perimeter. Two doors - one to the hallway, one to a small washroom. Both with sturdy locks. The furniture is simple but well-made, like everything else in this house. No gilt or glamour, just honest craftsmanship.

From somewhere down the hall, I hear Dezoth moving around. His footsteps are distinct - heavy but measured, likeeverything about him. So different from the demons I've known, with their flash and cruelty masked in beautiful lies.

"Just until we find something better," I whisper to myself, though the words ring hollow. We're tired of running, and Rose... Rose deserves more than constant fear.

I press my forehead against the cool window glass, watching shadows shift in the garden below. The herbs need attention - I can see that even in moonlight. Something solid to focus on, to ground myself in this moment instead of drowning in what-ifs.

4

DEZOTH

Through the window of my study, morning light casts long shadows across the garden where Ada and Rose explore their new surroundings. Ada's movements are precise, calculated - each step measured as if testing for traps. Her honey-blonde braid swings with each careful movement while she examines the herb garden.

Rose, on the other hand, bounds from plant to plant with unrestrained joy. Her violet eyes sparkle as she discovers new flowers is so much like what I'd imagined... I clench my jaw, forcing the thought away.

"Mama, look! These ones make sparkles!" Rose's delighted squeal carries through the glass as she points to the shimmerbloom flowers.

Ada tenses, scanning the garden walls before responding. "Don't touch anything yet, sweetheart. We need to make sure they're safe first."

I drum my fingers against my desk, the silver rings clicking against the polished wood. The way Rose fearlessly approaches everything demon-made strikes a familiar chord. Raina hadbeen the same way - no hesitation, no ingrained prejudice. Just pure acceptance.

Until she couldn't look at me anymore. Then there was no more acceptance.

"But they're pretty!" Rose protests, her tiny hands already reaching for the iridescent petals.

"Rose." Ada's voice carries a warning edge that makes the child pause.

My chest tightens as I watch Rose's shoulders slump in disappointment. She reminds me so much of the daughter I'll never know - the one whose nursery I'd started crafting before... Before everything fell apart. I trace the ritual markings on my forearm, focusing on the raised patterns to ground myself in the present.

"The shimmerbloom is harmless," I call out through the open window, making Ada jump. "It's used in children's magic lessons. The sparkles help them visualize energy flow."

Rose beams up at my window, those violet eyes alight with curiosity. "Can I learn magic too?"

Before I can respond, Ada places herself between Rose and my line of sight. The movement is subtle but speaks volumes about her protective instincts. Still, Rose peers around her mother's legs, completely unfazed by what I am.

"Please? I promise to be careful!"

The earnest plea hits like a physical blow. Seven years ago, I'd imagined teaching my own daughter magic in this very garden.

---