Page 189 of Crimson Promises
Restless energy buzzed beneath my skin, and I began to pace, feet tracing the periphery of the room. Memories of Bennett flashed. The warmth of his embrace, which had wrapped around me like the gentle caress of summer breezes, now felt like a treacherous winter's gust—cold and biting. The weight of his betrayal felt like lead in my stomach, the venom of his deceptions corroding the sweetest of our shared moments. The room seemed to shrink with each stride.
And yet, with every pulsing heartbeat and each stolen breath, a profound truth made itself evident. Despite the anger, confusion, and hurt, a quiet undercurrent of care—perhaps even love—still flowed within me for Bennett. It was maddening. Every ounce of logic screamed at the absurdity of it. How could one yearn for the very thing that caused them immeasurable pain?
Beneath the layers of hurt, my spirit still burned for him, our bond of genuine affection, passion, and years of friendship.
The Prince of Hell shouldn’t be a factor.
My hands clenched and unclenched. I could still feel the ghost of Lucifer's touch, a smoky caress that promised darkness and delight. An allure impossible to deny. Yet every glimmer of vulnerability he'd shown was clouded by his acts of cruelty. He was a hurricane veiled in the serenity of a summer sky. My heart, the foolish traitor, longed to decipher him, even as my mind screamed at the dangers of such a quest.
With Lucifer, it was a raw, primal pull—untamed and intense. It wasn't just a desire but a need, a hunger that gnawed at the very core of my being.
A mirror stood tall against one wall. Marching to it, I searched my reflection for answers. The Aurora staring back seemed a stranger. Eyes once alight with purpose, now clouded by turmoil.
"They say the heart wants what it wants," I whispered to the stranger in the mirror. "But what if the heart is blind? Led astray by a siren's song and false promises only to be dashed upon the rocks."
There was a singular truth amidst the chaos of emotions—despite it all, the pain, the lies, and the betrayals, I had feelings for two people.
What are the chances Hell had a convent?
Drawing a shuddering breath, I tried to gather the shards of my fractured soul. "I won't be a puppet in their game," I vowed, voice stealing with determination.
For now, my focus remained on getting Ben free and returning home. The longer we stayed in Hell, the further we would get sucked into its intricate schemes.
Exhaustion, heavier than the weight of the world, pulled at every inch of me.
Without a second thought, I let my weary legs carry me toward the canopy bed in the center of the room. The bed seemed to catch me as I collapsed onto it, the plush cushions enveloping my aching body. As my head sank into the feathery pillow, a fleeting thought—of safety, of reprieve—passed through my consciousness. The world faded away, and I succumbed to the darkness, desperately hoping to find solace in the realm of dreams.
* * *
The sensation of waking up was familiar—the slow, drowsy transition from unconsciousness to awareness. Yet, as my eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t my lavish chamber that greeted me.
I swung my legs over the bed, my bare feet hitting the parquet flooring. I cursed myself for not wearing socks to bed. An odd quirk I had since childhood. The gossamer curtains of my canopy bed had traveled with me wherever I was.
This better not be some of Lucifer’s magic. I hadn’t thought my day could get any worse. I wasn’t ready for Ben’s tasks to begin.
Instead of the curtains tied to the bedpost, they were billowing on a non-existent breeze. Once I finally summoned the courage to part them, I was surrounded by a vast and disorienting expanse of mirrors. Each gleaming pane reflected an infinite number of me, each version of me had a different emotion on my face. The mirrors surrounding me were vast, towering monoliths, standing at least ten feet tall and five feet wide. They seemed to be crafted from dark, age-worn metal. The alloy was twisted and coiled into patterns of vines, roses, and thorns. The thorns seemed almost real, poised to pierce any hand that dared to come too close. The mirrors themselves had a silverish sheen, making them appear almost liquid as if they were made from pools of mercury.
I reached out, fingertips ghosting over the cold surface of the nearest mirror. It wasn't my own reflection that looked back but a distant memory. I had come back from my first dance practice. I could see my tear-stained cheeks. The other girls in class wouldn’t talk to me until the teacher made them include me. When she left the room to speak to a parent, the girls gathered in a circle and moved to the opposite end of the room, led by the ringleader.
The ringleader had walked halfway between her clique of girls and me. She had told me that no one wanted me there and that I would only end up cracking all the mirrors with my bad luck. Seeing me at school was painful enough, she said.
I walked out of the room and went straight up to my dad, telling him I wanted to go because I wasn’t feeling well. I had waited until I was in the safety of my room to cry. I threw my ballet shoes at the door. For the thousandth time in my life, I would have given anything to talk to my mom. Dad tried, but he just didn’t get it. He wasn’t a girl. They were capable of a cruelty that could cut a person to ribbons.
Quickly, I turned my head away, not wanting to get sucked into reliving painful memories. As I walked deeper into the labyrinth, I lost my origin point. The whisper of my name had me standing straight at attention.
“Where am I?” I called out, my voice echoing from a thousand mirrors.
A cloaked figure stood in the distance, its form shifting and elusive like the tendrils of mist weaving between the mirrors. Beckoning me closer with a mere tilt of its hooded head
Taking hesitant steps, I followed the voice. It seemed the mirrors were guiding me, shifting and changing, creating a clear path through the maze.
“You are where you need to be," the figure replied, voice echoing like a whisper across the vast expanse of the ocean. "Navigate, and you shall find."
The concealed figure was dressed in dark robes that fell to their feet, tied with a simple piece of leather around their midsection. Their robe swished with each step forward.
The mirrors led us to a rectangular pocket; the heart of the maze. Up close, the figure looked hazy, as if running my fingers through the image of them would make them disappear.
The figure faced me, lingering at a distance. "Each soul perceives a different reality when they gaze into these mirrors. Some relive memories, some confront nightmares, while others glimpse desires they dare not admit to. It will only reveal its secrets to those pure of heart.”
