Footsteps echoed throughout the halls, telling me he had come back. He had been gone for so long, I got impatient. I anxiously awaited his dreadful return.

Tom had been gone so long that several of the hallway lanterns had burned out. Minute by agonizing minute, they went out until there were only three left. There were moments when I felt myself drifting distantly away, wrestling the exhaustion.

Each time I'd rest my eyes for a moment, I'd awake with a physical jolting panic, not even remembering drifting off to sleep. In my constant fading of consciousness, I could feel it all.

Every ache, every blood curdling pain, every crevice of my body hurting.

My sore and weak knees, unable to hold a kneeling position.

My arms, losing circulation from being strung up above me.

My wings, a sort of heavy, searing burden weighing me down.

My head, pounding like an ungodly drum.

I was so, very aware of it all.

The worst of it all was the fight from the relentless grip of permanent sleep. Deep down, it was the silent yet grim realization of death, something so utterly beyond my desperate control. My vision was so overcome with a dizzy blur, if it wasn't for the light of the lanterns being blocked by darker colors, I would have never guessed Tom was standing there in front of me.

I looked up, a sudden lightheaded feeling invading my skull. I don't know if he saw it but the feeling 'horrible' was an understatement in my case.

"Marco," His voice rang in sharp and I flinched. The sound made my ears pierce and ache and my head pound.

Don't let him see you like this. Fight the pain.

"Came to finish me off or what?" I spat out, my voice cracking, hoarse from disuse.

Something about his appearance was different. Blinking through the blurs of my failing eyesight and dizzying migraine, I discovered something different about him, his clean-cut formal wear. He was wearing a black and white tuxedo with matching dress shoes.

Though I was experiencing every pain imaginable, I couldn't help but smirk at this.

"I see you dressed nice for the occasion." I sneered, a sort of sarcasm in my tone of voice.

Seriously, if he thought he was trying to intimidate or impress me, he was wrong.

If anything, he only proved himself nothing more than a narcissistic, insufferable bastard.

My patience for Tom had already become well past dry and whatever he was orchestrating, I was not in the mood for. 

"I know you're mad, Marco, but you have to listen to me. I'm not here to torture you. Just - trust me." He said. The expression on his face was composed and he surrendered his hands out in front of him in a genuine, modest manner.

If my hands were free, I would applaud him for his surprisingly credible performance. It was almost enough for me to fall for it.

I chuckled softly, dropping my head again, unable to withstand the pressure building in my head. However, when I spoke, my tone was devoid of any humor or sarcasm. It was, quite literally, very somber and sincere.

"Why should I? I don't even know who you are anymore."

"Yes, but you know who she is." He muttered. Just then, he gestured his head, a subtle nod of permission, almost as if to usher someone over.

A dainty figure had obstructed my view of the lanterns' lights, another pair of feet joining alongside Tom's.

It was a girl.

She walked with light, hesitant steps, the soles of her flats pattering against the dirt ground. Gentle eyes. Symmetrical hearts on her cheeks. Heavenly golden hair hung over her shoulders and down to her waist. A bright ring hovering above her head, swaying and bobbing with her every distinctive movement - a halo. She carried the brightest pair of white-feathered wings behind her. And when she neared closer, she left a slight trail of feathers shed, discarded in her wake. 

She was no longer just a dream - she was real.

But how? 

How could it be possible? How could a vision from a dream be more than fictional - more than just in my head?

"Marco? I-Is that you?" She finally dared to mutter. Her voice rang through my ears like the sound of a softly played, high-pitched harp. It was the perfect remedy to a deep, dark disease.

It was a funny, glowing feeling in my chest. It was like reaching out and catching sunlight in my hand. I desperately wished to cradle it delicately into me to embrace the comfort of its warmth.

Aw, hell. What was this feeling?

No.

No!

I couldn't let her distract me. There had to be some sort of trickery about her that I was simply overlooking - and in my discombobulated state, that was a fairly high chance. Besides, she was an angel afterall. She had to be up to something. Angels don't usually descend to the Underworld unless they seek their own doom.

Her blurred hand came out in front of my face as if she wanted to touch me, yet she hesitated with a great struggle. Her stare remained gentle and soft, yet simultaneously floundered. She tilted her head and squinted, almost as if to try to understand me.

"What - I don't..." My voice came out forced. I could barely even recognize the sound. I stopped to swallow and retry. "Who are you? H-how do you know my name?"

Suddenly, her reach ceased. Her approach had halted completely and abruptly, fingers curling back faintly.

"Marco?" Her voice was a pained whisper. "I-It's me... Star. Don't you remember?"

Star.

Star...

Dammit! Why did that name sound so familiar? I've never heard it before in my life...

Or had I?

She turned to Tom now, sharing an evident look of worry plastered on their faces.

Her wings and shoulders tensed, lifted, and when she released a sigh from the depths of her lungs, it was harsh and unsteady. Her head bowed into her hands to hide her face, which was being conquered by a sort of overwhelming emotion I couldn't pinpoint, considering my own haze of confusion and weary consciousness.

Unable to sustain herself, she plummeted to the floor. Tom fell with her to catch her. She let out a hiccup of a sob, an unsettling sound that seemed to echo throughout the Great Hall. Her feathered wings sunk by her sides and her long, tangled mess of hair hung down, surrounding her face, only to pool out onto the ground. Tom's hand rested gingerly upon her shoulder, a vain attempt at comfort.

"I can't... I'm sorry..." Her voice was a quivering whisper in the captivity of her hands.

It didn't make any sense. And the more I tried to understand it, the more my strength waned and my migraine howled.

...

When I awoke, it was to the obtrusive, clamoring sound of my chains, meddling fingers prying at the cuffs around my wrist.

I hadn't even been aware that I had fainted yet again until a jolt struck through me, alerting me to wake up. Staying conscious was becoming a real burden. My heavy eyelids threatened to anchor. If it wasn't for the fluttering of my eyes, I don't think I would've appeared responsive to the external world. My arms were growing cold, losing feeling. My head hung down into my chest but I was still able to tell Star was standing beside me. There was an occasional sniffle and sob in between her struggle to free me from my shackles.

Her invasive presence was startling to me for some reason. She was so close to me that I was momentarily frozen still. The way Star's unmoving stare was fixated on her working hands on my cuffs - the way she came to my aid. It was done seemingly without a second thought and it was staggering to me.

Of course, it made sense, in a way. Something of her angelic abilities, a sort of sixth sense - an awareness to the pain radiating off of me. Though, I couldn't say I blamed her for it. She couldn't help that she was an angel, a natural healer of the hurt. It was her duty, afterall. 

She, an angel, deemed it safe to approach me, a demon. 

Yet, the declined space between us was not strange to her - in fact, it was almost familiar, almost as if she had known me her whole life. 

Still, there was a sort of lingering tension in the air. I could tell by how stiff she appeared, how uncomfortable she was. She didn't dare to talk or even glance in my direction. It was difficult for me to tell. I couldn't quite establish the status of our relationship. 

Strangers? Former friends? Mutual enemies?

Maybe, possibly, something more? 

A voice protested behind her - Tom.

"No! Star, don't." His voice reflected urgency and caution.

"Tom, he's in pain. We can't just leave him like this." She said, temporarily delaying her progress.

"Yeah, well, he should've thought about that before he terrorized a city a few hours ago. If he really believes he is a demon, then he can suffer like one." I could make out the underlining bitterness in his tone.

"He has a concussion. He's barely even conscious." My chains jingled as she persisted. After a long, enduring fight, the joyous sound of a clang - the clasp on one of my cuffs finally broken. Through it all, Tom didn't object again and I was secretly grateful for it, considering how bone-tired I was.

After that, the other clasp had been pried from my other wrist, coming off just as timely.

I sunk to the ground, unable to bear my own weight. And if it weren't for a pair of hefty arms to catch and break my fall, I would've collapsed completely, like dead weight. Every thundering ache and pain only seemed to sharpen and torment me more.

It was pathetic - how much I was hurting. A demon shouldn't succumb to their pain, nor could demons have the ability to heal like an angel could. Instead, the alternative was to cope.

Succumbing to pain was just as pitiful as begging for mercy or even asking for aid from another - but in that moment, secretly, I was scared.

Scared to succumb.

Scared to die.

And despite the fact that I had surrendered myself to her - a member of the clashing kingdom from above, an angel, an enemy to every demon in the Underworld. Even the comical thought of Tom going to the Above to find and pluck an angel and bring her back to the Underworld was laughable.

Yet, despite being surprised and vaguely impressed by his efforts, I was so, very confused. Something of the fact that she had seemingly come willingly to see me was questionable. Besides, why would an angel want to acquaint themselves with a demon?

Even Tom, who had gone to retrieve her, had been warning enough. Still, whether it was trickery or she was being held against her will by Tom, something was off.

Though I still couldn't manage to bring myself to get up. Something of all my pain was too crippling and though my mind was willing, my body was too weak. I could practically feel myself blacking out again.

Soft and delicate fingers came to touch the frame of my face and when I braved myself to open my weighing eyelids, I found her hovering over me. Her mouth was moving but my ears were ringing once more, hindering the noise.

I wasn't sure if it was just the delirium from my concussions or visions brought on from her healing touch, but something happened, too quickly and overwhelmingly for me to control. I began recalling memories that were not my own.

I began remembering that night - a night that didn't happen.