** From now on, if you see these symbols:
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That means you may play the song for best feels if you are using the soundtrack **

Alastor's blood went cold. That was a feeling he should have been used to, but not in an event such as this. What did she mean someone killed her?

Was she still talking about a nightmare?

The radio demon's focus flicked down at her as his ears went rigid. 'No. It's unlikely,' he told himself, his eyes flashing back up and watchfully searching her room for abnormalities. It was rare for mortals to remember their deaths in Hell, especially so late after. If a demon could not recall theirs as soon as they had been damned, the possibility of them being able to do so dropped substantially the longer they had been deceased.

As for those that went to heaven, they never did. When the soul ascended, deaths were wiped from their mind and all painful memories were erased, because paradise did not have tears.

The King of Hell froze.

His gaze crawled to Charlotte's weeping self that was still clinging to his vest. Would she...remember? Her head shifted until she was looking up at him with wide glossy eyes and a quivering lip. Would she simply forget all her time down here? Would they wipe away all the tears that he could not along with him? Secondarily, why did the theory stab him in the chest?

"A-Al...?"

Alastor blinked. "Yes, Charlotte?" He resumed his smooth hand movements on her head. His claws were fully retracted. "Please don't go," the demoness requested meekly. His eyebrows lifted. It was surreal for the radio demon to receive such a plea. It took a beat for him to answer. "I can stay for a while, if that is what you truly desire."

His illuminated orbs met her damp ones until they shyly avoided him.

"C-can...can you also maybe...stay the night?"

Alastor instantly tensed, his jaw dropping at her unusually bold behavior. The young blonde had asked in a tone so quiet, even Alastor strained to hear her. He was not entirely sure he understood her correctly. "Pardon?" He quickly replied. Charlie shakily sighed and hugged him tighter yet, nearly cuddling him. "...I can't be alone tonight," her words quaked. "I can't." The stag unwrapped his arms that were around her and frantically scanned her expression, only to find out that, she was indeed, very serious. "D-dear, please," he urged as he slipped away from her. "It would be incredibly improper for me to do such a thing; I-I could never!" He held his palms up and got off the mattress to where he then stood at her bedside. Charlie watched with wide eyes until she lowered her head, frayed clumps of hair falling in front of her face. She sat up on top of her knees and tightly hugged herself. Her back was beginning to tremble.

Alastor gasped inaudibly. He mindlessly placed a knee on the bed, then leaned forward before grasping her shoulder.

'No no no no no—'

He could not let her cry.

"You won't be alone tonight, Charlie, darling; I'll have Otis accompany your bedside, and I can even keep my shadow on lookout for you, hm? How does that sound, my dear? Chère?" He reassured. His distraught guest tugged on her hair, then gradually lifted her head until she met his desperate gaze. Her shoulders sagged once she finally looked away. "It's not the same," she choked out. "They're not you..."
Alastor's eyes grew as he turned his head to the side. His stomach began to twist. This was certainly unexpected.

That pleading, melancholy face weeping for him may as well have backed him into a corner. The King of Hell laughed weakly, then withdrew from her to toss his hand. "Well, my dear, when you put it like that—" He suddenly shifted on to his hip in order to sit on the bed upright, eventually holding his chin. "I...suppose there is a way I could..." he reluctantly agreed, studying the satin sheets intently. Alastor grabbed his nape. He would rather not, but it seemed like the best option.

His body vanished before reappearing beside Charlie's massive bed on his two feet. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, his illuminated eyes darting in another direction. He brought up a forearm and paused. The stag's burgundy eyelids hesitantly closed. "I can take on two forms. One is my true form—I would never allow for someone like you to see it. The second is my less favorable form I'd rather not use. Every fallen being and damned soul is remade to represent a type of creature, you see. Can be earthly, or simply demonic. This form belongs to my spirit animal," he explained dryly. The demoness observed him quizzically. He snapped his fingers. Vivid crimson smoke clouded the room, and cloaked the area along with Charlie in red light. She squinted for a second, waiting for it to clear, and anxiously fidgeted as the smoke started to dissipate. It sank lower and lower until it sent the damsel crawling toward the edge of her bed.

Once she peered over the side of the mattress, the sight that greeted her left her agape. "A...Alastor?" Before her, perched a little fawn that was punier than a kitchen stool and on the runt side. The harmless creature had the King of Hell's black tipped ears and vibrant eyes, only it was also accompanied with blood red fur that matched his hair, and a charcoal colored underbelly. Charlie sucked in a breath when she saw the tail. It had not two, but three colors, now. With the underside of the extra fluffy tail remaining black, the red top had gained white spots along with the fawn's back.

The cervid uncomfortably shifted forward on its wobbly legs, almost losing its balance. The young damsel leaked a noisy giggle until she slapped a hand on her mouth after receiving a cold stare. Its ears flicked back as it suddenly studied the top of the king sized bed in determination.

It was much higher than he remembered...

With a brisk shake of the fawn's hindquarters, it hopped up, barely landing up there by its front hooves. It released a light chuff through its snout and relaxed, but then the poor creature's back legs slipped off as it struggled to find a safe hold. Charlie laughed faintly at its adorable actions as she carefully wrapped her arms around the baby deer, so she could ease it onto the covers next to her.

'OMG SO  S O F T—'

Its eyes stretched widely when she let go of it. It swallowed, then dipped its head. "Thank you," it mumbled in Alastor's voice. The demoness lifted an eyebrow.

His voice was fully absent of all radio waves and static, though despite being much clearer, it was unbelievably quiet. "I suppose I can make an exception this once...this would be more acceptable under such circumstances." Alastor struggled to stand on the disheveled  bedding and attempted to lay on a spot in the bottom corner. He tucked his knobby legs underneath of him while getting comfortable about a meter away from Charlie's outstretched feet. A moment of silence formed between the duo. The fawn could feel her stare on him as he laid faced away. "If you dare breathe a word of this to anyone..." Alastor stopped himself. No, that did not come out right. Threatening her was the last thing he would like to do. "I'd rather you not," he exhaled.

"Heh..."

She hid her mouth and another giggle escaped—the kind holding that jingle to it that Alastor had come to like. "You're so cute, Al." His miniature ears tensed upright for a handful of seconds, then ultimately lowered where they rested flat against his head. Charlie smiled to herself. She squinted at the portable antique clock on her mahogany nightstand. It was past three in the morning. Little did she know, while her attention was on the time, Alastor's tail concurrently briefly wagged.

One of his ears tilted outward as Charlie stretched then yawned. After some rustling of the sheets was heard, he did a sleepy yawn of his own, emitting a squeak just prior to his tiny jaw snapping shut.

"Thank you, Alastor. This means more than you'll ever know...Bonne Nuit, Al."

The baby fawn's eyes started to droop. His breath came to a slow consistency as a calming peace laid upon them. There was so much to do, yet so little time...He yawned once more, shortly tuning into the ticking of the clock. What was it now? The early beginning of day four? How many days did that leave...?

Darkness ultimately overcame him.

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Alastor deeply inhaled with a stir. He went to lick at a patch of fur on his shoulder, only for his eyes to flash open at the texture of fabric meeting his tongue. He shut his mouth and squinted at his disheveled clothes from yesterday as the previous events rearranged themselves properly in his recollection. The radio demon's smile naturally returned as he felt himself regain consciousness. He appeared to be confused, finally figuring he must have transformed in his sleep. His fingers scratched at his itchy scalp. The base of his horns were strangely tingly this morning. He shrugged, deciding to take a day off by sleeping in, for once, while he still could. He sighed with content as his lashes fluttered shut, then he buried his head into his pillow.

A strange sensation tickled his nose. At first, he ignored it. When his nose twitched, the unknown material brushed up against it a second time. He huffed with a minor frown as his smirk tightened. Alastor opened his narrow eyes until they enlarged. A cascading path of golden tufts of hair was gathered before him.

'What in the—'

His vision fully focused onto the predicament.

His pillow was breathing.

The King of Hell's neck cracked as he struggled to move his stiff, yet heavier-than-usual head upright, discovering Charlotte's idyllic self resting on her side. She remained fast asleep under her bedding that was up to her mid-waist, whereas Alastor kept himself tense. His view dropped to where she now lacked expression. It was odd to see her in such a state. The absence of her perceptible thoughts that usually painted themselves right across her face was different, but intriguing. She was not cheerful, nor distraught anymore; she was neither. His resting, blonde guest was at peace. Alastor's softening grin spread as his eyelid's crept downward.

Only three days were left.

One of his ruffled ears perked at the recollection. Three days until Charlotte would be free. Three days until Alastor would no longer have her company.

It had taken four days for Alastor to realize he would be alone again. Alone and guilty. He still needed to find a way to prevent her Conversion Ritual from turning into Michael's own form of sick amusement. The warrior archangel had always been a fan of pinning. Ebony blood trickled from his lip as his claws protracted from his nail beds. He bit back a growl and pushed down the intrusive thoughts. The radio demon did not know how he had grown so fond of the beautiful damsel, but the mere idea of what was to likely come filled him with a rage like no other and pierced a foreign dagger into his chest. It was not fair. None of it was. It was not fair for Charlotte to be damned, not for her...or himself. Because now he was going to have to let her go.

In the real world, that would not have normally been such a bad thing to Alastor, but there were no social visits or calls between the ascended or damned souls of Heaven and Hell. He could probably call in a favor with Gabe, but it would be nowhere near worth it. Hearing her voice once a millennia would only hurt more, and what was worse, was that he had not the slightest idea why. The anticipation of the long wait each and every time would be enough to kill him. His eternal life would lose its meaning all over again.

Perhaps, there was another way...a way where she could stay longer...a way to prolong her destined ill fate...or a even way to save her. Alastor's gaze remained down upon her while his talons caressed her jawline with lament. The least he could do was try, after all. The stag made a mental note to phone Gabriel later that day. The rascal always knew something handy with his specialty being prophecies, visions, and insight—aka gossip. He was the divine messenger, and the head of what was pretty much Heaven's HR. Or rather, AR.

The King of Hell's plotting came to a halt when the tip of his ear twitched at the sound of a dainty laugh. It took him a second to notice his claws were still tenderly stroking Charlotte's cheek. It was also when the host saw his other arm was still underneath her side and wrapped snuggly around her torso—again, not his pillow.

'What in god's name am I—?!'

Alastor was nearly groping her, trying to convince himself it was not real. The circumstances of the situation at hand had fully begun to sink into his waking conscious. The dreaming demoness mumbled something and scarcely giggled. Her clinging host stiffened as his pulse hammered in his skull. "Keep going," she groaned between mutters. That had certainly captured his full attention.

The stag's face burned as he melted into a shadow and rematerialized a couple feet over; unfortunately, he miscalculated and teetered off the outskirts of the bed. He unceremoniously landed with a thump. After peeling the side of his face from the carpet, he scrambled to his knees and stole a glance across the mattress where his little blonde guest's slumber persisted. Despite Charlotte proceeding to be undisturbed, Alastor was on guard. He tried to tell himself he was dreaming, but that did not make him feel any better. He attempted to quit panting while he itched his antlers again in irritation. His attention drifted to the full length mirror across from him, where his flushed reflection sprouted one, two, three, then four more antlers. The deer demon glared at his reflection and vanished into thin air prior to arriving in his own chamber.

Alastor did not care if he was old fashioned. There was a reason things worked a certain way. He hoped with all his might that Charlotte would not ask that of him again...because he knew no matter what he tried, he would not be able to say no to her.

The stag itched under his hair once more, insisting to himself it would be the last time. It was unsettling. The last time this happened was when he first grew the pair of horns, after he had fallen along with the other low lives. Once he was sure his heartbeat finished lowering, he strolled next to a vanity mirror and inspected himself. Alastor counted the points of his usual buck rack. His posture abruptly went rigid.

"Bloody Hell."

Sometime later, Charlie rose from her spot underneath the comforter. She rubbed her eye and was basked in the rays of the tangerine light beams pouring across her master suite. After all, everything was redder in Hell, including its 'sun.' The refreshed damsel put her palm out forth and simpered to herself. Despite being different, Hell strangely had its own beauty of nature. Her orbs shot over to the empty spot matted on the blankets by her feet. Her smile expanded at the mini deer-like nest he made. She wondered when Alastor awoke. Charlie's shoulders sank a bit. He probably could not sleep.

'Wait, what time is it??'

She flipped over and snatched the handheld clock perching on the dark wooden nightstand. She sighed in relief. Only a quarter to eleven in the morning. The blonde did not smell the usual scent of breakfast she had already grown so used to. 'I wonder what he's up to?' She shrugged to herself, then flipped off her massive, cardinal comforter. After selecting an outfit from the wardrobe, her pale, bare feet took her to the master bathroom. Charlie visibly shuddered at the clean, golden clawfoot tub. "Not doing that again," she remarked. Thankfully, there was a separate shower in the corner.

If anything, it was spacious. The flooring inside was tiled with black abstract slabs of charcoal, the wall was paneled with red marble, to which she was pretty sure something was glowing from behind. Aside from the mantle atmosphere, the shower reminded her of a scene from a foreign film. It was large with no door, only a single layer of a polished obsidian that functioned as a tinted pane parallel to the lava-like wall. The volcanic glass came from the edge of the onyx floor and ran up all the way to the ceiling, creating a single opening to enter.

Just looking the design made Charlie sweat. After locking the bathroom door and stripping down to nothing, she strolled around the edge of the black glass and entered the shower. Of course, starting it up was like trying to fly the Millenium Falcon, despite there only being both a hot and cold handle covered in 24K gold. The water was glorious. Even though she fiddled around with the levers for five minutes and tried to get the pressure just right in the shower head and whatnot, it was as if the temperature already knew what she wanted.

If the luxuries in Hell were truly this glorious, she wondered how much more beautiful the enchanted showers would be in Heaven. The wonder made her skin tingle with excitement. "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..." Her voice quietly rang out. Her eyes drifted to a stone shelf above the golden handles. She reached for a labeled vial of shampoo that stood beside one of conditioner and a bar of soap. "Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens..." She sang louder while pouring a few drops in her hand as her hair soaked. "Brown paper packages tied up in strings, these are a few of my favorite things..."

Charlie glanced at her black, polished fingernails and continued to sing. She painted them that color in her past life sometimes, though she never wore black lipstick before. Brown? Yes, several times. It was a huge nineties trend. But the dotted nose? The thick eyelashes and sunken sockets? She would feel like a vampire goth if it was not for her signature golden blonde hair. Alastor called her beautiful and charming, and although the young damsel knew he meant it, she was not the slightest bit used to looking like this. She sighed at her appearance and massaged the shampoo into her hair. 'Oh, well, I'll be back to my old self next week, hopefully...' Her eyes suddenly opened when she finished rinsing. 'Next week...' Her time down there was almost up already? "I wonder if I'll be able to visit him..." She mumbled aloud, trailing her fingers through her long locks to spread conditioner. "Or I could write him letters to see how he's doing. He's done so much for me."

The pale demoness beamed when she remembered the way Al held her while they had danced on the piano a couple days ago. How he stared at her when her gave her that blackened rose, and how he sang his heart out to a romantic ballad on the keys—oh, he was magnificent! Charlie's scleras brightened to a bloody red when she thought of the day she saw Alastor's tail for the first time. "I must touch it," she swore to herself as her vibrant orbs lit up. "Before I leave, I'm definitely going to know what it feels like!"