"Alright then, pay attention, sweetheart. Because I'm only going through this once, just to keep you from asking me any more questions. Got it?"

Delilah didn't say anything, nodding once as she saw that Harry stopped walking, his hands in his sweatpants pockets on either side of him.

She took this moment to notice him entirely, from the way his gray jacket was unzipped to reveal that he wore no shirt underneath ; all the way to his tattoos peeking from underneath while his crucifix chain necklace dangled from his neck.

There was just this charm to him that Harry seemed to know he had, judging from the way he effortlessly and shamelessly flirted with Delilah to get into her pants back at the bar before she died.

But she quickly tore her prying eyes, silently cursing herself for even staring at Harry that way.

"Okay, I'm listening."

Harry exhaled before he began, looking up at the stormy skies above him that still somehow allowed what Delilah assumed to be stars to be seen.

"When you think of Hell, you think fiery pits where demons torture souls with their own hands, yes?" Harry asked, looking at Delilah with a questioning eyebrow raise.

Delilah shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Well, that would be where you're wrong." He mimicked her shrug, "You mortals and your gullibility." He chuckled to himself through his British accent, as if it were an inside joke of his.

Delilah scowled at him with irritation.

"Hell used to function in that way, yes. Now, we refer to the 'fiery demonic torture' tactics you spoke about as the Primordial Method."

Delilah eyed him expectantly for further explanation.

"In fact, when my father first began Hell's creation, it ran in the way that you explained. Until he figured out a better way to run his system, which is the way it is run now."

Delilah had a difficult time picturing Hell being anything but the stereotypes literally everyone has heard about.

"No, we don't hang people on racks to torture. We've evolved more. Now, we torture people more.. sophisticatedly, I guess you could say. More psychologically."

Delilah chuckled at this, failing to see how any type of torture could be done 'sophisticatedly'.

"So.." She trailed, looking all around her as the forest enveloped either side of the trail they stood on before her eyes returned to Harry's. "This is where I'm supposed to be tortured for the rest of eternity, huh?"

Harry slightly chuckled at that, shrugging his tattooed shoulders. "We're not sure yet. You'll find out soon enough."

Delilah nodded at this, although she wasn't sure even understood correctly. But even so, she remained silent.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in question. "You're not going to ask how hell works?"

Delilah shrugged, her lips thinning as she didn't seem like expanding on her questions. "I don't really need to. If I'm gonna be tortured here for all eternity, what difference does it make? It's not like I'd be able to do anything."

Harry stared at her curiously, obviously surprised that she wasn't pestering him with a plethora of questions like so many of his pick-ups have.

She was still in shock of where she was, and how the handsome stranger she had met at the bar turned out to be the son of the devil himself, and took her to hell.
Yet, some part of her found comfort in not knowing and not understanding completely.

But she only had one question, and that was the only one she really had an interest in.

The sounds of the faint echoing screams that sounded vaguely human haunted Delilah again as it echoed in her ears once more.
She winced, pressing the palm of her hand to her temples, as if to soothe the ache that came with the screams.

"Follow up question," Delilah spoke up through squinted eyes, "What the hell is making that sound?"

Harry didn't seem to notice anything until Delilah said something, looking up and around him as he figured out what she meant.

"That would be what painful regret sounds like, darling." He answered briefly, looking around as he listened with Delilah. He had never noticed it before, maybe it's because he was so used to hearing it all the time.

The sounds of tortured souls who regret their life ; regret the mistakes they made to be able to be tossed into hell.

Harry turned back to look at Delilah's scrunched up face, distaste was spread among her features. He furrowed his eyebrows, seeing her obvious discomfort at the sounds.

"It bothers you?" He asked curiously, as if he couldn't tell already.

Delilah shrugged with a nod. Of course it bothered her, hearing the wails and cries of minds being tortured for their past mistakes.

Harry's eyes looked around them, and seemed to understand. He discreetly fumbled his fingers to twist his ring around his finger, the sounds of hell's torture conveniently turning down.

Delilah furrowed her eyebrows, looking around her in question. Now she couldn't hear anything, no sounds of torture anywhere.

She looked back to Harry with a questioning look, "What happened?"

Harry shrugged with one of his signature smirks, "Haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about, darling." He continued his slow steps of his relaxing walk, Delilah following next to him.

Delilah narrowed her eyes, shaking her head playfully. She now understood what he did. "Didn't take you to be a softie, considering you're the Devil's son and all."

Harry curled his lips in a sly smile, his steps halting so that he could simply wave his hand in front of him, making a familiar door appear right in front of their path.

He then realized what he was doing, questioning himself about why he was even entertaining her like he was.

She was laughing with him, and he laughing with her. And he didn't particularly dislike it.

What the hell was he doing? Was he really pulling his moves on her now?

No. No, he's not, not her. Not anymore.

He's stuck with her, she's the reason he can't go to Earth for some real fun, because he has to babysit her. He wasn't used to this kind of responsibility, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Believe me, sweetheart. I'm not." He replied firmly, his face stern as he seemed quickly snap back to his original stoic persona.

Delilah's smile quickly fell as she realized this, somewhat disappointed that she couldn't see more of his more mild side. 

Harry took notice of this, silently relishing in the power he knew he already had over her.

Maybe he could play around with her, maybe have a bit of fun messing with her feelings.
If he can't go to Earth to have this kind of fun, he'll make do with Delilah being here.

He opened the door in front of them, ushering her inside to reenter through to the other side,
revealing her to be right back in the mansion.

Harry entered through the doorway behind her, walking in and took a sharp turn to begin walking away. Delilah turned to look at Harry walking away, his jacketed back facing her.

Delilah was about to open her mouth to say something, only to have Harry's words cut her off.

"Go back to bed." His voice was bold and low, his back still facing her as he walked away.

Harry smirked to himself, sensing her confused emotions. This will be fun.

It was at that moment that Harry sparked a sly idea, his demonic mind reminding himself of who he really was. A half-demon who loves to have fun with mortals, in more ways than one.

If he couldn't go to Earth to raise a little hell, he'd have to make do with Delilah here.

~

Author's Note

let me know your thoughts on this story!! i love to see your comments & feedback xx.

.1311 words.