An hour and a half later. The northern quarter of Demon City, within the estates of the Star Keeper's Family.A single, unremarkable car belonging to Princess of Hell.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—FUCK!" Charlie muttered in a low, steady rhythm as she paced across the "hall of the car" where they now stood. The hem of her crimson dress swept from side to side, revealing refined heels of masterful craft—dark, etched with crimson patterns of thorns and apples, the core of which gave off a faint, otherworldly glow.
William sat nearby, practically across from Charlie Morningstar's restless pacing. He quietly scribbled notes, not at her request, but guided by his own instinct. A reminder for the future—about…
"A royal visit notice! The simplest, most essential formality when receiving members of the royal family—and I fucking forgot it!" Charlie exclaimed, her voice deceptively calm. William only shook his head as her eyes flicked toward him.
They were close now—"two blocks away," as Charlie had told the car. At her command, it stopped and concealed itself, like a chameleon melting into its surroundings. A subtle chill filled the cabin, almost imperceptible yet ever-present.
"Charlie…" William sighed once again—for the fifth, perhaps tenth time in the past fifteen minutes. She ignored him, feverishly tugging at her styled hair, which somehow wove itself instantly back into intricate braids and patterns. The sharp rhythm of her heels striking the floor grew louder, almost accusatory.
He would have to ask Lilith about this little trick. Surely it was her enchantment—the self-weaving hair. Useful magic indeed, William mused, jotting another note in Charlie's journal."Ask Mom to tell W how the hair braids itself." A few quick strokes on the page. Right beside it—circled in red ink, highlighted with his own "magic" for some reason—was another reminder…
"And don't forget to leave the fucking bookmark!" Charlie snapped, nearly biting at her polished black clawed nails as she fought to steady her ragged breathing. William only shook his head again and complied with her demand, calm as ever.
"Oh, shut the hell up!" Charlie growled suddenly, her voice shifting. For a heartbeat, the whites of her eyes flushed crimson and her pupils turned stark white. Even William—who had spent not just years but decades in Hell—flinched at that strange, familiar-not-familiar tone.
Her father's voice had once carried the same edge—when he arrived with threats, weaving lies and truths together like poison.
"Will you calm down and at least listen?" William shot back, shaking off his moment of weakness. He tilted his head, raising his voice, arms crossed as he fixed Charlie with a stern gaze. The fiery storm in her eyes faded after a brief standoff.
"I…" The crimson tint drained from her gaze, returning to the Charlie William knew. She halted, one hand resting gently on her opposite arm, head bowed just slightly. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, her face flickering through a kaleidoscope of emotions. William sighed and shut the little notebook.
"Charlie." He rose slowly, adjusting the frock coat she had first altered, and he had then refined—a curious blend of her flowery design and his own sober taste. Deep blues dominated, threaded with rose and thorn motifs that curled elegantly across his waistcoat and coat tails. A dark blue cravat wrapped snugly at his throat, reshaping even the tone of his Mask of Silence. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, resting a hand on Charlie's trembling shoulder. Her eyes lifted to his.
The question might have sounded foolish, yet William had found her in this state before, playing the same role he did now.
That was why the Princess of Hell, instead of tossing words back at him, pressed her lips together and averted her gaze. William didn't rush her, his hand resting with quiet reassurance on her shoulder.
"I…" Charlie began softly, her voice strangely gentle. "I just wanted to help you." She closed her eyes, drawing a ragged breath. "I wanted… to do something right, for once." Her lips twisted into a fragile smile as her crimson eyes lifted to William's mask. "Something that would actually matter, that would have any fucking impact at all…" She pulled back with a bitter, quiet laugh. "But as always, I fucked it up. I couldn't even remember the damned visit notice." Turning away from him, she summoned her cane with a gesture, leaning her hands against its top.
"Charlie…" William began carefully, raising a hand—only for her to swat it aside. She spun around, her styled hair coming loose and the hem of her dress brushing against his shoes.
"Just…" Her fingers tangled in her hair again as her gaze shifted to the window, where the outlines of the Goetia estate still loomed. Her voice wavered between anger, despair, and something heavier. "You and Dad are so much alike…" she admitted reluctantly, turning her head toward William, who blinked in stunned disbelief.
Me and Lucifer? In what way…? For a moment William faltered, losing his composure before shaking it off and nodding for her to continue. She seemed not to notice.
"You and Dad are always busy, always locked away in your rooms, your plans, your schemes…" Charlie whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Always creating, always working on something. And even if it wasn't my place, I wanted to help wi—" She cut herself short, a flush coloring her cheeks. Shaking her head, she murmured, "I thought maybe… somehow…" Her face tilted back toward him, tears shimmering in her eyes.
William stepped forward sharply, setting his hands firmly on her shoulders, stilling her.
"Listen," he said, keeping his tone calm but his gaze firm. Not hiding his emotions, but shaping them into something steady, something she could lean on. "Forget the notice. Forget the fucking delay."
That earned him the usual spark of panic—Charlie's crimson eyes darting wildly.
"We're late?!" she burst out, clutching his wrists, searching for a clock. Surely the car had a clock somewhere… William grimaced, shaking his head.
"By twenty-four minutes." He gave a short nod, then raised his voice before she could spiral further, his hands tightening on her shoulders. "But that's not what matters, Charlie. What matters is that you allowed me—a 'sinner'—to be invited into the Goetia family's home." His tone sharpened with meaning, and he saw how her ragged breathing slowly began to steady. "That alone is more than any wretch in this Ring could ever dream of, let alone worry about us being 'late.'"
His grip softened, his fingers beginning to ease away. But Charlie's small hands held them there, stubborn and strong, to his quiet surprise.
"You… you're not angry?" she asked hesitantly, raising her brows, lifting her face to meet his eyes. William only shook his head.
He closed his own eyes, suppressing a weary sigh. He would try another way—carefully, hoping he wasn't manipulating her feelings if he used a thread of calming Weave.
Her grip slackened, and his hands slipped free—yet instead of lowering them, to Charlie's surprise, they rose higher, until…
"Mmm?" was all she managed to breathe as William's palms cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently along her skin, as though he were holding something precious. Her eyelids fluttered shut, a soft, unbidden smile tugging at her lips.
She melted into the soothing touch of his fingers, gently tracing over the crimson marks on her pale skin, bringing with them… serenity… calm… a fragile sense of safety—
"You're already doing so much to help me, Charlie," William whispered, guiding her crimson eyes to open and meet his. "I could never ask for more—what you've given is already eno—" His voice seemed to dissolve into the hum of the car's cabin, the machinery nearly swallowing the fragile sound, fragile enough to be broken at any moment.
"But I don't want to just do 'enough,'" Charlie breathed, a little louder, as though shouting into the silence. "I don't want to do something only for you—or anyone else—to redo it 'the right way.' I want to do something that actually helps. Something that matters on its own, not after I've already failed." Her brows lifted, and the sight made William's breath falter.
The Princess of Hell placed her hands over his, her voice softening with each word. "You're always doing something for me… helping, advising… even arguing." A faint smile crossed her lips, mirrored by one beneath William's mask, before she lowered his hands and turned her gaze aside. "And me… I'm just foolish, naïve Charlie."
Both of them turned toward the window, their eyes drawn to the monumental building rising ahead—a prism of blended styles, its towering presence impossible to miss. It resembled a heavenly embassy in its elegance, yet reshaped for Hell's domain: sweeping curves melting into severe, commanding lines.
Tall stained-glass windows rose in shades of crimson—the most favored color of Hell—or in hues of violet and blue. Stone pillars intertwined with draped shawls along balconies, while vibrant flowers adorned the grounds as though carefully cultivated by hand. The very air seemed to shift, bathed in violet-blue hues as their gaze neared the Goetia estate.
While William took in the Goetia estate for the first time, Charlie drew his attention back to her.
"This whole idea of redemption…" she murmured, gazing out the window. William spared her a sidelong glance. "I don't know if I'll ever achieve anything… if it's even possible." Her voice was so soft it seemed meant only for herself, until her face turned toward him, crimson eyes glimmering with fragile resolve. "But I want at least you to return to Heaven. You have the best chance, Adam said so… If anyone can make it, it's you." Her voice carried such vulnerability, such raw feeling, as she clutched his hands in hers. "And I—"
"I understand," William cut in, his voice firmer, the faintest smile tugging at his mask. "Thank you." His words drew a tremulous smile from her as well, her pupils quivering.
God… Could it really be again…? He couldn't pin down what he felt—not just about the moment, but about the trust she was offering. Words he doubted even her mother had heard, and yet she had given them to him…
William squeezed her hands gently, closing his eyes with a slow, weighted breath.
"You know…" he began suddenly, his tone loud and deliberately casual, pulling her back to him. "One of my colleagues back when I lived in Heaven used to say—'The boss is never late; the boss is merely delayed.' And I'd say the title 'Princess of Hell' gives you more than enough right to rattle the nerves of two Goetia demons." His words stretched with playful irony, his cane drifting back into his grasp under Charlie's quiet laugh.
"And they'll enjoy that, will they?" she teased, her voice slipping back into its usual tone as if nothing had happened. William shrugged.
"We can always say the King of Hell—" Charlie rolled her eyes at the words, though she kept smiling. "—simply ordered his daughter to check in on one of his vassal families." He spread his hands dramatically, earning a thoughtful nod as Charlie rubbed her chin.
"Wouldn't it be rude to arrive late to a meeting you yourself organized?" she asked uncertainly, reminding him of his role in setting it up. William only waved his cane toward the looming view outside.
"Nonsense. There's always an excuse to be found—what matters is not to panic, but to make it sound believable!" he declared with a grin, coaxing a short laugh from the Princess of Hell, her smile echoing his own.
"Now you sound just like my father." Charlie narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion, making William clutch at his chest with an exaggerated groan.
"And are you sure you're not—?" she pressed, folding her arms. William only spun toward her, rapping the cane against the floor of their strange "carriage-train-boat."
"But one must know honor, too!" he proclaimed with solemn finality, his tone signaling the end of their playful duel. Charlie's shoulders slumped, a flicker of panic returning to her gaze.
"You're right—it's time. Keeping our hosts waiting any longer would be downright swinish."
Charlie only nodded, almost darting toward the driver's seat. The vehicle lurched, then lifted into motion, gliding toward the looming estate.
William winced as he settled back into his chair, reaching absently for a biscuit on the table.
He was glad—glad that he had calmed her, that somehow he had coaxed her heart open again… and yet, once more, it reminded him of his blind spot. His talent for overlooking, or perhaps willfully ignoring, the depths of women's feelings.
Still… I ought to have a serious talk with her about this, he sighed inwardly, leaning his head back against the crimson upholstery, savoring its softness despite himself.
At least he had steered her attention away from his earlier incident, keeping her from asking questions he couldn't answer.
For he had none. And the guesses he did have offered little comfort.
…