Her Royal Holiness Princess LaDressa, Daughter of Lucifer the IV
I have learned over the last few days that the blood of some demons, although it is similar to that of others, has differing qualities. Yes, it begins as a bright crimson, flowing into a rich burgundy as it pools around the body. The paler the skin the deeper the color appears. Maybe it is because of the contrast, but the last demon I killed had the skin coloring of an olive. This is an inhuman coloring according to those who knew of him. Yet for a demon it is among the acceptable shades.
His blood was thicker than the blood of the Imigast I killed, or maybe it is I who is different. I lingered over the body as the blood flowed between my fingers with that of the others I just killed and moved on after their blood squirted and stained my golden dress.
I had killed him. A seemingly simple task and yet as the princess locked away by her brother in a tower, I was not to have these types of skills. My Damarion had taught me, though at the time he saw no reason for me to ever use them. Then again maybe he had seen a vision of the future and knew for me to rescue him I would have to kill.
Murder isn’t unlike any other necessary function in life. If I were to starve would I not tear at the meat like an animal to obtain my sustenance? I suppose I would. My love has been taken by an unworthy human who I shall perform the same function upon for she has starved me of my sustenance; then again, so did my brother.
Masako, my companion on this journey, has left me to prepare for my arrival unto the Earth. Although other Deumos have proven their loyalty to my rank and station, only Masako owns my trust.
The Hell's Mouth above me has begun to speckle from what I can only assume is reflections into the ethereal plane. The hole forming is small in diameter, no bigger than two of my fingers.
I turn to see my dear sweet pet Praxis, a dragon with skin the embodiment of Earth’s beautiful tones of brown and green, as he laps the last of the blood from the floor. I shall miss him, but the demons I killed to obtain safe passage onto Earth will tide his belly until I return. His large snout nuzzles against my hip and I can’t help but run my finger over his buttery leather skin.
“I shall return and our dearest Damarion will be at my side. Now I need you to hide amongst the others until I return and call for you, sweet Praxis.”
He snorted in protest, then complied. Walking to the edge of the cliff he took flight across the molten lake until he came to rest upon the tower where I had been held captive by my brother, Lucifer the V, for so many years. With a loud roar he became a granite sentry with his claws digging into the stone at the top of the tower.
A light breeze came through the hole above my head. I knew I only had a few minutes to transform myself to get through. The air from Earth’s plane stung as it kissed my skin. I needed a barrier and quickly.
“Your hair is fine like silk and as soft as a downy feather of a sparrow,” Damarion had told me once as he stroked my long white hair. A sparrow. For my Damarion I shall be a white sparrow so he will know whom I am when I emerge. Even though he is not alive—at the moment—it will be my pledge to him.
I reached for the serum left for the now digesting demon to aid in my transformation. The salty liquid made me gag as it coated my tongue and burned my throat. Closing my eyes I envisioned the bird Damarion had sketched for me and attempted to block out the pain.
The screams escaping my lungs became chirps as my bones cracked and snapped. Soon my body shrank to that of a small fowl sitting on top of my golden dress. My arms bent in the most awkward direction and when I moved them I felt the fluttering of wings at my side. When I opened my eyes I could only make out the peripheral walls as I tried to remember what I was to do.
Fly. That’s it. I flapped my wings and felt my feet leave the cold stone ground. With each flap of my wings I moved closer and closer to the small hole above my head until I burst forth into a field of freshly cut grain. Flitting from left to right I attempted to regain my sense of composure as the world around hummed with a strange new life. Never had I breathed air not filled with sulfuric ash. It is a strange sensation.
I had forgotten that, unlike male demons, females revert to their original form almost instantly. The snaps began again as my arms returned to their normal position and I felt the cold autumn night bite at my exposed flesh. I slumped to the ground and although I could move my limbs, the pain was too much for me if I tried to bear my weight. Clawing at the dirt in front of me I attempted to drag myself and again failed.
They must come to me soon or I’ll have to venture into this world alone. Nemesio lied to me when she spoke of a town with homes and people to aid me until they would be able to collect me. Naked in a field I prayed to my father to heal my body and bring my coven to me.
My coven. The collection of beautiful Deumos that retrieve and raise the demons I will now be in charge of, once I’ve removed the stain of a Yahweh Pivane. The insolent slug who’d been in charge of protecting my Damarion. Who had let him get the sickness, then let him fall.
As my anger rose, so did my ability to heal. I felt the strength returning to my arm and legs as I rose up on all fours. I could not yet stand, but I could crawl. Crawl like the dog Pivane will become once I have whipped and beaten him until he can no longer—
“Daughter!” My mother’s voice rang out across the field.
In a full sprint she ran to me wearing a black body suit that covered her from the neck down to her high-heel boots. Her black hair was restrained in a tight bun upon her head, and at the sight of her angelic face, I collapsed to the ground.
A soft fabric wrapped around my shoulders as she and a redheaded Deumos, whose face bared the mark of poison, pulled me to my feet.
My hand reached for the sickly woman with the yellow-streaked face as I stumbled. She was a beauty too, even with the pus flowing through her veins.
“Cold,” I gasped, hearing the voice of a crone and not my own. A gentle wind might as well of been a thousand daggers digging into my skin and penetrating my bones. Never before had I experienced such pain as this tortuous temperature.
“It is cold in the evenings here. Especially compared to home.” Mother stroked my hair, which was growing with every step we took. “Hold your tongue until we’ve returned to our homes. There is no reason to speak for we are here to assist you.”
“Is she strong enough yet?” the other Deumos asked my mother.
“Not from this distance. We’ll need to walk her closer to town before we can transport her.”
I looked at my mother, but held my tongue. That I knew how to do since I’d done it for most of my life.
“The Dark One is near,” the redhead whispered. “I can hear his motorcycle.”
“It is your fear causing the noise, not him. Many humans ride those; do not assume it is a member of The Frozen.”
“Lack of fear caused Zuma to be killed. Is that what you wish of me?”
“Some days.”
“Then expect it soon if we do not return her to the homestead. I’m sure that Pivane is already throwing a fit because we took so long to find his new second. If we are to arrive empty handed—”
“Trust me, Kanga, arriving with my daughter instead of his companion will have just as many ill effects. Especially when she takes him down.”
“I cannot wait until he is destroyed. Please, Your Holiness, may I assist in the torture and death of him?” Kanga asked me.
“He cannot be killed. My brother must believe he is still in charge,” I croaked.
“If he is not killed you cannot assume the position of Yahweh.”
“I am your Yahweh now. His death is but a trifle. He will be necessary for my brother’s communications.”
Even though I could now stand upright, my muscles still ached and my head began to swim.
“She needs sustenance,” my mother said as she pulled an object with a brightly colored wrapper from her pocket. It was about six inches long and the bar inside was a dark color when she pulled off the wrapping. “Eat this. You’ll need many of these a day as well as other sweet items to survive here.”
“But what if she is like a Yahweh? They need salt, not sugar to survive on this plane.” Kanga balked as she attempted to take the object from my mother.
“That is why I got her one with pretzels in it. Salt and sugar. She’ll be safe until we can get her home and determine her needs. Now, my daughter, eat.”
Biting into the solid yet soft object I felt a rush come over my body. The dizziness dissipated and I could see the world clearly. There were homes and roads before me now. Walking along the pathway next to a road I could feel the rough texture of what Damarion had said was called a sidewalk. I am not able to walk with the grace I was known for, but one foot in front of the other I am capable of.
“Let’s attempt a jump. I can smell the frost and it is not from the weather. Daughter, you must focus on Kanga. She will transport herself to our homestead. Focus on her energy and follow the path she creates in the air.”
Kanga disappeared and I attempted to see the trail she left.
“Is it purple?” I asked as I looked at a trail of dust that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Yes, that is Kanga’s signature. Focus on the energy she left and you shall find our home. I can only carry you if you also try to transport.”
My mother grasped my hand and I felt my body begin to tingle. No longer at the edge of the town we were almost instantaneously transported to a circle of ground with four houses sounding it. Kanga stood by a door to my left with a smile on her face.
“She is strong,” she said.
As we walked into the home I heard shouting from a stairwell.
“How can we not feel him?” a male snapped.
“Maybe he’s already fallen,” a familiar female voice said as I saw the woman from my communiqués; her black hair was slicked back and reached just to her jawline. Nemesio. She was eyeing her nails and not even focusing on her duties.
“Maybe you are incompetent and too focused on a body that needs to be put to use.”
“Try it and you shall fall by my hand,” my gravelly voice croaked.
Mother began attaching diamonds to my hair since it was almost at an acceptable length. Why she insisted on those damn things I’ll never understand. My hair was drawn to them though as strands wrapped of their own accord around the gem and secured it in place.
“Please, this is not the time.” I batted her away. “Has Masako arrived?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.” Nemesio bent her head low.
“Nemesio, rise and look upon me. Who is the one?” I asked as exhaustion overtook me from the effort. Although there was only one male demon in this home, I could not focus enough to even discern gender.
“He is the one who killed Damarion…” she said, pointing to a being with long dark hair tied in place with a leather strap.
“Know your place, whore,” he snapped as he jumped up. “I did no such thing.”
“Know yours.” I no longer had the strength to be firm. It felt as if I was underwater and that water was filling my lungs. “It was your job to protect him. Your job to keep him strong. Your job to educate and support him and yet he fell.”
Gasping, I reached for my mother’s hand to steady myself.
“He fell in love with a human,” Pivane spat.
Rage healed me and the room no longer had a fog to it. I could see clearly and instantly Pivane was against the wall as I raised my hand. I had no reason to touch his disgusting skin. I could control him from thirty feet away—the ten foot distance between us was nothing. Holding my hand up as if I were choking him, I crossed the room.
“If I did not need you for my own purposes those would be the last words to escape your lips. I am Yahweh of this coven.”
“You are but a woman,” he croaked.
“You are in a house full of women. Ones I’ve heard found you lacking in your skills as a male.”
I released him and he crumpled to the ground.
“There have been no complaints.” He glared at me from his knees.
“Sleeping during copulation is usually an indicator that women are bored.”
Pivane jumped up, but with a flick of my hand he was silenced.
“I am not who my brother thinks I am. Do not underestimate me.” Remembering the streaks on Kanga’s face I pointed to her. “She will never be touched by you again. Even if you learn how to pleasure a Deumos with a knife properly. She is infected to the point of death.”
“Whores—”
I waved my hand and his head flew back.
“I am in charge of this coven now. You will live only as long as you’re deemed useful. The moment you no longer have a purpose to me, you will have no reason to take breath.” I felt my feet leave the ground as I floated toward Pivane. “You did not collect Damarion’s ashes and they are now lost. If I do not find them, yours will be buried and will never travel the wind. You will never be again.”
Fear streaked across his face and settled in his eyes.
“How may I serve you, Yahweh?”
“Come now, you must contact my brother. I will supervise the message in case you question my abilities.”
Pivane's face displayed only defeat as I stood over him. My Damarion said he was a weak second, but Damarion had underestimated Pivane.
I shall not.
* * * *
PFC James Schmitt
“You know I only say it because I care?”
“I know, Kiriana, I’ll only have one drink,” I replied.
Hell, it may be true. One drink. If I wanted to get drunk I’d stay home in my room. Going to the bar is my way of staying human. I knew I’d only be stationed a few years at most in this town and I had been putting up the façade I was a reservist for years now without any issue. But my partner had to worry. That was her job. Taking care of all us lost souls.
“Go home, snuggle up with Nye, and I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.”
Kiriana was never one to wake up if she didn’t have to. I’m sure lunch would be late. It’s been weird, but since she implemented the hunting in shifts policy I was actually getting eight to ten hours of sleep. It was the first time I slept in years; in the beginning, I had to use belladonna to stay asleep, but now waking is the hard thing.
“Okay, Schmitty. I can’t make you do something you’re not ready for, I’d just like it…” Her fingers curled into each other and she shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Nye will have to eventually give us the most likely spot for the bantling to emerge. Eventually it won’t be a fluke like last week.”
“I just feel so useless. I swear every night he’s coming home with a new bruise or cut. His new partner is making me want to murder.”
“But you won’t. And isn’t it nice that you get a matching one,” I teased. Since KK married Nye and became an Other, everything he gets, she gets. I never understood why you’d want to share injury and illness with another, but outside of Kiriana wanting to murder Nye’s partner, she seemed at peace with it. “Hey, I gotta run or I’ll miss last call.”
“You figured that out, did you?”
“You little brat.”
A smile crossed her lips and she stretched out her legs on the steps of the bleachers at the football field.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
I heard Nye’s bike pull into the parking lot and Kiriana stood up.
“One drink,” she ordered, holding up her index finger with authority.
“One drink,” I promised and walked her to Nye. She straddled his bike and released her blonde hair from its ponytail so she could put on her helmet.
“Thanks for takin’ care of my girl,” Nye said through his helmet as Kiriana wrapped her arms around his stomach. His voice was muffled, but I could hear a tinge of protective anger to it.
“No problem.”
I jumped in my ’67 electric blue Shelby GT 500. She came to life purring like a lion. No kittens in my car that’s for damn sure. I shouldn’t have such a beauty. It makes me stand out so I always try to park her around back when I go to the bar. The last thing I need is a bunch of motor heads talking cars with me all day. But I loved her.
The smooth lines. The way she could open up on the road. It was one of my pleasures.
I pulled into The Valley Bar on the outskirts of town. It’s a dive bar with a small bowling alley attached. Walking in I saw it was a typical Wednesday night. A few stragglers were searching for a buzz. Today there was a group of college kids with their books out discussing some topic in the corner booth, and Trisha was tending bar.
There was something about Trish. Her long brown hair with a slight curl to it was flowing all the way down her back. Just the front was pulled back with a small binder. She smiled when I walked in and I instantly hardened at the sight of her soft pink lips. With a small lick to the top one, she bent down the tap and poured me a beer.
“Soldier boy, when are you going to start looking your age?”
I saddled up to the mahogany bar and leaned against the brass railing on the edge.
“When you start believing me that I’m really almost eighty and you can stop carding me.”
“I swear, young man, one of these days I’m gonna get a fine because of you.” She held the beer close to her chest and smiled at me with her midnight blue eyes. Her flawless skin glowed even in the darkened bar room. The pink hue across her cheekbones warmed me more than a shot of Jack.
“Can you get me a pack of Marlboros too?”
Setting the beer down, she leaned against the bar and put her hand out.
“Seriously?”
“Yep. I’ll believe you’re old enough to fight, smoke, and buy a Playboy, but drinking’s a whole ’nother thing.”
She laid a red hard pack in front of me.
“A year I’ve been coming here,” I said, pulling out my wallet and tossing it on the bar.
“And I still say that’s the best fake job I’d ever seen.”
Okay so it was a fake, but only because it was necessary. I am almost eighty years old, but being frozen at nineteen made it so I had to have a new ID every few years. Luckily, I was someone that got moved around a lot so becoming a regular at a local bar wasn’t that big of an issue. I’m a Closer. Moving from one Hell’s Mouth to another right before it closed. Trying to keep the humans safe when the run begins. It kept me in the action; it was just the in-between that bit.
I hated the downtime. The time when I could only fight twice a day was hard enough. Now, with Kiriana’s rules I can only fight once a day. I was on the night crew. Personally I would have preferred days so I could spend all night in the bar, but Nye wanted someone he knew to be partnered with KK. Can’t say that I blame him even though I really didn’t know him that well. That is, until KK’s damn therapy sessions.
“It’s last call anyway.” Trish smiled, then walked around the bar, letting the other tables know to put in their final orders. Watching her was always fun. She usually wore a tight black T-shirt that showed her chest off nicely. Her jeans were the low-cut ones that women were wearing nowadays and she would always have dainty flats on her feet during the week and spike heels on the weekend.
This had become my place. With its sports signs and smart-ass comments adorning the wall. The jar of big-ass pickles on the bar. Hell, even the donation cup for some local kid waiting on a transplant that I usually drop a few bucks in every time I come by.
I was in the middle of tapping the cigarettes on the bar to pack them tight when Trisha’s hand touched my back right between my shoulder blades.
“Those will kill you someday, soldier boy.”
I wish. My lungs were probably as pink as the day I was born, even with my pack a day habit. Her fingers went up my neck, letting the soft strands of my high and tight hair cut tickle her palm. Then she leaned in close.
“Let me get the riff-raff out and you can help me close.”
That was the other reason I came here. The sex began about six months after my first visit.
“All right, I’m closin’ her up,” she said when she was back behind the bar.
I made sure that my beer was only half-drunk so I had a reason to stay just that little bit longer. I stood up and stretched, pretending I was just finishing my beer.
The regulars grumbled and said their goodbyes. They left a few dollars behind for Trish, and then the college kids finished and headed out as well. When they were clearly out the door, Trish locked it and turned to me.
* * * *
Trisha O’Driscoll
“So…where ya been? Haven’t seen you in a few nights,” I said, smiling at my little piece of ass. I never thought I’d be considered a cougar—well, I was only thirty-eight so that made me a puma or some other stupid ass cat animal. This soldier boy that liked to pop in every few days sure did brighten my hours.
He was so handsome and even though his ID said he was twenty-three, I still swore he looked eighteen. God, I have to thank Demi Moore for making it cool to fuck older women. Oh sure I kept myself up, but my body had the curves of an older woman. I wasn’t hippy or anything, but I was far from the stick figures that come in here from the college.
“I’ve been busy. Plus I came in here last week and some dude with hair almost as long as yours was here.”
“Don. He’s harmless, but I wonder.” I walked over to my little soldier boy who had settled back onto his stool and wedged myself between his legs. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist while his hands squeezed my ass. He pulled me close to his tight body. My core warmed and I rested my chin on his shoulder.
Whispering lightly, I asked, “Did he kick you out after last call?”
“There is something about bartenders.”
“You nasty little shit.”
“They never believe my ID.”
I chuckled and tossed my head back while my body was supported by his strong arms.
“So what else is legal for me to do?”
He smiled as his blue eyes twinkled, reminding me of when I used to watch Cool Hand Luke with my mother.
“Not much. But I can think of a few things.”
“Can you now?”
He kept his smile in place as he went for my neck, kissing his way up until he found my lips.
My hand slid down his arm. Reaching behind, I found his hand and led him to the backroom. The white chest freezer always served nicely for our little interludes. Picking me up, he placed me on the freezer and started in on me immediately. He kissed my lips with a hunger reserved for the young. His hands glided under my shirt to pull it over my head. His kisses then found a trail down my neck, only this time landing between my breasts. He turned his head up and smiled at me.
“Did you really miss me?”
“Hardly noticed,” I joked. I yearned for the nights when he would come in and take me somewhere else. Playing a little with his soft blond hair at the top of his head, I smiled. I was content in the fact that although he'd said he’d seen battle it hadn’t been in the last few years.
I knew this couldn’t last, but in this moment we were together and that was enough for me. It could never be long-term. He was too cute for me. With his slightly crooked nose, I assumed came from a fight and his piercing blue eyes that had to be stolen from Paul Newman. He was tall and strong as he should be for a grunt, with a tight, firm chest and abs hard enough to wash clothes on.
His fingers started to pull at the button on my jeans with the eagerness of a child. That’s the weird part. We’d done this so many times, but each time he acts like he was just given the coolest toy ever.
I slid his jacket down his arms and he instantly threw it on the freezer.
“Always the gentleman.”
“Only on Tuesdays.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“What’ll I have to do for you to keep my secret?”
“I can think of a few things.” I smiled, laying my elbows on his shoulders and wrapping my arms around his head so I could pull him closer. He must have had the same idea because he pulled my waist tight to his. His kisses continued, distracting me from the magic his hands were working. How he got me out of my head enough to miss him stripping me and him down, I’ll never know.
Only when he entered me would I come back to reality. Young, dumb, and full of cum. That’s what little boys are made of. Every once in a while he’d tell me of his adventures in other lands, but mostly it was a little flirting and a lotta sex between us.
He was skilled for someone who drank the way he did. I wonder if it would it be better or worse if he was sober? Either way, he got me off, and the way he looked at me made me feel young again.
His hands stroked and petted me the way I liked, but I kept my intimate feelings to myself.
As his long shaft entered me I arched my back, and his hand kept my body up. Over and over he made my body flush and tingle as waves of pleasure crashed through my flesh.
“Oh, Jimmy,” I moaned as his lips found my neck again and I clung to his back by digging my nails in.
He was biting his bottom lip. Once he had slipped while he was coming hard and said I love you, Trish. He didn’t come back around for almost a month after that. Ever since then he's bitten his bottom lip when he's been about to come. Sometimes I kiss him. His lips need to be used for something better than that.
I felt his body stiffen, then go lax in my arms; he always made me feel as if I was the best lay he’d ever had. Looking down at me, he ran his fingers through my hair and I had to touch his cheek. It was flushed with perspiration. I kissed him again and he rolled off me. I smiled at the form of his back as he pulled on his jeans that hung perfectly on his hips. I curled to my side and let my nails run up and down his spine as he rested against the freezer.
Leaning over, he cupped my face and kissed me. His tongue lightly stroked mine, making me want more from him, but afraid to push. His hand reached for his cigarettes and I marveled at the way he put one in his mouth and lit it with a cupped hand. Not like I hadn’t seen the motion a thousand times by a hundred people, but Jimmy was different. The way his lips surrounded the cigarette made me jealous.
As the smoke escaped his lungs he looked at me and passed the cigarette on. I took a long drag and lay back against the hard freezer. He took the cigarette back and repeated the behavior.
“Why don’t you ever wear your uniform?”
“Class A’s?” he joked.
“No. I’d be happy with you in your camo.”
“Maybe I do, but it works so well you never see me.”
“That was bad.”
“I thought you liked that I was bad.”
“You think my boss would notice if I put a bed back here?” I joked. He started to bite at the corner of his mouth as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. Keeping his eyes focused on the door, he inhaled deep again. Bed must mean commitment to him. Great, now I’ve lost him for another month. “Can you pass me my shirt? It’s getting cold in here.”
His head turned sharply to look at me with fear in his eyes.
“Fine, I’ll get it.” I slid off the freezer and landed on the cement floor while pulling my shirt over my head.
“I better head out.” His hand stroked my cheek to pull me close for another kiss.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, putting the back of my hand on his forehead.
“Yes. Why?” My hand traveled to his cheeks, then the back of his neck. Look at me being a mommy to his child-like self, I thought.
“You feel cold.”
“I’m not wearing my shirt.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, but I knew he was keeping something from me. Whenever I mention temperature he closes off immediately. “I was appreciating that.”
“Were you?” He smiled as my hand went to one of his perfect pecs. His hand moved to mine and I could feel him heating up.
“I think you need me to keep you warm, soldier boy.” His lips went to mine and I felt my whole body warming from his touch. My muscles relaxed and my mind cleared. “Do you really need to leave so soon?”
“I need to re-up on supplies.”
“Oh.”
I dropped my head and realized he was out of condoms. My rule, not his. I had to appreciate that he respected it. Last thing I needed was some nasty disease he picked up in the Middle East or wherever he got stationed abroad.
“Will you tell me about this one then?” I asked, pointing to the tattoo on his right side.
He was tattooed up on his torso and upper arms. Nowhere that could be seen when wearing his uniform, I assume. Every once in a while I could get him to spill something about himself or the tats. Not that I ever shared anything from my life, but he never really asked. I think he liked the mystery. Either that or he feared the connection that knowing more about me could bring.
“That’s my newest one,” he said, “I got it right before I came here. I was in Kenya and we brought in the New Year with a bang.”
I traced what could only be the outline of the country with a party hat in the center. “Not one of your tattoos has made any sense. You need to cut back on the booze. Tell me truthfully, were you sober for any of these?”
“There are varying degrees of sober,” he joked, covering his chest with his T-shirt.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Hey, you gonna be working all week?”
“I don’t know yet.” I busied myself, rearranging the vodka bottles that needed to be restocked.
I avoided the conversation. He didn’t need to know the reason why my boss was so lenient and giving with my schedule. Everyone was. They all helped me out at the last minute and let me work when I actually had the ability to. Reality sucked.
“You don’t know? Your boss sucks at scheduling.”
“Afraid of finding Don here instead of me?”
His hands wrapped around my waist and he pulled me tight to him.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he whispered lightly in my ear, then kissed my cheek.
“Ahh, the mantra of the young.”
“I told you, I’m eighty.”
“You don’t fuck like you’re eighty.”
“They have these blue pills…”
“Shut up, soldier boy.”
He laughed and kissed me one more time. “I better get going. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out in the storage room.”
I did, but that was reality; this was fantasy, and in the world of fantasy anything could be true.
“Yeah.” I turned and sighed at him. “See you around.”
“Yeah, Trish, I’ll see you around.”