Silver Locket II

Rinn stood defiant, the moonlight streaming through the opulent window casting long, dramatic shadows across her bare skin. The tattered remnants of her dress lay discarded at her feet, a testament to her fiery spirit. Azrakhel, for all his demonic might, seemed momentarily speechless. Here he was, a creature of chaos, flustered by a sixteen-year-old human girl in a thin chemise.

"Well?" Rinn pressed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you going to answer me, or are we just going to stand here all night in a staring contest of awkward silence?"

Azrakhel cleared his throat, the sound strangely rough. "Yes," he finally growled, his voice a low rumble. "I want you gone."

The anger in his mismatched eyes mirrored the flames of rebellion burning in Rinn's violet ones. "Then how about you point me towards the nearest exit that doesn't involve a window and a twenty-foot drop?"

He hesitated, a flicker of something resembling… concern… crossing his demonic features. "You can't just leave like this."

Rinn scoffed. "Oh, but I can. Watch me." She took a step forward, her body swaying slightly, the pain from her back a dull ache.

Azrakhel's hand shot out, his fingers brushing against her arm before he quickly retracted them. "Wait," he grated.

"Don't you dare try to stop me," Rinn warned, her voice laced with ice. "Or I take back my threat about the cave. I'll burn down this entire castle and dance a jig in the ashes!"

A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire outside. It was a staring contest of epic proportions – hatred blazing in Rinn's violet eyes, a strange mix of anger and a raw, primal desire simmering in Azrakhel's mismatched ones.

The demon lord was the first to break, his gaze flickering down to the exposed expanse of Rinn's chest, the moonlight highlighting the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Rinn noticed, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Enjoying the view, overgrown lizard?" she purred, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness.

Azrakhel's jaw clenched. The nickname grated on him, a childish jab that somehow resonated with a strange sense of… endearment? He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. This fiery human was supposed to be his enemy, yet he found himself strangely captivated.

The sound of a slap echoed through the room, the sting a welcome jolt to his confused state. Rinn, her face flushed with fury, glared at him.

"Get out!" she roared, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "Now!"

Azrakhel threw his hands up in exasperation. This human! She was like a whirlwind of chaos, a constant irritant that somehow managed to intrigue him.

"Alright, alright," he growled, the frustration evident in his voice. "Fine. You can leave. But not tonight."

Rinn raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on her beautiful face. "Oh, and why not?"

"Because," Azrakhel gritted out, "you can't just walk out of here… naked." He gestured vaguely towards the discarded dress.

"Fine," Rinn conceded, a cunning glint in her violet eyes. "I'll leave in the morning. But don't expect me to be pleasant company."

Azrakhel sighed. This was a mistake. A colossal, flaming mess of a mistake. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to throw her out.

"There's food and water in the next room," he muttered, turning towards the door. "There's also a dress. You can sleep here for the night and leave tomorrow. There's no way in hell I'm letting you walk out tonight."

Rinn considered this for a moment, a sinister plan already taking root in her sharp mind. "Okay," she finally agreed, a devious smile tugging at her lips.

Azrakhel paused at the doorway, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features. "And stop calling me overgrown lizard," he grumbled. "My name is Azrakhel."

Rinn tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'll call you overgrown lizard until I get tired of it," she retorted. "And for your information, I don't care about your name."

Azrakhel shook his head, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his lips despite himself. This human was a firestorm, a force of nature he couldn't control. But somehow, he found himself strangely drawn to the flames.

With a final glare at Rinn, Azrakhel exited the room, leaving the firebrand to her own devices. The plush bed felt oddly cold despite the opulent surroundings. A wave of loneliness washed over Rinn, a crushing tide that threatened to pull her under. Yes, Father and Elspeth were strict, sometimes downright cruel, but they were hers. Now, they were gone, ashes amidst the smoldering ruins of House Elancourt.

A single tear escaped her tightly shut eyelids, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. The thought of her family, of their lifeless bodies trapped beneath the burning wreckage, sent a fresh wave of grief crashing through her. So many innocent people, all perished because of her wedding, because of the demon who craved chaos. It was all her fault.

Anger, hot and potent, replaced the sorrow. If only she could claw her way back to that ballroom, back to that very moment, she'd do things differently. Maybe then, her family would still be alive. The blame shifted, a heavy mantle draped upon Azrakhel's broad shoulders. It was his fire that had devoured everything she held dear. Her hate for him intensified, a white-hot ember burning in the pit of her stomach.

Revenge. That was the only thing keeping her anchored amidst the storm of emotions. She'd make him pay, this overgrown lizard with his fancy name and mismatched eyes. She'd return the favor, burn down his entire demonic castle, reduce it to a smoldering pile of ash just like he'd done to her home. A cruel smile played on her lips, a chilling contrast to the tear-stained face staring back at her from the reflection in the gilded mirror.

As the plan for fiery retribution took shape in her mind, the loneliness returned, a nagging ache that wouldn't be ignored. She supposed co-habitation with a demon lord wasn't exactly the comfort she craved, but the alternative – wandering the war-torn streets alone – was even less appealing. Besides, the overgrown lizard wouldn't suspect a thing. He probably thought she was a weeping damsel in distress, cowering in the corner.

Little did he know, the firebrand of House Elancourt was merely gathering her embers, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash a storm of her own. With a determined glint in her violet eyes, Rinn rose from the bed. This night was far from over. She had a demon to torment and a castle to burn.

Fuelled by both righteous fury and a rumbling stomach, Rinn ventured out of the opulent bedroom. The air grew cooler, carrying with it the faint scent of woodsmoke and… something sweet? Her stomach growled again, louder this time. Following the delicious aroma, she found herself in a grand dining room.

Her jaw dropped. The table groaned under the weight of a feast fit for a king. Roast boar, glistening with honey glaze, sat centerpiece, surrounded by platters of exotic fruits, roasted vegetables, and pastries so beautifully crafted they looked like works of art. A silver wine decanter gleamed beside a crystal goblet, a silent invitation to indulgence.

Rinn, despite her initial outrage, couldn't resist the siren call of her empty stomach. Revenge could wait. Besides, a full belly meant a sharper mind for plotting his fiery demise. She settled into a plush chair, tearing into the succulent boar with a gusto that would have surprised even the most barbaric warrior.

As her anger slowly simmered down, replaced by a satisfied fullness, Rinn explored the rest of the chamber. A magnificent marble bathtub, large enough for three, beckoned her. With a sigh of pure bliss, she sank into the steaming water, letting it wash away the grime and soot of the day's ordeal. Here, amidst the swirling steam, a strange thought flickered across her mind. Azrakhel, for all his villainy, had surprisingly good taste in food and bath amenities.

Then, a traitorous image popped into her head. Azrakhel's face, with its mismatched eyes and the intriguing scar that bisected his lips. A scowl quickly banished the unwelcome vision. "Carve my name on his face," she muttered, her voice echoing in the vast bathroom. "That's what I'll do after I burn him and his stupid castle to the ground."

Revenge fantasies aside, Rinn couldn't help but notice the strategic placement of oil lamps throughout the room. Heavy velvet drapes hung at the windows, and thick tapestries adorned the walls. A devilish grin spread across her face. Perfect kindling for a good firestorm.

Emerging from the bath, revitalized and with a renewed sense of purpose, Rinn surveyed the room. A hidden compartment in a nearby wardrobe caught her eye. With a triumphant flourish, she pulled it open, revealing a dress. It wasn't the white monstrosity she'd worn earlier, but something altogether different.

The dress was a deep emerald green, the color of a spiteful mermaid's eyes. It hugged her curves in a way that both surprised and pleased her, the silky fabric cool against her skin. A single, elegant strap adorned one shoulder, leaving the other bare. And beside the dress, a note: simply an "A" scrawled in bold lettering.

Rinn, a slow smile spreading across her face, slipped into the dress. Now, all she needed was a spark. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a small silver box tucked away on a dressing table. A matchbox. A genuine, human matchbox. A predator's grin stretched across her face.

Tonight, she wouldn't burn down the entire castle. But she'd certainly leave Azrakhel with a taste of the fiery retribution to come. With the matchbox clutched in her hand, Rinn set off, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. Revenge was a dish best served… with a little fire.