Darkness Becomes Me (A Story of a Fallen Angel)
This is a story about an Angel that is driven over the edge and turns into a bit of a bad-ass.
WARNING!: This story may contain some graphic (and non-graphic) sex scenes, along with violence, gore and bad language. So if any of these things offend you, please don't read it. But if not, enjoy!
Voice of an Angel
She had dyed her chocolate brown hair a charcoal black and her eyes remained as dark as her blackened soul.
She wore tight leather trousers, a red corset, long black boots and had her long hair tied up with a red ribbon.
Her plump limps looked larger when she wore her bright ruby lipstick and her skin appeared pale when dressed so darkly.
She was at the attention of men wherever she went, and she earned her money by singing in clubs and bars. Her voice remained haunting and angelic so she quickly earned a name for herself as the 'Crimson Lady' or 'The Devil's Bride', depending on the venue.
Never had she felt so powerful, despite her mortal status.
Inside her cosy flat she sat at the small table for two so that she could read a newspaper she'd bought earlier on. An advert caught her eye.
Wanted: A young woman with the voice of an angel to sing at The Devil's Inn. For more info, call: 04821 74666
Regina needed some more money and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some. She would need some more details first though. She picked up her new red Blackberry and dialled the number while getting up and walking to the fridge. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, held the fridge door open with her foot, and retrieved a bottle of beer just as the dial tone began. She popped the bottle of beer open with her hard painted nails and took a gulp before the receiver picked up. "Hello, this is The Devil's Inn. How may I help you?" Asked a chirpy voiced female.
"I was wondering if you were still looking for a woman to sing at your Inn..." Regina informed the woman, feeling a little impatient.
"Hang one second ma'am."
"Sure thing hun," Regina stated flirtatiously, taking another swig of beer as a silence was formed.
The line went dead unexpectedly. Then it rang.
Regina picked it up instantly, "Hello?"
"Sorry about that," a man with a husky voice apologised. "Where are you living?" He asked.
"Only half an hour away. Would you be able to travel here?"
"Yes, I have a motorbike." Regina snapped back.
The man hadn't seemed to notice her abruptness. "Good. How old are you?"
"Twenty three." She lied, making up a believable age. Her physical age was eighteen, but she'd been alive for sixty two years, forty of them having been spent married to Vincent. Now she was on Earth, she would age normally.
"What's your name?" The man continued.
"The Devil's Bride."
A deep laugh could be heard on the other end of the line. "Your real name?"
Regina hesitated; she hated stating her real name although no one would know who she was. "Regina Black." She used her maiden name.
"Ok. Come for an interview tonight; Ten 'o' clock; The Devil's Inn, Malthorpe."
The line went dead again before Regina could respond.
Regina put the phone down and finished the rest of her beer off. Her phone told her it was 8:30pm. She had a quick shower, plaited her hair, slipped on a fitted black-blue dress, applied some make-up and took a cab there instead of her bike.
When she arrived she was pleased to see that The Devil's Inn was a small gothic hotel situated in a dense forest along a cobbled road. She failed to see how anyone would come across it unless by accident.
A grin was plastered across her face as she entered.