Chapter Text
Penelope Featherington was very good at what she did.
She could do damage with a pen, far more so than a man with any pistol, any knife. She could cut down dynasties of noble, affluent families with a mere well-placed turn of phrase, twisting the narratives to suit her own agenda and barely break a sweat for the consequence. So rarely did a woman have such power, one she did not need to marry or be born into to possess, a power crafted alone in isolation, while she remained hidden in plain sight, wielding it ruthlessly.
As power grew, so did the riches, hidden safe under floorboards until the planks fit to burst from the coin they kept secret. It allowed her family coffers to remain funded well enough to evade notice, the money donated under the thin guise of a false relative as benefactor – forged papers, lies upon lies that made her safe. On the rare occasion someone had gotten close to discovering the truth of her, she had successfully found a way out unscathed, plotting daring deeds amongst the wallpaper.
All achieved by a girl not yet twenty years of age; a plump, undesirable debutante in putrid yellow dresses, raised by a family name that conjured no warmth.
Truly, it was preternatural how she had been granted every single thing she had ever desired...
… well, almost everything.
It’s at the Skelton ball that she feels him first. Or she feels him again, she’s not quite certain on that. There’s a familiarity to it, that hum, like insects crawling inside the walls, skittering as she hides there with them, blending in so nobody notices her eavesdropping ear.
None have noticed her tonight. She’s made sure of it.
Drip by drip, then all at once, the lively music fades and the dancers slow, the world coming to a pause except for her.
Penelope’s heart thumps in her chest, skin alight, the air before the storm, a calm and a quiet guide the lightning strike. She’s felt this before, somewhere, somewhen, but it’s blurred. Her head is suddenly heavy, thick and cloying.
The world does not notice her, but something else has.
A voice whispers into her ear, lips caressing skin as it moves unseen.
“Well, don’t you make quite the pretty little wallflower tonight, Lady Whistledown?”
Poor pitiable Penelope. She turns on a gasp, frantic, stepping away from the wall in desperation to regain control. Perhaps the lemonade is spiked, or perhaps she has simply gone crazy, there’s no way to tell.
“Who’s there?” She demands, the veil dropping, panic setting in. “Sh-show yourself…”
The world remains still, frozen around her, time made immemorial. She clutches her lurid dress, spinning around as something swirls past, that same storm whipping up inside the Skelton grand ballroom, only for her.
“My apologies,” the voice says, disembodied, surrounding her. She spins in place, trying to see. “I always forget that you forget. Even a brilliant human mind is still a human mind. It’s not your doing.”
It’s like it’s amused. The voice feels familiar and distant all at once, deep and soothing, but setting her alight with its teasing. It beckons her, forces her to root to the spot, inescapable.
“Wh- who are you?” she says, trembling.
She knows this.
A dance she’s danced before.
“A friend,” the voice says, closer still. “I have always been a friend.”
Penelope laughs a hollow laugh, lip curling. “You are not my friend.”
“Neither am I your enemy,” it replies. She realises then the room is blurring, fuzzier and fuzzier. She’s fading. “Perhaps it would be easier if I talked plainly, but you so rarely believe me. I find this way scares you less.”
Something wraps around her hand, on the ether, a tug and pressure and demand. She wrenches it away, stumbling, spinning in circles, desperate to see.
“I… I will scream…” she whispers back, knowing there would be none to hear. “If you touch me again, I shall scream.”
The voice chuckles, dry and wry. “Oh, I hope so, little wallflower. I love it when you scream for me. Very well, then. We will do this your way.”
One blink.
Two.
She screams.
The thing, the creature, is standing suddenly in front of her, its head tilted in curiosity as she stumbles away from it. Penelope’s scream chokes her throat. It’s human and inhuman, the face of a man, but blood red skin shiny like there is only muscle and sinew on show.
The creature all of scripture warns sinners to watch out for stands right in front of her.
She cranes her neck to look up at it towering over her, lithe and lean, broad, but not thick. It wears the clothes of a man, or a mockery of them; a long, worn coat of brown leather and matching boots and breeches, its navy-blue shirt billowed at the neck.
It is human and inhuman. Beautiful and terrifying.
“Who are you?” she whispers, rooted to the spot again. “What are you?”
“Look into my eyes, Penelope,” it says in that same familiar voice, its lips smiling down at her. “Look deep. You’ll remember then. You always do.”
Its eyes. Those eyes she cannot help but fall into them. At first, they’re black voids, devoid of light, devoid of anything but emptiness. But the longer she stares, the bluer they become until she is swimming in calm oceans, warm seas of serenity. The heat washes over her as they transform, and she remembers every fleck of blue as if she has spent every day of her life studying them.
The Demon. She knows him, she thinks. Somewhere, somewhen. The panic melts away into mere uncertainty. They’ve done this before, a dance of bargains.
“There she is,” the demon grins. “Hello, my pretty little wallflower. You are beginning to remember, aren’t you?”
Penelope nods. They’re coming back in trickles, the memories. “Why are you here?” she asks, feeling stronger the more she remembers. The sight of his face doesn’t scare her anymore. “I had plans for tonight; you interrupted them.”
“It is time, I’m afraid, to collect on our deal,” he steps slowly around her, smile sickly, blue eyes twinkling lighter. “I have waited long, long enough to take my prize.”
The contract.
The memory is there, somewhere, buried deepdeepdeep in the recesses, squashed down in her mind. Penelope frowns, trying to recall, but she remembers only his eyes and one thing.
“A debt to be repaid,” she mutters, swallowing thickly. She is not yet twenty. Three years hardly seems enough on her end. “So soon?”
The demon sighs, “I think you’ll find you’re the one who made the bargain; you must honour the debt.” He tilts his head, curious. “Don’t you recall it? You promised me a soul.”
Fear flashes in her chest. “You wish to kill me,” Penelope whispers. “Drag me to Hell with you for tormenting? Three years hardly seems-”
“No, no, no,” he waves his clawed hand, disappointed. “That is… trite and offensive, little wallflower. Quite the misconception, if you’ll forgive the pun. I have no call to drag you from your work to anywhere.”
“Then what?” she asks, confused. “Whose soul do you wish for?”
“Your time is ripe,” a forked tongue snakes to lick its lips, “for me to collect my payment, and I have been waiting years for it, Penelope.” The demon stalks towards her. “Watching, crafting, keeping my girl safe, even from herself.” A clawed finger curls under her chin, tilting it up. “I’ve cultivated and have come to harvest.”
“I despise riddles.” She tries to wrench her chin away, but the demon wraps its hand around her throat. “What do you want from me?”
The hand around her throat relaxes, curving upwards around her soft cheek. The demon’s thumb caresses her skin tenderly, reverent and thoughtful.
And then he smiles.
“I have come to give you your last desire,” he whispers, idly stroking her skin. “I want to create our legacy together. A soul, as you agreed to give me, a child.”
A child?
Had she agreed to that knowingly? Penelope could not remember it all, just blank spots of charm and kind eyes, not the demon in front of her, and yet, she felt it, deep down.
Her demon. Something lures her to him, a thread tugging to bind them of her own making. This has always been her fate, that much she knows.
“I promised you safety eternal, success, and wealth,” he continues at her silence. “I have already given them to you in abundance, have I not? You’ve succeeded where others have not even dared to try.”
“All of that was you?”
“Most of it,” he chuckles again.
It’s then that she realises there’s a pressure around her waist slowly winding, tugging her closer, like ropes binding her to him, but she doesn’t seem to want to free herself. Penelope doesn’t want to move; she only wants to fall into those warm oceans of her demon’s eyes and float forever.
The lure wraps ever tighter.
“I turned some odds in your favour.” The bindings slip around her neck as he seduces her with every low, sweet word. “I made problems simply turn the other cheek. The talent of your prose is only yours, Lady Whistledown, but the power I’ve allowed you can certainly all be taken away too. I can blink and leave you to your own fate without my protection.”
“And in exchange for that, for your protection, you want a child?” His eyes are so, so beautiful. “My child?”
“Our child. You are not quite so innocent as when we made our bargain, are you? Trust me, Penelope,” her demon caresses her cheek, “you would enjoy it.”
The thought thrills her. It terrifies her.
She wants the ropes to tighten. She wants to be free.
“I… I don’t…”
He sighs sadly, perusing her for a moment. “I ask too much of someone so young. Perhaps you’d prefer my other face if you don’t like this one, hey? It will make things less… monstrous.”
One blink again.
Two.
Her eyes widen, a scream stuck again in her throat.
“Colin…”
Its blood red skin, more muscle and sinew, has been replaced by the face of the man she has loved for as long as she can recall. Penelope is blinded by her tears.
His face.
“You cannot use him! Anyone, anyone but him!” She struggles against the lure, incensed. “This is cruel, do not make mockery of my heart! I will pay my debt, but not like this.”
The demon laughs again, shushing her with the hand still curved around her cheek. “You still don’t remember, do you? This is my face, Penelope,” he says, leaning closer, lips a hair’s breadth from hers. “You have loved a demon all along. It says more of you than me, don’t you think?”
She looks into his eyes.
She feels the warm waters, the flecks of green and grey, swallow her whole.
And Penelope remembers.
“Colin?” she whispers tremulously. “You… are my Colin?”
“Years I have waited to claim my harvest as my brothers and sisters seek to find theirs.” He sighs, casting a hot gaze down her body, lewd and lustful. “And now look at you. It broke my heart to see you all sad and pitiable, all alone, but now the time is right. You’ll be mine forever, Pen.” Colin presses a chaste kiss to her lips, one that burns with promise of pleasure and sin. “You always were.”
His handsome face twists into that sickly smile, only now she has no fear. Now there is only longing, the rope too tight to be unknotted.
Penelope has known forever that she was born for Colin Bridgerton.
At last, she knows why.
“Give in to me, little wallflower,” the voice sings in her head. His eyes trickle into black voids as the world around sinks into darkness. “I promise, you’ll enjoy it immensely.”