Allure and the Antichrist

Note: mild language

I had only two things on my mind: my bananas foster and the girl who now had it all over her dress, and the later was slowing consuming my thoughts. I hadn’t noticed her coming, perhaps I was having too much fun hanging around the food that is tragically underrated at Mardi Gras parties, or maybe my peripheral vision was blocked by my large mask. The girl was spinning one of the children who had the misfortune of being required to attend this boring ball.

“I’m so sorry!” We shouted at the same time.

“No, it was all me!” The girl said, the sequins on her red mask catching the light as she spoke.

“But your dress-” I started.

“That’s why I chose a dark color,” the girl smiled. “You can’t even see the stain!” I examined her dress. It was dark red, barely lighter than black, and the stain wasn’t visible.

Fabric shifted and a little girl emerged from behind the taller’s dress. The little girl caught sight of the dessert table and broke away. 

“Goodbye, Liza!” The girl smiled at her short campion. “It was a pleasure dancing with you.”

“Goodbye, ma’am!”

“What’s your name?” The girl asked me.

“Uh, Rae. Rae Solle.” I muttered.

“Well, Rae.” She said. “Let me get you another dessert since I so rudely splattered yours.”

“Wait!” I almost gasped as she began to leave. “You never gave me your name.”

“Oh.” She turned to meet me and offered her hand. “Djävulen Hellion.” My Swedish had never been perfect, but she spoke with a flawless accent, so I understood. Djävulen. Devil.

“Wow,” I started. “Cruel parents?” Her expression changed and I thought immediately that I had spoken out of turn.

She spoke up. “What other name can they give you when you’re the antichrist?”

“What?” Djävulen started away from me. I followed immediately because they really is no better conversation starter than admitting you are the embodiment of a devil. She led me through the crowded ballroom where gowns and multi-colored suits filled the floor. She didn’t seem like a devil, her gorgeous long hair was not the red one would expect it to be, it lay in curly blonde curls. The only red she wore was a tint in her green eyes, a tint that shined when she flashed her smile. Djävulen was incredibly beautiful. Darn. Admiring her is slowing me down. Djävulen noticed that I had slowed and began to calm a bit herself, I took the opportunity and I ran to take her hand.

“Hey!” I yelled.

She spun me and tossed me to the arms of a new partner. A small, quick waltz drew my eyes to her hiding place, a wing off the dance floor where Djävulen sat in the clump of her dress.

“Hello.” I said when I danced my way over to her area. Djävulen looked up and smiled slightly. “You ruin the appeal of a great opening line by running away.”

She sighed. “You wouldn’t be following me if you believed me.”

“The antichrist wouldn’t make such a deal out of replacing my crappy bananas foster.” Djävulen pondered for a moment. “Or making that little girl’s night by giving her some attention and dancing with her.”

“You don’t know me, Rae. I’m a demon.”

“Prove it.”

Djävulen sighed. “I was born in Kiruna, Sweden. It was the beginning of June, but stubborn snow still stood on the ground. It’s been said that the whole world heard the screams of agony that day. The heat quickly melting even the most stubborn snow. People say that a chorus of demons sung at my birth. According to legend, my mother was severely punished for carrying me.”

Djävulen caught me staring inquisitively.

“My mother was… torn inside out…” she whispered. I gasped. “My father went mad seeing that fate of his wife. Only a witch from the forest ever had the courage to hold me.” She wiped tears away from her face.

While Djävulen continued fighting off tears, I decided to change the subject. “What brought you to New Orleans?” 

“I guess I really like Cajun…” she smiled weakly. “And the ghosts are cool too.”

“Hey, Djävulen.” I removed my mask and inched closer to her. “You are not bad.”

She turned away from me quickly. “You don’t know me…”

“I know you enough.” I said. “Plus, I am an excellent judge of character.”

“Wait.” Djävulen said. She turned back to the ballroom still full of fancy dressed dancers. A small group of children containing the girl Djävulen had entertained were playing to a side near the stairway. Slight gasps followed, a child was halfway fallen down the grand staircase when Djävulen stood and reached out her hands. The child flew through the air and landed safely at the stairway’s bottom.

My mouth fell open as I gaped at her. “You really are magic! You work miracles-”

“I work tricks.” Djävulen interrupted. “I am of the devil.”

“I’ll be damned if that’s even close to the case.” 

“You might just be.” Djävulen lightened a bit. “But at least I’ll have great company down there.”

Was she flirting? This kinda felt like flirting.

I was going way too far with this first meeting, but I was high in flirtation so I didn’t care. “You know in the Bible how an ‘antichrist’” expert use of quotations. “Is supposed to basically do the opposite of the stuff the book lays out?”

“Yes Rae. I have read the Bible.”

“That might apply to you,” I said excitedly. “The book says you’ll be evil and stuff but you are doing exactly the opposite. You’re caring, sympathetic, gorgeous-”

“Gorgeous?” Djävulen stared.

“Uh, yeah.” I stuttered. “You’re beyond biblically good-looking…”

Djävulen inched closer to me, she removed her mask and flashed her red eyes. “You’re sweet and kind, Rae.” She inched away. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Djävulen!” I nearly gasped as she turned to me. “du är godhet.” You are good. She still turned away from me, but I could’ve sworn her demeanor lightened.

Maybe there were less demons haunting the antichrist.