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CHAPTER TWELVE

"Let it be known to the hordes of Hell that Sabrina Morningstar was victorious in Golgotha," Lilith announced, her heels clattering loudly against the steps as she and Sabrina approached the Infernal Court in the Grand Hall. "She has returned with one of the most pernicious of arcane artifacts. I give you the bowl of Pontius Pilate." The Infernal Court roared, their rough voices clashing together in their cheers. As they clamoured, Lilith placed the bowl delicately on the podium, right above King Herod's crown.

"And where is Prince Caliban?" a demon asked.

"Sabrina's victory over Caliban is absolute."

"I'm not sure he survived..." Sabrina said softly, wondering if Dahlia had made it in time to save him. As the thought crossed her mind, she wondered if Dahlia had even managed to get back without getting caught. Sabrina frowned as she began to worry about her friend.

"You don't really wish that were true, do you, princess?" Caliban's voice suddenly reverberated through the room, drawing everyone's attention. Following behind him was Dahlia, her arms covered in dust and dirt and her hair matted to her sweaty forehead. Caliban held his hand out to support the tired brunette as they walked down the stairs, the girl barely able to keep her body upright.

"Dahlia," Sabrina let out, her eyes and shoulders relaxing at the sight of her friend. "And Caliban..."

"Had Dahlia not turned around to save me, I would have waited under the dust of the ages for two thousand years... after you cheated, stole Pilate's bowl, and... left me for dead. Is that the dignity that you spoke of? Hmm? The honour?" Caliban's voice was low and intimidating and he slowly climbed down the stairs. At a loss for words, Sabrina only gaped at him as he spoke. "I won't lose our next and final contest. Hell will be mine."

"You each won a challenge, which can only mean one thing: sudden death," Lilith stated, and the hordes of Hell immediately sneered and snickered, their demented minds eager to see the results, while Dahlia watched with wide eyes of anxiety.

"The winner of the next trial shall reign in Hell for all eternity," one demon sneered.

Dahlia took in a shaky breath. She believed in Sabrina— she knew Sabrina was strong and capable of winning, but after Golgotha and the near-death experience they all almost faced, Dahlia lost faith in the Unholy Regalia altogether. She couldn't believe that either Sabrina or Caliban could find it reasonable or worth it to risk their lives to win.

Turning to Caliban, she looked into his eyes. His smirk slowly faltered when his eyes landed on Dahlia's. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Caliban?" Dahlia asked, apprehensively crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course I am. I'm going to win this," he said confidently.

"Don't you think this is getting too dangerous? One of you ends up defeated, and then what?"

He smirked, flicking his tongue over his lips. "Is that worry I sense?" Caliban teased. "I never thought I'd see the day that my sidekick who loathed me for weeks now, was worried about me."

"Do you have to take everything out of context?" Dahlia sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. "I'm just saying you guys might take it too far with the next challenge."

"Well, you can rest assured, Dahlia, that I will win." His confidence and certainty irritated Dahlia, making her clench her teeth. It didn't help either that he seemed incompassionate and indifferent to the fact that the Unholy Regalia was beginning to get dangerous. Sabrina could have been killed by King Herod, and if Dahlia had not been there in Golgotha, Caliban would have suffered too. They were willing to do whatever it took to win. All their morals were disintegrating and Dahlia couldn't stand for it. She didn't want to be part of it.

"Whatever," Dahlia muttered, walking past Caliban and brushing her arm roughly against his in anger. She blinked back tears, confusing herself as to what she was actually angry about. She pondered if exhaustion was just getting to her. As much as she wanted to accept that justification, the way her scar burned as she let out her emotions of indignance, left her unsettled and wondering whether it was actually just because she was drained.

"Dee, come on," Caliban laughed lightly as he followed behind her. "You can't honestly be-" Caliban cut his sentence off at the sight of Dahlia's eyelids fluttering and her eyes rolling up to the back of her head. "Dahlia!" Quickly, he ran to catch her before she fell over. With his hands gripped tightly under her arms to keep her upright, he stared into her eyes that flew open and glimmered a deep purple.

Dahlia's breath was caught in her throat, her body growing weaker from the lack of air entering her lungs. While her body was suffering and lungs were struggling to ventilate, her mind and eyes were elsewhere. A tall tree stood before her, leaves covering every inch of it and leaving it in the shape of a giant man. The dark shade of green and the darkness in the fog-filled sky was eerie, leaving Dahlia shivering at the sinister sight before her. She coughed several times as air refilled her lungs and her eyes fluttered closed before opening once more to reveal her natural honey-brown eyes. Caliban stood before her, his eyes wide and jaw parted in worry while he held her up. As Dahlia's dry coughs died down, Caliban pulled away slowly to let her regain her own balance.

"What happened? What was that?" Caliban instantly crowded Dahlia with questions, only making it harder for her to fight the tears in her eyes. "What did you see?"

"I don't know," Dahlia said through a heavy breath. "The carnival I think... I don't know."

"Here, let me take you to your chamber." Caliban placed his hand on Dahlia's shoulder but the girl pulled away, sending him a glare before storming off.

"What is your problem?" He chased after her, grabbing onto her wrist and spinning her around. Their faces were left only inches away from each other as Caliban forcefully stared down at the short girl through hopeful eyes, but Dahlia gave him zilch. She looked at him through empty, dull eyes and Caliban could have almost sworn he saw a hint of the purple she always got when having a vision. Dahlia wasn't herself; he could feel it. His heart pounded heavily against his chest as his eyes lingered on hers, trying to receive something... anything from her. But her eyes were dead, looking at him through nothing but red hot anger.

"Just leave me alone, Caliban. Go back to focusing on ruining Sabrina's life or your own," she snapped, ripping her arm out of his grasp and making her way to her room.

Surprised by her own words, Dahlia stared at her hands through glossy eyes as she walked away. A consistent ball of rage bubbled in her chest, refusing to fade, and it began to worry her. She feared the darkness slowly enveloping her heart, her scar, her mind. She feared that if she wasn't strong enough to hold it at bay, it would pull her beneath its roiling waves, and she would lose herself entirely.

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Water from Dahlia's wet hair dripped onto her skin, her body wrapped in a white towel as she stared at herself in the rusted mirror of her chamber in Hell. The dim, red ambient lighting in the room didn't allow for much detail to go noticed as the brunette sighed and raked her pruney fingers through her soaked hair, her arm muscles aching as she did so. The exhaustion from the chaos in Golgotha making her want to sleep for an eternity. After thousands of years trapped in a bottle, Dahlia had grown used to spending her days sitting sluggishly. She had grown used to the loneliness that filled her surroundings and her heart more and more every day. She learned to find comfort in it and to accept that this was how she'd spend the rest of her life; on her own and battling the memories that tortured her battered and bruised soul.

So used to void and dull days, the work that Caliban brought into her life was beginning to catch up to her. Between using her powers to help him, and ending up in chaotic scenes like the mortifying with Pontius Pilate, Dahlia felt her entire body and mind battling to stay awake. Yet, despite everything going on that should have posed complete distractions to her, the memories that plagued her every day since the day she first got trapped in her bottle had not once been suspended. Whether they were the first thing on her mind or pushed to the back of her head, they were still there. Even when they were at the back of her mind, by the end of the day they would make their way to the front, polluting her thoughts and dreams.

Dahlia took in a shaky breath, closing her eyes momentarily as she turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder to see her reflection. Cold droplets of water were trickling down her back, starting from her neck and making uneven movements downward and onto her scar.

Dahlia shuddered as she followed the droplet of water onto the sigil burned into her shoulder blade. No matter how many times she saw it, the shivers that ran down her spine or the tears that pricked her eyes never stopped or lessened. Even thousands of years later, she could still feel the burning as the pentagram-shaped sigil was carved into her back with flames, searing pain throughout her entire body. Her tortured screams played throughout her head, as if it was just yesterday that it had happened. And it didn't help that she was reminded of a third of what the pain felt like every time she saw the carnival that she now knew the Pagans worked at.

She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped away that tear that rolled down her cheek like the blood she remembered dripping from the cursed scar on her back when it was first given to her. The worst of all, though, was what happened before she was cursed and bound to her bottle... the events that her family and friends were put through. The events that Dahlia could never forgive herself for.

Inhaling deeply, Dahlia broke the trance she was momentarily trapped in, turning to face the mirror to avoid looking at her scar. Reaching up to detangle her hair with her fingers, she paused when her eyes landed on the reflection of the Prince of Hell. Stood at the door frame, his wide eyes were set on her back, as though mesmerized by the sigil in her shoulder.

Heat found its way onto Dahlia's cheeks as she realized she was in nothing but a towel, but most of all, that her scar was on display for him to see. It was always something she had tried to hide– ashamed because it was a flaw among many, but also because of the darkness and heaviness, it carried with it. Caliban, especially, was the last person she wanted to expose such a private and significant part of herself too.

"You seemed upset earlier and I wanted to check on y-" He interrupted himself, unable to pretend that he couldn't see the tears threatening to spill from the girl's eyes as she looked at him through the mirror, or the scar on her back that he never knew she had. "Are you okay?" Slowly, as if not to frighten her, Caliban walked into the room, stopping a few inches behind the timid girl– a side of her he hadn't seen before. He didn't know how to act– having been used to the Dahlia that normally had her guard up, masking her distrust for him with sarcasm.

Dahlia refrained from looking at the man, afraid of what looking into his deep blue eyes might do to her. She wasn't ready to look up from the dresser to see his eyes set on the ugly scar, clueless to what he was thinking of it. And on top of that, she felt ashamed. Ashamed for having been so aggressive earlier, ashamed that even despite her harshness toward him, his eyes still carried sympathy for her which was already unusual for Caliban.

"What is this?" Caliban asked, his voice in the rare soft tone Dahlia didn't hear very often. Carefully, he pushed her thick brown hair to the side of her back, his eyes looking over the mark on her upper back. He analyzed the symbol of a star enclosed in a circle with different letters of the Theban alphabet between each point of it. Caliban furrowed his eyebrows as confusion settled. "A Pagan curse..." he whispered in realization.

He looked back into the mirror, meeting Dahlia's eyes as she finally raised her head to look at him. Her eyes were droopy from exhaustion, tears still brimming them as she looked into Caliban's wide eyes. His lips were pursed, his face devoid of the usual smug smile or smirk or the crinkles they would bring at the corner of his eyes. Instead of the Prince of Hell who was ready and willing to do whatever it took to get his way, she saw a soul looking straight into hers, genuinely trying to understand Dahlia and the things she had been so secretive about. Looking into his eyes, there was something that made Dahlia want to open up to him... maybe it was the way that he looked at her for once without a fire in his eyes, reflecting the fiery pits of Hell, or maybe it was that she was finally at a tipping point and needed someone to listen to and understand her pain.

Dahlia inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, her mind wandering to a time where things had been just a little bit better. "Before I was bound to the vessel, I lived in a small, pretty village, Arkala... with other Djinn's... my friends and family..." Dahlia paused, swallowing the lump that began to form in her throat as she reminisced those days. Thinking about it made the corners of her lips curl upwards ever so slightly, but still, there was a strong tug at her heart that made her knees weak and eyes pool with tears.

Caliban stared at her through the mirror, watching her close her eyes and breathe heavily. He couldn't describe it with any other word but that he was mesmerized. He glanced back at the scar, raising his hand slowly and gently pressing his finger against the rough skin of the sigil. Dahlia shuddered at the soft touch that made contact with her back, Caliban's callused finger delicately tracing over her scar. Normally, she would have flinched if anyone tried touching her scar, and with Caliban in particular, she would have snarkily pulled away if he attempted to touch her at all. But truthfully, at this very moment with Caliban's body heat radiating onto her back, she felt safe. His finger on her skin was so gentle and comforting– something Dahlia hadn't felt in a long time. He touched her scar with admiration, his eyes glued to it as though it wasn't a flaw like Dahlia always believed it to be.

The brunette swallowed before finding the words to speak again, grateful that Caliban hadn't pressured her to continue. "Everyone was free, happy... safe from all the dangers. The only rule was not to leave the Arkala," she said shakily, sniffing as she spoke, but she relaxed slightly every time she felt Caliban's finger circling over the pentagram on her back. "I wanted to leave... so desperately. I didn't want to be stuck there all my life, seeing the same people every day. I was selfish." She squeezed her eyes tightly as a few tears trickled down, shaking her head in anger toward herself. Those people she was tired of seeing every day were the people she would do anything to have back in her life again. "I... I killed them," she said in barely a whisper. All her emotions felt as though they were at her throat, making her feel nauseous. She swallowed down the feeling and tears cascaded down her cheeks as she continued speaking. "I got what I wished for... I left the village— I just wanted to explore. But then the Pagans followed me back, and... and by the time I realized, I was too late. They burned down the entire village– my home..."

"And the survivors were cursed... put into a slave vessel," Caliban mumbled in realization, finishing Dahlia's sentence for her, her voice breaking too much for her to continue. Dahlia nodded, and through squeezed eyes, tears continued to spill down her cheeks like a waterfall of trauma and torture.

"I killed my entire village, Caliban, my mother, my father, my sister and my friends... I killed them." A string of whimpers left Dahlia's mouth as she broke into sobs, her heart feeling heavier than it ever had before. She had never gone a day without blaming herself, hating herself, for what she did, but she had never voiced her pain and heartache. She never planned to, especially not to Caliban. "And the Pagans... they're in Greendale now. The carnival people."

"Is that why you've been having visions about them?" he questioned, looking down at Dahlia through furrowed eyebrows. Dahlia nodded and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, forcing the tears that were pooled to stream out.

"Their power over me... I don't think it ever left," Dahlia managed to squeeze out through her sobs. "I fear I'm slowly falling back absolutely into their power."

Dahlia felt two strong hands grip onto both her arms, carefully turning her around and away from the mirror. Caliban stared into her teary eyes, urging her to calm down. Even in a broken state, she was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty he found in her full lips or dark hair or barely clothed that made him desire her– to touch her and to feel her. It was the kind of beauty that he saw in her coming undone in front of him— telling him her story, crying in front of him, showing him her darkness. He found beauty in her darkness, no matter what kind of a monster she thought she was. In his eyes, she was perfect. Even more so now that he saw her scar, than ever.

"I won't let them," Caliban said softly to the crying girl. "Okay? I promise you." He cupped her hot face in his large hands, staring deeply into her eyes. He used his thumb to wipe away a tear from her cheek that was followed by many more. "And what happened to your family... it's not your fault. You couldn't have known that was going to happen."

Dahlia sniffled, and through quivering lips said, "it is, though. I was sick of seeing them every day, and now they're gone. I'll live with that guilt for as long as I live. I should have been killed off with them! I've had no one since the day they were murdered."

"Don't say that," Caliban whispered, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You have me."

"You can hardly stand me, Caliban," she chuckled through a sob, tears still rolling down her red cheeks. "And I can hardly stand you. I... I don't even know why I'm even talking to you right now."

"You came back for me in Golgotha today... that says something... and I know you were angry at me earlier because you care." His words came out slowly, his eyes too focused on hers to properly think out a sentence. No words came to Dahlia's mind either. She was hypnotized by the way Caliban stared into her tear-filled eyes, like despite the ocean of tears clouding them, just by looking into her sad eyes he could see and feel every thought, every emotion.

A few seconds of silence passed, and Caliban found his eyes gazing from her pain-filled eyes to her swollen lips. Heat rose to Dahlia's chest when he slowly lowered his head, his face inching closer to hers. She closed her eyes as his lips pressed against hers, warmth filling her entire body. When he pulled away a second after, Dahlia's lips parted and her heart fluttered, wishing it had lasted longer. She opened her eyes to meet Caliban's soft ones staring directly into hers as if he was asking whether this is what she wanted... asking her for permission. But Dahlia couldn't think— she was at a loss for words, she felt immobile, unable to process anything to decide what to do with her body. All she could feel was the heat in her chest, and the warmth on her lips from where Caliban's shortly were. Her eyes were still glued to his, begging for him to fill her with the feeling of comfort again. The feeling of home.

Dahlia parted her lips and pushed herself up by standing on the tips of her toes, and it was as though time stopped when Caliban's lips met hers again. Her heart pounded in the chest, her rib cages ready to explode, and her knees were weak, shaking like they would shatter and collapse like rocks from the tallest mountain. All she could think about was how soft his mouth felt on hers... how, for the moment, her scar, her village and her torturous guilt were out of her mind. All she wanted was for this moment to last forever as Caliban's hands continued to cup her rosy cheeks and his lips gently moved along hers. Every breath Dahlia took smelled like the ocean, and the warm feeling of his breath was inviting, and even in her vulnerability, he made her feel so powerful. His kisses were so soft and gentle like he was scared of breaking her in her fragile state, but still, they felt like black holes, pulling her in wholly until all gravity went missing under his touch. She savoured the moment, never having felt so wanted and accompanied as she did right now.

When Caliban pulled away, she didn't feel like grunting or pleading for more. She felt satisfied, her heart and entire body warm and filled with comfort despite standing in the coldness of her room in merely a towel. Dahlia's heart was still fluttering, and when she looked up to see Caliban looking down at her with a tender smile, she couldn't hold back the wan smile that formed on her own lips.

Caliban brought a hand back up to her cheek and dried the last of her tears, before taking a step back and pulling her into his chest, letting her melt into the hug. With her face pressed comfortably against his chest, Caliban could feel her soft smile against his warm body before she pulled away with a sniffle.

In attempts to lighten the mood and get back into his normal character and typically raunchy behaviour with her, Caliban intentionally looked her up and down, taking in her half-naked appearance in admiration with a raised eyebrow. "I'd ask if you were cold, but I think I warmed you up, haven't I?" His words brought a light blush to Dahlia's cheeks, unable to deny the heat rushing through her entire body from the moment they'd just had. "I'll let you get dressed." He gave her a gentle smile, and with that, he walked out of her chamber.

Dahlia wiped away what remained of her tears and threw her head back in confusion. She couldn't fathom how they had gotten to this point. Yes, it was true that certain things about Caliban were, per se, intriguing, like his eyes or his constant playful tone that was beginning to grow on her. But not once had Dahlia ever thought of trusting him so much or sharing a kiss with him... or possibly growing feelings for him. He was the Prince of Hell, and possibly the soon-to-be King, and for now, she was bound to a bottle that he owned. Dahlia hated the idea of being owned by someone– even if at this point, she was to an extent helping Caliban at her own will. But as much as she hated feeling like a weapon Caliban was using to win the throne of Hell, Dahlia couldn't help the fluttering that filled her chest every time his name ran through her brain, or the memory of them kissing playing in her mind.

She couldn't help the feeling of home that she felt now, after all those centuries of being alone.

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MY HEARTTTT omfg this was my favorite chapter to write EVER i'm not okay

i hope this chapter struck your heart as much as it did mine!! let me know what you think!

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