Demon Queen Wants to Paint

"Why does this always happen to me?" Morrigan grumbled as she noticed the dark storm clouds approaching from across the sea. She, her father and Azrael were standing on the sandy beach and streams of people hurried past them, eager to avoid the storm.

But even if the weather was turning dark and gloomy, Morrigan's heart was beating with excitement. 

To think that I would be getting excited about returning back to the Underworld, where the sun doesn't even shine. But I want to see everyone again – Deziara, Gunna and Haku. I want to go back to my and my father's room and enjoy a peaceful evening talking to him.

"Why does what happen?" Alphegor asked, looking at her, shifted into her human form to avoid scaring humans. The King looked unbothered by the approaching storm. In fact, his strong stature made it look demure in comparison. Morrigan's chest swelled with pride.

This is my father. He truly is my father.

"The thunderstorms. There was one right before I went to Doppelta and there is one here now," she explained pointing at the thunderclouds looming towards from across the horizon. "I hoped to see the sun after a long time without it."

"Silly Princess," Azrael shook his head and snickered, crossing his arms over his chest as if challenging the storm head on. "We are demons. We don't need the sun."

"I never thought the day would come that I would agree with Azrael, but he is right. We do not need the sun like the surface dwellers. We are creatures of darkness, we thrive in it, grow with it, embody it," the King said standing tall and proud.

"I do miss it a little bit," she admitted, and Alphegor's features softened.

"We can go to the surface of Doppelta and look at it there," he said.

"Really? Demons are not forbidden from going to the surface?" Morrigan cocked her head curiously to the side. 

"Oh, the surface dwellers certainly won't be happy about seeing us, but what can they do? They don't even know proper magic," Azrael smirked, and kicked a stray rock laying in the sand, sending it flying across the vast beach until it fell into the sea with a loud splash.

"It is not outright forbidden. Besides, you can shapeshift, so it shouldn't be a problem if you change your appearance just like you have now," he explained. She nodded, relieved that she would not have to spend her whole life underground like a mole. Or those mole demons. Even if they did seem like nice enough people.

Suddenly the phone in her pocket vibrated, notifying her of a new message. Curious, she opened it and saw an email from Studio Goblin titled 'Regarding Internship'. 

What's this about?

Morrigan tapped on the message and checked its contents. It turned out to be a lengthy apology letter where one of the people from the Human Resources Department explained how there was a mistake with her internship. Oddly enough the letter was worded in such a roundabout fashion that in the end the whole incident turned out to be her fault entirely. But since they were 'generous and understanding towards newcomers', they would look past it and allow her to return.

Morrigan scoffed at the message, and was about to put it back into her pocket when she realized that it would be utterly useless in the Underworld.

"What's the matter?" Alphegor asked, looking at her intently.

"It's not important, Father. I just realized that this won't work in the Underworld," she smiled and tossed the phone as far as she could into the sand. Which wasn't very far, but Azrael, picking up on Morrigan's thoughts, snapped his fingers and the device burst into flames, leaving a pile of molten goop behind.

The waves in the sea grew larger by the minute, and Morrigan observed how the waves churned the water, creating white foam. The strength of it scared her as this grand element had taken her life once. Fear filled her being, but she couldn't bring herself to truly hate it.

She twirled around, looking at Alphegor who looked at her quizzically, sensing the unease growing within her.

"Before we go back to Doppelta. Can I ask you something, Father?" she said and a low rumble of a far away thunderstrike resounded across the beach.

"Of course, little one. Ask anything," Alphegor replied, taking a step closer to her. The dark clouds steadily covered the sky, slowly turning the already murky day into something akin to late evening.

"I am not sure I can be called little," she chuckled awkwardly, rustling her foot in and out of sand. "After all, I was twenty four years old as a human."

Much to her surprise, Alphegor laughed at this, "Do you know how old I am?"

Morrigan paused and tried to recall any mentions of Alphegor's age. But no matter how much she racked through her memory, she couldn't recall it. In fact, she doesn't even remember him celebrating his birthday once although she got a grand party every year.

"No. You never told me."

"If you're as old as me, you stop caring about age. I only celebrate my birthday once every ten years, mostly out of obligation to my subjects," he said. "Would you like to guess how old I am?"

I know Azrael is over two hundred years old, and that is considered very young for a demon. So Alphegor is definitely older than that. He also once mentioned that dwarves live up to eight hundred years which also isn't a lot for a demon.

"Two thousand and three hundred?" Morrigan guessed, and Alphegor chuckled while Azrael roared with laughter. She looked from one of them to another, blush creeping into her cheeks. 

"I am eight thousand seven hundred and thirty seven years old," the King said and Morrigan stumbled over her own foot, nearly falling into the sand. Alphegor caught her at the last moment. She shot him an apologetic glance, but he just steadied her on her feet, smiling all the while.

"I never expected you to be that old," she exclaimed and began inspecting her father's face for any signs of aging. The wind began picking up its pace, making both Alphegor's and Morrigan's hair sway along with it. She saw how his red hair was still bright in its color, not a single gray hair in sight. He did not look a day over thirty.

"I am not even the oldest demon out there. Lucius is already over ten thousand years old. So you see Morrigan, even if I were to add your human years to your age, you would still be just a child in my eyes," Alphegor said with a smile.

Morrigan opened her mouth to object, but then closed it. Would she also live to be that old one day? The thought seemed completely ludicrous. Even people who lived to eighty years seemed old, and yet right now she was standing in front of a man who had lived that much a hundred times over. 

It's scary. How much would I have to live through in the thousands of years ahead of me? 

"Isn't it hard to live that long?" Morrigan asked.

"Sometimes, little one. Times change, people change and sometimes it is hard to change with it. Sometimes you wish that things would freeze at one point in time and remain there," he said, and another thunderstrike rumbled, this time closer. 

Morrigan wondered whether she would be able to take on the challenges the future held for her. It scared her. She was the daughter of the Demon King now. His heir. Somebody bound to become the next Demon Queen. 

Can I really undertake such a huge responsibility? The only thing I've ever been good at is art. I've never wanted the power to rule over others.

Alphegor went up to her, and set his hand on her shoulder, "Don't worry. No matter what happens in the future, I'll be there to protect you, help you and guide you."

She smiled at him and then remembered the question that had been burning within her for a while. Morrigan looked down into the sand.

"Father, did you see the painting in the wardrobe?" she asked, staring at the sand by her feet, despite knowing the answer.

"Hmm…" Alphegor pondered, then waved his hand in the air, and like magic – her painting appeared out of nowhere. He held it in his arms smiling from ear to ear.

"How did you do that?" she asked, staring at the painting, looking exactly as she remembered – a perfect copy of the sunset view from her apartment windows. She thought back how she had spent many evenings working on the details to get it just right. There was also a bit of a somber feeling to the painting as it was done while Alphegor was away and she had to spend her evenings alone.

"A little pocket dimension trick I'm sure you will learn in time as well. I figured it's better if I don't leave this masterpiece behind," he said and gave the painting an appraising look. 

"Do you like it?" Morrigan dared to ask, twiddling her thumbs in the meanwhile. She was afraid to know the answer, but at the same time she needed to know it to move on properly. 

"Of course. My daughter is an artist at age four. I couldn't be more proud – it looks exactly like the view from your apartment window," Alphegor exclaimed and held the painting up like a trophy.

"So you don't mind if I continue painting?" she asked tentatively, a gust of wind caressing her cheek, signaling the approaching storm.

"No. In fact, I'd love to request a portrait of myself. Could you do that?" 

Morrigan couldn't believe the words she heard. All her life she had been seeking recognition and acknowledgement of her parents, but instead all she received was hatred and disapproval. When she was reborn as a demon, she believed that her dream of being an artist would become unobtainable. Just a memory that would grow dimmer and dimmer by each passing year. But she couldn't have been more wrong.

This strong, menacing and unyielding demon king accepted her the way she was. He appreciated her company, enjoyed the silly little things she did for him, scolded her when she did something wrong and praised her when she did things right.

"Thank you, father. I will get straight to it as soon as we get back home," she replied and turned back to her demon self. The humans had long since vacated the beach, the three of them being the last ones left there.

"You heard her, Azrael. Time to go home," Alphegor announced and reached out to take Morrigan's hand. She took it without hesitation and smiled. 

I can't wait to see everyone again. I'll be able to show Deziara my true painting skills – I'm sure she'd like that. And Gunna would too. She'd probably cry from happiness if she saw me painting. Gunna had always encouraged art by offering me painting supplies. 

"Well… about that…" Azrael cleared his throat, and Morrigan felt the first drops of rain begin to fall from the sky.

"Hurry up, Azrael. I do not want to get soaked by this horrid surface weather," Alphegor glared at the white-haired demon, who took a step back.

"I kind of, sort of, might not have enough energy to do that…" he drew out every word as slowly as possible and a loud thunderstrike filled the area once he was done. Rain began to fall heavily, soaking them all in a matter of seconds.

"What?" Morrigan and Alphegor both shouted, while Azrael just chuckled sheepishly as the rain continued soaking them all the way through their clothes.