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Capella’s heels clicked against the worn stone steps leading into the church.  She didn’t wear heels very often, only on Sundays and special occasions, and never higher than 1 inch.  Some of the more daring women who attended Lamb of God Baptist might even brave 2 inches, but never Capella. Her mother would scold her at best.  “The higher the heels, the lower the soul.”, as she would say.

Capella took a deep breath, head hung humbly and low before the cross mounted on the wall, only lifting her face to smile as Father Jim approached her. 

“Hello there, Miss Grace!” His warm expression made her feel very soft and at ease, which was what she desperately needed at the moment. 

“It’s nice to see you, Father.”

“I know that look.” He smiled knowingly.  “You looking for some advice, some one-on-one time with good ol’ Father Jim?”  

“I could really use that right now.”

“Have a seat.”  He invited her to sit next to him on a pew.  She sighed, hands folded on top of the long jean skirt covering her lap.  “Now, what’s on your mind?”

“Well, to put it simply, I’m worried about my friend.”  

“We all love our friends, Miss Grace, and sometimes, they need a little guidance.  What’s got you worried?”

“She…she’s very different from us.” Capella admits.  Her best friend, Connie, could practically be her identical opposite.  She had short hair and a foul mouth. She wore neon green eyeshadow, tight leather clothes, and heels up to sky, on the occasions where she didn’t wear leather boots.  Capella was simultaneously terrified of and fascinated by her.  She’d met Connie when they were only Girl Scout Brownies, and Connie had enough spunk and attitude to make up for Capella’s shrinking violet nature, an insecurity that the other girls honed in on like a hawk on an injured baby rabbit.  They were fast friends ever since, no matter how much their lifestyles differed. 

“She’s been acting different ever since she went to public high school, and then college.  I think she’s had some bad influences.  She drinks and does marijuana now, and I can’t get her to stop.”  Father Jim nods sagely.  “I think I’ve had to learn to accept that.  But, what she’s doing right now really scares me. Um…”  Her fingers twiddle around with one of her twin braids.  “I know last Sunday, you gave that really good sermon, not that all of them aren’t good, but-anyway, it was about music, dangerous music about blasphemy and sex and devil worship.  You mentioned a specific band.  It was…Ghost, I think?”  Jim nodded.

“Sweetie, you and I know the only Ghost I approve of is the Holy Ghost.”  

“Well, they’re doing a show here in Texas, and Connie told me she’s a big fan and wants to go.  She bought tickets already.” Capella sniffles, tears dropping onto the lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses.  “I…I’m just so scared for her!”

Father Jim tucks her into a tender side-hug, shushing her and stroking her hair.  “There there, it’s alright.  You’re a very good and very kind girl, and that’s a hard thing to be in this world.”

“I wanted to talk to you about this kind of weird thought I had.”

“Lay it on me, little sister.”

“She got two front-row tickets, one for her and one for her boyfriend,  But they broke up a few days ago.  She’s really sad about it.  She doesn’t wanna go alone, and she asked me to come with her.  Of course, I said no but…”

Jim raises an eyebrow, and a sudden deerlike meekness comes over her.  “It’s not that I want to go, or ever would, but, I was thinking that, all those men that go to these kinds of things are bound to be creepy and I don’t want a girl to go alone and get hurt.  Maybe, if she has another girl going with her, and praying for her,...oh, I don’t know.”

“Look.” Jim places his hand over hers.  “I know that  you have a good and noble heart.  Sometimes people we care about can go down some dark paths, and as much as we care about them, we can’t follow them. But, listen to this.  I think if you chaperone this girl, and model a righteous and noble lifestyle, I think you can be her little lantern and lead her out of this darkness?”

“Really?” Capella smiles, giddy. 

 “If anyone can do it, it’s you little lamb.  I believe in you.”

Chapter Text

“Still can’t believe you actually said yes!”  Connie squealed, squeezing Capella’s hands joyously.  The pair were sitting on her bed, beneath the posters of grinning skull logos and rock stars screaming into microphones that lined the walls of her dorm room.  They always made Capella uneasy, and right now, her heart was racing about a mile a minute.  “You’re not really the secular music type.”

“Well, I couldn’t just let you go alone.”

“You are such a girl’s girl, Cappie.”  

“That’s…a good thing?” The Grace children weren’t permitted internet access without supervision.

“It’s a great thing.  Anyway, let’s talk outfits.  What do you think of mine?”  Connie ran her hands down her torso, smoothing out the wrinkles in her black minidress.  She was wearing a skimpier version of a nun’s habit, complete with a matching veil, combat boots, and fishnets.  

“It’s…fitting.  I don’t know what to wear though.  I don’t own anything black.”

“And now it’s my turn to be a girl’s girl.”  She opened her closet door.  “Let me find you something.  I know you don’t like to show a lot of skin, right?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen your shoulders before.  That makes this a little bit harder…hmmmm, here we go!  Try this on!” She tosses an article of inky black clothing at her.  Capella unfolds it to take a look. It was a baggy black t-shirt, bearing the band’s logo.  “Just wear that with one of your skirts, and you’ll fit right in!”  Capella wasn’t sure she wanted to “fit in” with this particular crowd.

“Thank you, Connie.”  Connie smiled, the lines cracking her thick foundation of white powdery makeup, on top of which, thick rivers of dried mascara ran from her eyes and down her cheeks.  

“You know, I never understood how guys could be into that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“All that makeup.  You’re so much prettier without it.”  Connie scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not trying to be pretty, Cappie.  Some guys are into this, sure, but I’m not trying to attract them.”  Capella’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Then, why would you wanna look like that?”

“For fun, duh .” Connie stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s like a Hallo-, wait, you don’t celebrate that.  It’s like face paint at a kid’s birthday party.  I put it on because it’s fun, I’m playing dress up.  I’m not trying to get a new boyfriend, I’m trying to look like someone dragged me out of a lake.”  Connie’s mouth tilts into a mischievous smirk.  “I could put some on you if you want.”  Capella’s heart jumps, but she remains curious.

“What would you put on me?”

“Nothing much, just like some really bare-bones fun emo makeup.  Your average Marvel movie guy wears more on screen.”   Capella had never seen a Marvel movie, her family’s TV couldn’t even be turned on without her parent’s permission, but she went along with Connie making her her doll.

When she opened her eyes in front of Connie’s vanity mirror, she barely recognized the girl staring back at her.  There was a pair of raccoon-like dark circles around her brown eyes.  She touched her face in disbelief.

“It’s just some eyeshadow.  I could give you some black lipstick, too, if you want.”

“No!” Capella insisted. This eyeshadow was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Capella was never much of a traveler, and Texas was a large state.  The town she was born and raised in was small, backwater, and about an hour and half’s drive away from Dallas.  The furthest she’d ever been from it was whenever Connie would drag her to her school, the little Christian college only five miles away. Connie had been ecstatic about the idea of a girl’s trip.

“God, I could never do fun stuff like this with him .”  She grumbled at the mention of her ex, rapping her painted fingernails against the steering wheel.  “I had to practically beg him to agree to this concert, but I never once got mad when he wanted to drag me out bowling every weekend.  He knew full well I hate bowling.”  Capella fidgeted with her seat belt strap, anxious.

“I’ve never been into the city before.” She muttered softly.  The only members of her family that dared venture out into the hotbeds of secular immorality were her father, and years later, her oldest brother.  But they had to, they worked, never once did they venture out there for recreation.  Guilt writhed in her stomach like a serpent, and she had to mentally recite a silent prayer to calm down.  She wasn’t doing this for her own sake, this was for Connie, and her immortal soul.

“It’s really not that dangerous if you know what you’re doing.  And I do, I go there all the time.  All the big concerts either come to Dallas, Huston, Austin, or San Antonio.   Be careful where you’re walking and who you’re with, especially at night.  Just stay close to me and don’t go anywhere with anyone strange, and you’ll be fine, I promise.”  No matter how unrestrained her life was, Capella couldn’t help but trust Connie.  The girl had gotten kicked out of Brownies for literally biting a troop mate when she  wouldn’t stop pulling Capella’s hair.  That kind of bond is hard to break.

“Wake up, Cappie, we’re here!”

“Hpmh?”  Capella startled awake, looking around at her surroundings as she wiped a trail of drool off her face.  Buildings, monoliths of concrete and glass towered above her, dominating the landscape outside of the car.  “This is Dallas?”

“Sure thing!  We’re right outside of the Coliseum!”

When Capella imagined a Coliseum, she was picturing the elegant stone ancient wonder she’d seen in her IBLP Wisdom Booklets, not the gigantic mint green box in front of her.  She was a little underwhelmed.  The feeling was replaced by fear when she saw the long line of concert-goers, dressed in black and painted in all manner of deviant ways.

“I don’t know about this Connie, I can barely tell which ones are women and which ones are men!”

“Some are neither, Cappie, it doesn’t matter that much.  I promise they’re all way friendlier than you think.  And before we go in, lemme fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing, it’s just, those pigtails make you look like a little girl.”  Swiftly, Connie unbraided her hair, letting down her long, bone straight black locks.  Her hair fell down past her shoulders, shining and healthy due to her rigorous maintenance of it. A woman’s long hair was emblematic of her femininity and beauty after all.  Loose, flowing hair was a common and popular style among the women of her community, approved and even encouraged, but something her wearing it felt somehow unfaithful to Capella, a tiny yet significant act of disobedience.  Her father loved her pigtails.  Connie grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into line.   After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the pair made it inside.  

The Coliseum floor was completely full, and Capella found herself rubbing shoulders against people straight out of her parents’ nightmares. The man to her right had a beard long enough to be braided neatly and hair to match, and his arms were tattooed to his wrists.  The girl leaning amorously against him had almost no hair at all, it was cut to her scalp, and she had a ring pierced through her nose like a cow.  These were the strangest people she had ever seen.  She didn’t think she’d ever see anyone stranger, until the curtain on the stage dropped.

Chapter Text

Alcohol was never permitted in the Grace family household. Capella’s mental idea of drunkenness was a feeling not dissimilar to what she was feeling now, a heady daze over her whole body, like a stiff breeze could knock her over.  Her eyes were wide as saucers, pupils dilated like black holes, trying to take in as much of the scene as possible.

She had never heard music like this before, nor seen anyone play it like this.  It was like some dark and twisted parody of a church service. The Ghouls, masked beings in black, sensually stroking their instruments and occasionally flashing a devilish grin towards the audience.   There were girl Ghouls too, the Ghoulettes, just as frightening and seductive as their male counterparts.   But none of them compared to the man in the center.

The Papa , the unholy leader of the whole affair. He was like no man she’d ever seen.  

When Connie had described a “rock metal band”, she had expected something akin to her brother’s description of the genre, “not real music”, just screaming and noise done by brooding, deep-voiced men who looked like vikings.  This Papa figure defied almost every expectation she had.  He could growl and scream plenty, but his voice was far more than that.  It was youthful, almost soft, a baritone with a flexible register.  But it wasn’t just his voice that gave her this feeling , it was his presence .

He was charming, charismatic, even hypnotic.  His skeletal face paint, though it frightened her, highlighted his strong features and paralyzing two-tone eyes.  The stage seemed comfortable for him, as if he were a born showman. And at the same, there was an awkward vulnerability, something sensitive and a little bit juvenile hidden beneath the ringmaster’s confidence.  

As for the music itself, it varied.  Some songs were so blasphemous she wanted to rinse her ears out with soap, others seemed to be wholly unrelated to the topic of devils and demons at all, some even seemed to be love songs, though with a few lines that seemed very sexual in nature here and there.  But no matter they're lyrical content, they were all good , something that made Capella feel absolutely rotten inside for enjoying them.  They sounded good, and it was supremely difficult not to get caught up in the energy of it all.  Some people, including Connie, seemed to know every word to every song, and were happy to scream them at the top of their lungs, others seemed content to just dance, some merely rocking back and forth or side to side with the rhythm.  Like a charmed serpent, Capella managed to fall into the latter camp, swaying in an almost mindless motion in tune with the current song.  It had a soothing, haunting quality, and lyrics that matched.

I feel your presence amongst us

You cannot hide in the darkness

Can you hear the rumble?

Can you hear the rumble that's calling?

She could hear it, she could hear it so clearly.  She felt so at peace, so calm.  Though her body buzzed with fearful energy, she almost felt like she could fall asleep.  

I know your soul is not tainted

Even though you've been told so

It almost felt like he was talking directly to her.  Could he see her? Were those strange eyes looking at her?  It felt like they were.  There was a sea of hands reaching towards the stage, towards him, and almost without thought, her hand joined them.   And suddenly, she felt a warm, gloved embrace around her fingers.  A soft gasp slipped past her lips.

Can’t you see that you’re lost?

Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?

His hand was holding hers, that captivating gaze locked directly onto her, as if they were the only two people in the room.  Gently, he brought her hand up, and rested it against his chest.  She could feel his fluttering heart beneath her palm. His shockingly soft lips brushed against her knuckles in a kiss, before he released her.

  As she came back down to Earth, she could barely see anything through a haze of tears.

Chapter Text

Capella barely remembered the rest of the concert.  As soon as Papa let go of her hand, she was swarmed by a crowd of giddy fans, women and men alike, congratulating her on getting “Cirice’d” at her very first concert.  She was barely conscious by the time she and Connie stumbled out of the Coliseum.  

Her mind was swirling with so many thoughts, and as soon as the cold night air outside hit her face, it was sobering, like a splash of water in the morning.  She realized what she had done, what she had experienced, and nearly broke down sobbing in the parking lot.  It took her until they were an hour down the road back home for a tear to roll down her face.  Connie saw the light of the streetlamps glinting off of it.

“You okay?”  She asked, reaching a hand out and resting it on her knee.  “It’s okay if you didn’t like it, I know it’s really not your thing.”

“No, no, I did like it.”  And that was the problem.

Her family was asleep by the time she made it back home.  Chloe, the youngest and only three, was curled up on the couch, her thumb planted firmly in her mouth.  Capella made a note that she needed to find a way to get her to stop as she scooped the toddler into her arms and carried her up the stairs.  Once Chloe was changed into her pajamas and tucked into her crib, Capella tiptoed past the other doors in the hallway and into her own.  She rebraided her hair, and began to cry.

Connie’s soul was truly beyond help. And, since she’d enjoyed that display , hers must be, too.  The feeling she got in the Coliseum, the feeling the music gave her, it was nearly identical to the feeling she got when she sang in church.  This must’ve been the work of demonic influence.   That Papa character must’ve been a demon.  Capella was sure of it, no matter how human his heart felt under her hand.   She looked back down at the hand he’d kissed.  It was stained a little from the pit of makeup he’d smudged on it.  The black stain felt like a physical reminder of the spiritual stain that had tainted her.  She washed it off in the bathroom sink and repeated a soft prayer.  She would not let the demonic influences touch her ever again.

Chapter Text

Capella woke up the next morning with renewed energy, determined to wash thet concert out of her memory, with the power of hard work and dedication.  Neither of those things were strangers to her, in fact, they were close friends.

The Grace family had been blessed with land, a full 3 acre homestead, on which they raised crops and livestock.  Most of the outdoor work was done by Capella’s brothers and father, but when Carson moved away to college and Papa’s knees started acting up, most of the responsibility fell on Capella, her mother, and her oldest sister, Cassie.  Caleb helped, but he was only seven and couldn’t do much.  Still, he fed the chickens and mowed the lawn, while the girls handled everything else.

Everything else included collecting the eggs, cleaning out the coop, and making sure the rooster had done his job and none of the hens got taken by a coyote in the night. All of these tasks were handled by Mama.  

Cassie tended the bees, collecting their honey as needed, and making sure there were no signs of disease or building excessive comb. The family had a total of six hives, and dealing with them all often left Cassie with sticky hands.

Capella had the most responsibilities when it came to work outside of the house.  She was almost solely responsible for tending the garden and greenhouse.  Watering, pruning, fertilizing, weeding, harvesting.   Chloe was toddling behind her in a sun hat almost too big for her hat, a tiny pink watering can clenched in her pudgy fist.   Capella was responsible for looking after her whenever Mama or Cassie couldn’t, which was most of the time, and Capella was dedicated to teaching her to help her tend the plants so that it wouldn’t be just her doing it anymore.  Chloe was too little to be doing much besides pouring her little can into the soil, and getting most of the water everywhere except where it was supposed to be, but she would learn someday, and she was really too cute to ever be upset at.

Capella was also fully responsible for the care, feeding, and milking of the family’s eight dairy goats.  All 7 females needed to be milked twice a day, and the big male was rude and cantankerous.  She’d raised him since he was a baby, and it had taken her a year to train him to stop trying to headbutt her.  He definitely knew she was the boss by now, but sometimes she needed to scold him to get him to back down.  The goats listened to no one else but her, not even Carson.  The male had chased him out of the pen when he had the audacity to try and milk one of the ladies.

Once the outside shores were done, the inside chores had just begun.  Cassie had to make sure Caleb got all his schoolwork done and keep the downstairs clean, while Capella remained in charge of Chloe and keeping the upstairs clean.  Chloe, as tiny as she was, was a harsh taskmistress, prone to crying and tantrums. Capella could never frighten her into stopping like Mama could, nor had she the heart to, as much as she tried, so she was left no choice but to let her calm herself down or distract her.

Since takeout, frozen food, or other shortcuts to cooking were frowned on in the Grace household, (Father Jim had offhandedly mentioned something about ‘lazy wives’ in a sermon years ago and it had stuck to Mama’s mind like glue.) making dinner for five people was a difficult affair, one that Mama, Cassie, and Capella were all responsible for.   

By the end of the day, Capella was aching and tired all over.  She savored the feeling, evidence of her labor under the eyes of the Lord.  She wore her pain like a badge of honor.  She knew that when the right man chose her, she would never be a lazy wife.  She would be good and industrious like Mama.  Idle hands were the devil’s workshop after all.

Chapter Text

One of the few chances the Grace family had to regularly leave the house was the weekly farmers market in their little town.   It was every Friday, and Mama would switch out which of her two oldest daughters she would bring with her to help sell the Grace family’s produce at their little stall.  Today was Capella’s day.  

She had the brightest smile and friendliest personality of the Grace girls, which made her Mama’s preferred assistant saleswoman.  And to be honest with herself, Mrs. Grace was hoping that by exposing her daughter’s lovely face and well-trained personality to the men of the town, someone would be interested in striking up a courtship.  The girl was more than old enough to be married.

Capella loved the job.  She loved people, loved talking to them.  Something about her just put them right at ease whenever she spoke to them.  She was full of radiant light, and it spilled out of her wherever she went.  The shining star of the Grace’s was running the register when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes.

She barely recognized him, out of his stage outfit and skull paint.  He was dressed in the odd combination of a baggy red tracksuit and dress shoes.  His dark brown hair shimmered under the sun, a few grey hairs shining brighter.  A gloved hand rested on his hip, the other holding an orange juicebox to his lip.   For a moment, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, there was now way it could’ve been him .   But then she saw those unmistakable eyes, with raccoon-like dark paint around them, and she wanted to skitter underneath one of the booth’s tablecloths. 

Is he following me?  Is he haunting me?  He must be a demon, right? Can they do that?   All Capella could do was cast her eyes downward and pray that he wouldn’t see her.   But, luck was not on her side.  Her pounding heart jumped into her throat as she watched him walk up to their booth and start asking her mother about goat milk soap.   Minutes later, she was wrapping a bar of it in wax paper,  her hands shaking as she gave it to him. 

He seemed polite, almost shy, as he thanked her with a smile.  The little bit of vulnerability she could see under his showman persona onstage was more visible now.  He seemed utterly harmless, about as dangerous as a puppy.  She strongly reminded herself it was an act, an agent of Lucifer can appear any way he wants.

“Excuse me, signora, but have I met you before?  You look a little familiar.”

“N-no, I don’t think so.”  She stuttered, too frightened to look him in those bewitching eyes.  

“Wait, I remember you!”  He smiled. “You were in the front row.  I hope you liked the show!”  He left, leaving a generous tip more than twice the price of the soap.

Chapter Text

On the drive back home after the market, Capella silently thanked the Lord with all her might that Mama hadn’t overheard the brief conversation she’d had with him. The mere idea that she would find out where she’d been that night, what’d she’d done, and how it made her feel…no. No matter how many times she saw that odd man, she would leave that night of sin behind her and lead a righteous life.

No matter how tired she was, there was always work to be done at home. Chloe had gotten into one of Cassie’s watercolor paint sets and stained every inch of her clean white dress with rainbow bursts. The dress needed washing, and the baby needed bathing, but Chloe was stubborn and hated baths. It was a nightmare to wrangle her into the stub and get her to stop squirming long enough to clean her off. It took her over an hour and a half to get Chloe clean, dry, and dressed, and her clothes washed. It took another hour to settle Chloe long enough to get her down for her afternoon nap.

Capella tried to sneak away into her room for a moment of respite, but the women of the Grace household barely knew the meaning of the word. Within minutes, Capella was forced to run outside barefoot to handle an emergency: her stupid billy goat had broken down the pen fence. The family had managed to wrangle the animals back inside and patch up the fence, but one animal, the first kid born this season, was unaccounted for.

While strongly considering turning the idiot billy into stew, Capella was forced to run around the neighborhood and check every backyard she could to find the baby. After a while of searching, her feet were sore and she was out of breath, boiling alive under her jean skirt and long sleeves in the Texas summer sun. She was just about to give up hope of finding the poor little thing, when she spotted a familiar red silhouette out of the corner of her eye. A silhouette holding a goat,

The tiny baby looked perfectly comfortable in his arms. He was content and at peace, being scratched behind the ears and snuggled against his chest. Half convinced he was a heat stroke hallucination, Capella looked up at him, dazed and confused.

“You?”

“We keep meeting each other, signora.” He gave an awkward little smile. “I assume this little guy is yours?” Dumbfounded, she nodded, allowing him to deposit the kid into her arms.

“How…?”
“I happened to be in the neighborhood. And then I came across him. He was all alone and crying, and well, I thought he needed some comforting, at least until I could track down his family. I’ve been told I’m good with animals.” Capella blushed, looking down at the goat.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be going now.” She turned to leave.

“Wait.” She froze in place, heart pounding against her ribs. “We’ve met each other three times now. I feel like I should properly introduce myself.” He extended his hand towards her in greeting.

“My name is Copia, Copia Emeritus. You, ah, probably already knew that, being a fan and all.”

“I…I’m not really a fan.” She felt somewhat embarrassed to admit it. “A friend invited me to your show.”

“Ah. Well, all the more reason to introduce myself. What is your name, signora?”

“Capella Grace.” It came out as a half-whisper. She didn’t particularly want a demon knowing her name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Grace. Even though you’re not a fan, I’m grateful you gave our music a chance. Out of curiosity, what did you think of it?” It was not in Capella’s nature to lie, even if she wanted to.

“It was…different.” Capella never listened to much secular music anyway, it wasn’t permitted in the Grace home, and everything Ghost made was far out of that particular wheelhouse. “But it was good. You sing good.” Copia smiled. It felt warm and genuine.

“That pleases me more than you know, Miss Grace. Artists are a sensitive, prideful, fragile sort.”

“I know what you mean. I sing, at church and stuff. And I play violin.”

“Ah, I thought I recognized those calluses.”

“My what?” Copia blushed, stammering a little.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I mean the hard little skin bumps on your fingers.” Capella looked down at her hands, running her hand over the lumps.

“That’s what they’re called?”

“Yeah, they tend to appear wherever you put a lot of friction and pressure. Musicians get them all the time. I have them too, guitar, y’know?” He shrugged with an awkward giggle. Capella had never expected a demonic entity to be so…dorky. She was frightened at how endearing it was. Truly, the Devil’s temptation took many forms.

“Well, I have to get this fella home.” She gestured to the goat. “It was nice to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise. I’ll be in Texas for a few more days. I hope I get to see you again.”

Capella tried to convince herself that she never wanted to see Copia again.

Chapter Text

The sky was dark, overcast with thick clouds, the only light visible being the rare flash of the crescent moon, and the snap of lightning.  Nearly everyone in town was indoors, under a dry roof.  Everyone except Capella.

Her thin body shuddered beneath her clothes, the layers of wet fabric clinging to her clammy skin.  Her drenched socks squelched in her boots, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a vain attempt to stave off the bone-chilling bitter cold. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the cold, the wet, or the aching in her entire body.  She’d been walking around and around the block in circles that day, from about noon to now. She had no idea what time it was, only that the sun had gone down and that her feet were blistered.  She didn’t remember what it felt like to be dry and warm.  She bit down hard on her bottom lip, breaking the skin until she could taste iron. The pain was a welcome distraction from the pain in the rest of her body. 

I deserve pain .  I deserve this .

She didn’t know how long she was supposed to stay outside.  She’d been told to stay out there and circle the block until she “felt she’d learned her lesson”, but no matter how long she stayed in the rain or how much she hated every second, it never felt like enough.  No one had come to tell her to go back inside.  And so, she stayed. She couldn’t tell where her tears ended or the rain began.

She stood on the corner, where the sidewalk ended, and broke down.  Her shoulders heaved beneath her cardigan, a soft, keening whine breaking on her still-bleeding lips.   The soft yellow glow of an old car’s headlights shone behind her.  She knew it was an old car, because all the new trucks in town that the men liked to drive had blinding white ones.  The light comforted her, until the car splashed through a puddle, covering her in dirty water, as if she could possibly get wetter.  She supposed she deserved that too.  As she turned to take what must’ve been her thousandth lap around the block, she saw out of the corner of her eye that the car had stopped, and a familiar, long-legged shadowy figure stepped out.

A heavy accented voice stuttered out what sounded like a hundred apologies, and she felt a jacket drape, still warm from his body, over her shoulders.  Through the wet, foggy haze of her glasses, Capella could make out a pair of raccoon painted eyes, one hazel green, the other glowing white.

“Copia?” Her hoarse throat could barely croak out the name.

“I’m so sorry, Capella, I didn’t see you!  I promise I didn’t mean it!” He looked her over, assessing her waterlogged state.  He made a small, concerned noise in the back of his throat.  “You’re soaking wet, signora.  This is no weather for a midnight walk.  Let me give you a ride home.”

She frantically shook her head, her wet braids smacking against her face.  “I can’t.”  He scoffed incredulously.

“Why the hell not!?  It’s like the sky’s split open!”  

“P-punishment.” Her teeth chattered violently against each other.  Copia was even more incredulous.

“Look, I don’t know how old you are or what you did, but you seem plenty grown to me, and even if you weren’t, no one should be making you walk around in the rain.  You’ll catch your death out here.  Just sit in the car with me until you’re warmed up at least.”

This…this is a temptation .  

Capella knew all about temptations.  It was one of Father Jim’s favorite subjects.  Ever since she could remember, she’d been taught to be wary of temptations.  They were like rattlesnakes in the grass, traps for your soul to slip into and become corrupted.  Eve and her apple, Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, Christ in the desert.  Anything could be a temptation to sin.  And Capella could think of no more perfect spiritual trap than a demon with a soft voice and warm car.  

She denied him again, and again he begged her.

“Please , signora.  I couldn’t live with myself if you caught pneumonia out here.”  The gentle pressure of gloved hand rested on her shoulder.   Capella was weak, in body, and apparently, spirit. 

Seemingly without her mind’s control, her wobbling legs moved on her own, and like a helpless animal, she allowed herself to be led by the hand and into his car.

The leather seats felt soft and heavenly beneath her.  Her breathing was ragged, her body attempting to adjust to the sudden shift in temperature.  Copia swore softly, hissing a little as he fiddled with the control panel.

“I’m sorry Capella, let me figure out the air conditioning, I’ll have everything toasty for you in a minute.” 

That was the last thing Capella remembered before her vision went black.

Chapter Text

Soft and warm, everything around her was soft and warm.  

Am I…dead?  Is this heaven?

She stretched her arms and legs out, feeling the fabric she was enveloped in.  No, not dead .  She must’ve fallen asleep.  Briefly, she wondered how and when she’d gotten home.  It didn’t matter. She needed to get out of bed, Chloe would be waking up soon, and would need her.  She fumbled around with the blanket on top of her, but as her fingers searched for the edge, she realized it was not her blanket.  Her blanket was an old wool quilt, halfway threadbare from generations of use.  This blanket was thick, the fabric silky to the touch.  With a whimper of panic, she tossed the thing off of her and looked around the room.

This was not her bedroom.  She didn’t recognize the place at all.  The walls were creamy white, the carpet a swirl of colors that made her head swim.   There was a scent of laundry detergent and conditioned air.  She’d never been to one, but this looked something like a hotel room.  And she was not alone.

Slumped over in an armchair in the corner was Copia, seemingly asleep.  He was snoring lightly, drooling a little, his dark makeup lightly smeared.   She couldn’t help but let out a shriek.  His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled as he saw her.

“Good, you’re awake.  How do you feel?”

“Where am I!?” She crawled backwards towards the headboard, away from him. “Where did you take me!?”

“I’m sorry, of course you’re frightened.  This is my hotel room.  You’re only a few miles away from your town.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You blacked out in the car.  You seemed exhausted, and you told me you couldn’t go home, so I brought you here to rest for the night.”  She looked down at herself, looking for bruises or any other signs that he’d harmed her.  She saw none, but did see that she was wearing unfamiliar clothes, a set of white pajamas.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Downstairs, in the laundry. I can bring them up once they’re dry. If it’s any comfort, I didn’t undress you.” 

“You didn’t?”

“No, I never touched you.  I mean, besides carrying you inside.  But beyond that, no.  I stood in the hall while the doctor did that.”

“Doctor?”

“I called one.  You were feverish and weren’t waking up, and I started to panic.” He bashfully scratched the back of his head.  “She said if you stayed in wet clothes you’d catch hypothermia.” Capella whimpered, curling in on herself.  Copia’s gaze softened.  “I’m sorry Capella.  This must be terrifying.  Being dragged unconscious to a hotel by a man you barely know, that’s the start of a horror movie.   But I just couldn’t leave you there.”

“Why not?” She looked at him in confusion.  She couldn’t imagine any way a demon could benefit from being a good Samaritan.

“My conscience wouldn’t let me.”  She’d never heard of a demon with a conscience before.

“I’m not a demon, signora.”  Had she said that out loud?  “Well, somewhere, about two thousand or so years ago, I’m told there was a demon in my bloodline, but it’s been so long of mixing with humans that I’m pretty much all human.”  She knew that his casual admittance of that should frighten her, but something about how he said it so flippantly, not trying to hide anything from her…

Well, at least he’s an honest demon.  Better than a lying one.

To be honest with herself, she was still feeling feverish and possibly a bit delirious.  But not delirious enough to forget her family.

“Oh Lord, my parents must be worried sick!”  

“The people who sent you out in that rain, they're worried about you?” Copia raised an eyebrow. But seeing the tearful look on her face, he rolled his eyes.  “Fine, they probably at least want to know where you are. What’s a good phone number to call?”

“I…I don’t know. We kids aren’t allowed to use the phone.” Copia’s eyes widened in shock.

“You’re how old, Capella!?”

“Twenty three.  But I’m not married yet so I still live with my parents.”  

“That’s still…ugh!”  He pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to argue any further.  “Fine, I’ll just bring you home myself.  Please tell me you know the address.”

“I do.”  He muttered a curse in a foreign language, she guessed Italian.   

“You’re still feverish, and I’d feel a lot better if you at least got some food in you.”  He sighed, hands on his hips.  “What I like about cheap hotels are the free breakfasts.  How about I bring up a few things from downstairs and you pick what you like, hmmm?”  Her stomach growled, and he took that as a yes.   A few minutes later, she was nibbling an admittedly delicious waffle, watching Copia fold her freshly laundered clothes and set them on the edge of the bed.

“When you’re ready, there’s a private bathroom you can change in, or I could just step outside, whichever you prefer.”  Guilt twisted between her ribs.

“I…I’m sorry.” She whispered, her voice small.  “I should’ve thanked you for helping me.”

“It’s alright, signora, you have every right to be frightened.”  Capella didn’t think anyone ever told her she had the right to anything before.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you’re not dizzy?”

“I’m okay, I promise.”  Capella assured him. Her skin was still warm and flushed, but she felt well enough to walk.  Copia grumbled, not convinced.

“I don’t know what you could’ve done to make them that angry, signora.”  His Zia e Zio Psaltarian would never have punished him that badly, no matter what he did.  Once he’d played hooky for a week straight by slipping off to the arcade instead of boarding the school bus in the mornings.  They’d been furious, but never angry enough to put his health in danger.   And why in Satan’s name would Capella, a woman old enough to drink, vote, and smoke, be willing to put up with this kind of treatment?

“I was irresponsible.”   She had her eyes off of Chloe for less than a minute, but her vigilance had slipped badly enough that she’d managed to wander off towards the bee hives and gotten stung.  The way she’d cried after…Capella felt like she deserved hypothermia and worse. Copia sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Look, when you get inside, just tell them you passed out, and that someone found you and looked after you until you woke up.”  He watched her fearful expression in the rear-view mirror of the car.  “It’s true, isn’t it?  Not a lie, so don’t feel bad about it.  We’re here, anyway.”  

The car stopped a few feet down the block from the house, at Capella’s insistence.   He felt awful making her walk any further than she had to, but she didn’t want her parents to see her getting out of a stranger’s car.

“Thank you again, sir.” She said as she opened the door and stepped out. “Sorry for the trouble I caused.”

“It was no trouble, really.  And before you go, take this.”  He slipped a sliver of paper into her hand. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s my number, for the phone.”  He nodded in the direction of the house.  “I know you’re not allowed, but if you ever get the chance, and you need someone to talk to,  I’m here.”  She blushed, her already fever-reddened skin turning even more pink.

“I…”

“You can call me pretty much whenever.  Don’t worry about waking me up. I’m touring, my sleep schedule is fucked anyways.”  

“That’s very sweet of you, Mr. Emeritus, but-”

“Just call me Copia, anytime you like.”

Chapter Text

The phone number sat crumpled into a ball in the bottom of her wastebasket, buried there in fear and shame.  Capella sat curled up underneath her threadbare old quilt.  It felt drafty and cold compared to that luxurious hotel blanket.  The number had felt like a lead weight in her skirt pocket, threatening to drag her all the way down to Hell.

It was the phone number of not just a man outside of her family, but a demon .  Even if he was only 0.1% at most.  And even if Copia had been born fully human, he was still sinful, mired and steeped in sin.  By his music alone, he was a sinner, and she dreaded to think what his lifestyle must be.  Drinking and drugs and sex , that was the life of a sinner.  And he seemed to be calling her like a siren, trying to pull her into it, make her just as bad and sinful and dirty as he was.  

She couldn’t let him.

She would never call him, no matter how friendly he was and no matter how much she would ever want to.  Even in the deepest depths of loneliness, she wouldn’t call him.

About a week later, Capella abruptly realized she had severely underestimated how deep of loneliness a human could feel.

She stood in the dining room, the cold tile floor feeling almost painful beneath her feet.  It was close to midnight, and she was standing in her nightgown in front of the family’s home phone.  

The only people in the Grace family who owned personal cell phones were Papa and Carson, and only those two and Mama were allowed to use the home phone without supervision. What Capella was about to do would be the first act of deliberate disobedience against her parents she’d ever done in her life.  Was she really about to break that commandment, just because she needed someone to talk to?

She took stock of her feelings, trying to shove the worst of them back down with a silent prayer.  But trying only forced them to the surface, and no scripture she could think of could hold back the tears.  

Her hands shook as she typed in the number.  Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her mouth as the dial tone buzzed in her ear.  She nearly jumped out of skin when the call picked up.

“Hello?” An accented, sleepy voice grumbled through the phone, and Capella nearly chickened out right then.  She suppressed the urge to slam the phone down and go back upstairs to pretend this never happened.

“Copia?”

“Oh, it’s you!” He brightened up.  “How are you doing, signora? Do you feel any better?”

“I’m okay.  The fever’s gone.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t.  I’ve been up for hours.” He yawned a little.  “Burning the midnight oil, you know?  Besides, it’s nice to hear from you.”  Capella smiled, sniffling a little.

“You too.” She felt better as soon as she heard his voice, less alone.  She was reminded of why she needed to call him this late, and choked down a sob.  “I, uh, just wanted to talk to you.  I’ve been feeling a little sad lately, and I don’t think my parents would understand.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Capella. My ears are wide open.” She chuckled, wiping away a tear.

“I, uh, went to go visit Connie.  She’s my best friend, she’s the one who took me to your show.  She’s a real big fan.  I told her that we met, and she was crazy excited, made me tell her everything.”

“I hope you didn’t mention I drool in my sleep.  My Ghouls tease me about it enough.”

“I didn’t, I just told her you were very nice to me.  But, that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”  Her voice wobbled, and she had to take a deep breath to steady it.  “Connie…she told me she’s moving away.  Transferring schools.”

“Really?”

“Mmmhmm, all the way to Austin.   She told me she’ll visit me, but I feel like I’m never gonna see her again.   I…”  She fiddled with the sleeve of her gown.  “I don’t really have any other friends.  I was only allowed to play with the other homeschooled girls in town, and there’s not a lot.  Pretty much all of them didn’t like me, except Connie.  I’ll be all alone here now.”

“You really don’t have anyone else?  What about your siblings?”

“They're my family and I love them, but I can’t talk to them the way I can talk to Connie.  Not even my twin, and he’s already moved away.”  Carson wasn’t much of a listener anyway.

“I understand.  I wasn’t a very popular child either.   I’m still a weirdo now, and I’m an old man.”  Capella smiled, sitting on top of the counter.

“At least you have the Ghouls.”

“And I’m glad for that.  They’re pure chaos and make me feel about ten years older every day, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.  And I have my rats.”

“Rats?  Like, as pets?”  She’d only ever known them as pests that had to be kept out of the cellar.

“I have three of them.  My girls are spoiled rotten.”

“Are they friendly?”

“Sweet as puppies.  Clever too.  Some little part of me hates touring, just because I have to be away from them for so long.  They have short lifespans.  But sadly, rats don’t talk back, I need human, or at least Ghoul, friends too.”

“Goats don’t talk back either.” Capella  admitted, pulling her knees to her chest.  “I just don’t get why Connie wants to leave!  This town’s great!”

“Did she tell you why she wanted to go?”

“She, uh, she had a lot of reasons.  The degree programs are better, the school has better funding.  But, she also told me she feels… trapped here.” 

“Did she now?”

“Yeah, and I guess I can kinda see why.  She never really fit in here.  The other girls teased her, too.  But why’d she have to leave now!?” Capella whined, starting to pace the kitchen.  “Now I’m all on my own here!  No one else in this town likes me, I won’t have anyone else to spend time with, just the same old chores every single day!”

“It sounds like Connie isn’t the only one feeling trapped there.”  Capella blinked, running the thought across her mind.  

The little town she was born in was the only place she’d ever lived.  Everyone in it had known her her entire life.   Father Jim praised it as God’s own country, a little slice of heaven on earth.  The same manicured front lawns, the same faces in church every Sunday, singing the same hymns. The same country and gospel music on the same radio stations on the same cars, rolling down the same road.  No one in the town ever seemed to change. And the ones that did left.

“Maybe…maybe I am, just a little.” She mumbled.  It felt like a confession, the kind a person makes to God.  “But I won’t feel like that forever!”

“And why is that signora?”

“One day, I’m going to get married, and start a family of my own.”

“And that would make you feel… less trapped? ”

“It’s my purpose as a Christian woman, and once that’s fulfilled, I’ll feel at peace.”  And I won’t have to live with Mama and Papa anymore.  Copia sighed, and she could picture his expression in her mind.

“Signora, are you sure that will make you happy?”

“It’s what I was raised for.”

“But would it be fulfilling?  For you?”

“There’s nothing more fulfilling a woman can experience.”  She heard a heavy sigh.

“I know plenty of women that would disagree, but I’m not going to tell what should make you happy.  It’s not my place.  To change the subject for a moment, how did your parents react after you got home?”

“Better than I thought.  They just seemed glad I was okay.”

“That is an incredible relief, signora.  I should hope they apologized for leaving you out in that downpour.”  Capella chuckled, incredulous.

“Parents don’t apologize to their kids.”

“It is becoming very clear we grew up in polar opposite households.”

“What was yours like?”

“Well, they didn’t let me run around doing whatever, but they didn’t leave me in a thunderstorm all night either.”

“They’re not gonna do that anymore.  Papa says I’m not allowed outside without someone with me.”

“Capella, you know that’s not normal, right?  It is very important to me that you know how absolutely not at all normal that rule is.  You are twenty three years old.”

“It’s only temporary.”  She defended. “Just until they know they can trust me.”

“Trust you to what!?  You didn’t do-whatever.”  He grumbled under his breath  “Just…look, you called me because you’re feeling alone, right?  Like you’re being separated from your only friend in the world.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell you what, you have at least two friends now..”

“You…you’d consider me a friend?” 

“If you’d have me.”  Capella felt a shiver of joy run up and down her spine.

“I’m not allowed to have male friends.”  Her heart felt like it jumped into her mouth, but still, she continued. “But, I’m allowed to use the phone either, and here I am.”  Copia’s laugh was soft, genuine, it felt like a warm hug.

“There is something very healthy about a rebellious spirit.”  Capella looked towards the digital clock on the oven.  It was almost 1 o’clock, about when her mother would wake up and start her work for the day.  

“I have to leave now.  My mom’ll be up soon.”

“I look forward to our next conversation.  Take care now!” She could hear the giddy, childlike smile in his voice,and she was sporting a matching one.

“Goodbye Copia, and thank you for listening.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

Chapter Text

For most of her life, Capella never really understood the appeal of being rebellious.  Even if she wanted to do something she wasn’t permitted to, she never would. The guilt would eat her alive.  But, she understood it now.

Rebellion, in and of itself, felt good .

It was oddly exhilarating, her midnight escapades to the phone in the kitchen.  It wasn’t just the appeal of talking to Copia.  The mere act of planning the occasions gave her a jolt of excitement, even thinking about it.  

She’d never had a secret of her own to keep, but this, her very first, was a comfort, near and dear to her heart.  It gave her something to look forward to, something more concrete than her future marriage, something she could control.  She’d never controlled anything in her life, not even the goats. On days of long, hard work, which all days were to her, thinking about talking to Copia, what she would tell him and what he would tell her, made it that much more bearable.  They didn’t talk every night, that was too risky, but Capella would make sure to talk to him at least once a week.

“Someone threw their father’s ashes onstage yesterday.”

“They what!? ” Capella scream-whispered into the phone.  “Like, a handful, or an entire urn!?”

“The whole urn, with a Post-It on it that said ‘my dad’s ashes’.  We have no idea what to do with it, so now there’s just a jar of some stranger’s remains on the tour bus.”

“Wow, people are weird.”

“And I wouldn't have them any other way.  Surprisingly, not the weirdest thing my fans have given or thrown at me.  More commonly, they throw their underwear.”

“Wait, you mean they…?”

“I have seen so many bras thrown in my direction, panties too, once even a pair of boxers.”

“That is insane .”  Copia lived a life she couldn’t even imagine.  

“I still remember the first time it happened.  I didn't know whether to be embarrassed, terrified, or flattered.  My brother told me it’s a rite of passage for a Papa.”

“You never told me about your brother.” She twirled the phone cord around her finger.  “What’s he like?”

“I have three brothers, all older than me.  They were all Papas before me.  I didn’t know them all that well until I joined the Ministry, in fact, I didn’t even know they were my brothers.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, we weren’t raised together, we had separate mothers. Our father, shall we say, liked to sow his wild oats, and wasn’t very responsible when it came to what sprouted up.  They are a little odd, but so am I, and I am thankful for them.  The one I was telling you about is Terzo, my third brother.   He is a romantic, a flirter, and a very confident showman.  He taught me a lot about what it means to be Papa and to lead Ghost.”

“He sounds really nice.  I kinda wish my brother was like that.”

“Your twin, right?  Or is it the little one?”

“You were right the first time.  Caleb’s nice enough, but he’s closer with Cassie, she took care of him since he was a baby.  Anyway, Carson’s my twin, but you’d think he’s older than me by the way he acts.  He’s always liked to baby me, and I guess brothers are just like that, but I wouldn’t mind it so much if he wasn’t so mean about it.”  Capella scowled.  “He is so condescending, he acts like he rules the world, and Mama and Papa just let him!  I think they like him better than me, especially Papa.  He is named after him and all, but it makes me sad.  It’s like Papa barely sees me most days.  I’m sorry, it must be worse for you being the youngest.”

“No, no, I wish my father wouldn’t pay attention to me.  He died a year or so ago, and he still won’t leave me alone. He’s the world’s most obnoxious ghost.  Anyway, more about you and Carson?”

“Uhh, okay.”  Capella made the conscious decision to ignore the ghost thing. “He’s away at college now, and can I be honest with you?”

“If there’s anyone in the world you can be honest with, it’s me, signora. I don’t have an inch of room to judge you.”

“I’m a little bit glad he’s not here.  Don’t get me wrong or anything, I love him, I love him a lot.  But…I’m kinda glad he’s not here to tease me anymore.  Hopefully by the time he graduates he’ll have a wife, and then he can move out permanently.”

“The people you love can get on your nerves, that’s understandable.  I’m a little bit glad my brothers and I were raised apart, we would’ve driven each other crazy, we still do now.  Poor Primo, he’s the oldest of us, which makes him completely ancient.  We wear him the hell out.”

“Carson’s supposed to be coming home to see us soon for spring break, and as excited as I am to see him again, I feel like he’s going to find some way to make me glad when leaves again by the end of the first day he’s back.”

“I salute your resilience and wish you the very best.”  Capella sighed contentedly, leaning against the kitchen wall.

“You’re such a good listener, Copia.  With almost anyone else, it feels like I’m not allowed to be upset, like, ever.  Sometimes it feels sinful, in a way.  Father Jim likes to talk a lot about the sin of anger…”

“Take it from a master of sin, to commit pride for a moment. There is a difference between being rightfully annoyed and sinful rage.”

“That means a lot to me, Copia. Thank you.”  A set of footsteps came from upstairs.  Capella nearly jumped out of her skin.  “Gotta go, talk to you soon!”  She whispered, before hanging up.

Unbeknownst to her, all the way on the other side of the Atlantic ocean in Manchester, Copia was smiling down at the cellphone in his lap.  

“Who is she?” An animalistic voice crooned from behind him, a set of claws sinking into the back of his armchair.

“Nobody, Cumulus.”  He blushed, tucking his phone into his pocket.  The Ghoul grinned, tilting her head at him.

“She sure doesn't sound like a ‘nobody’.” 

“She’s really not.”  Copia admitted.  “But she was raised to think she is.”

“Ahhh, is she Catholic?” 

“Fundamentalist, more likely. Jean skirt and everything.”  Cumulus purred, kneading her hands against his armrest.

“Corrupting a good, modest girl, are we Papa?  The Dark One will be pleased.  Is she pretty?  Do you plan on ‘corrupting’ her further?”  

“It’s not like that!  She’s a bit too young for me, and besides, she’s not my type.”  

“If you say so, Papa.”  Cumulus rolled her eyes.  “But if you see her in anything besides one of those hideous denim skirts, don’t be surprised when your tune begins to change.”

Chapter Text

Capella was a prolific journaler.  With no screens and few books in the house, there wasn’t much else to do.  She sat on the edge of her bed, writing notes to herself.  Her weekly talk with Copia was a few days away, and she wanted to remember everything she wanted to tell him.

It was a carefully curated list. She didn’t want to bore out a Satanic part-demon rockstar who traveled all over the world with her dumb girl problems, but she still wanted someone to hear what she was going through.  It was a difficult balance to strike.

• Connie dyed her eyebrows green.  I thought it would look totally crazy on her, but maybe it’s just because she’s so pretty, but she makes it work.

• Cassie turned 16. Mama says she’s allowed to start courting now.

• Papa’s thinking about retiring soon, but he’s waiting to see how his 401k will look.  (Ask him what a 401k is)

As she contemplated what else to add, she was startled out of her focus by a knock at the door.  She slammed the notebook shut, scowling.

Oh, God, it begins.

“Guess who’s home!”  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as Carson’s obnoxiously loud voice echoed through the home.  He stood in the doorway of the home, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Immediately, Mama and Papa started swarming him with affection, asking for every detail of college life.  Carson was the nucleus of the family, the star around which it orbited, and as soon as he was through the door, he slotted right back into his place.  And just as she predicted, Capella began to fade into the background.

“The classes are all easy , it’s almost boring.”  Carson leaned back in his chair at dinner, Mama hanging on his every word.  “My professors think I have a real future in law, even politics.”

“You always had all the brains in the family.”  Papa clapped a hand over his shoulder, giving it a manly squeeze. 

“My baby, all grown up!”  Mama cooed, and Capella’s stomach turned.  The way she talked to him always made her a little nauseous.  

As usual, Capella and Cassie were the ones cleaning up after dinner.  It was never something Capella resented, not even something that upset her, until tonight.  She couldn’t put her finger on exactly where the little thorn in her side about it came from.  Perhaps it was the fact that Carson being home was already grating on her nerves, perhaps it was the little memory of Copia telling her that in the home he was raised in, his adoptive father would do the dishes every night.

“And how’s my favorite twin doing?”  Carson smirked, dumping his plate in the sink, not even bothering to rinse it off.

“I’ve been okay.”  She muttered under breath, trying to focus on scrubbing off a pot instead of that insufferable look on her face.  “The goats have been-”

“That’s great, anyway, Mom says you’re in charge of laundry now, and I just thought I’d let you know there’s a sack of my dirty clothes in my trunk. I’ll need that done by tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”  Capella grit her teeth into a smile.

“Of course, Carson.” He winked, ruffling her hair. 

“And that’s why you’re my favorite twin!”  

Capella had an odd, brief thought of slipping a red sock in with his white shirts in the wash.

Chapter Text

Copia was lying awake in bed, passively waiting for his melatonin to kick in.  He’d taken half his usual dose that night, not wanting to be too drowsy to enjoy his first night back home after being on the road for months.  His TV glowed in the background, displaying the ever familiar “Game Completed” screen of Driving Miss Daisy.  It was a little “welcome home” ritual he did for himself every time he came back, completing the game again.

He was just starting to nod off, when his phone buzzed from its place on his nightstand.  He grumbled, wondering what kind of annoying administrative work was required of him now.  His mood lightened when saw the contact name.  It was just an emoji of a goat, but he didn’t need to use her name to know who she was.

“Buonasera, Capella.  To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Copia?”  Her voice wavered, an even lower whisper than the typical one she spoke to him in. “I…I did something really stupid.  I’m sorry.”  Suddenly wide awake, he sat bolt upright.

“Merda , did those bastards kick you out again!?”

“N-no, but…I have to confess something.” She took a deep breath.  “I’m really sorry, but I may have sorta…told my parents we were dating.” 

The hundreds of panicked voices racing around in his head quieted to gentle static fuzz, followed by dial-up internet screeches.

“You…you what?”

“Well, not really dating.  We call it courting, it’s kinda different, and I didn’t exactly tell them we are courting, I said you were interested in courting me.”

“Signora, I’m more interested in why the fuck you would do this!”  He stood up and paced around the room, hand on his hip.  

“I didn’t know what else to do, you were the only man I could think of.”

Carson had only been home for three days, and every day Capella just wished he would go back to school already.  He had somehow found every single possible way to get on her nerves.  Chloe was somehow less demanding than her twin.  He barely did anything besides stay in his room, and produce endless laundry and dirty dishes for her to get stuck with, and whenever he did leave his room, it was to make her life more exhausting.

He was determined to do more outdoors work, insisting that it was a “man’s job”, but was woefully incompetent with it. He’d nearly killed one of her orange trees by overwatering it, but somehow forgot to water every other plant in the garden.  Capella could forgive that, he hadn’t been home in months after all.  When she tried to teach him how to properly care for the garden, Mama told her off for “being too hard on him” while he was “trying the best he can”.  She redirected him to look after the goats, hoping that he wouldn’t screw up badly enough to harm one of her babies, and insisted on supervising him the entire time just to make sure.  He swore he “didn’t need it”, until he nearly got headbutted by the male.  Watching Carson scream and jump nearly a foot in the air was funny enough for her to immediately forgive her big, stupid billy for every bit of grief he’d ever caused her.

But even when Carson wasn’t being needy and failing at chores, he was still annoying, because he seemed incapable of shutting up, and both of their parents listened to him like he was Father Jim himself.  He was always going on about how fun college was, or complaining about all the “degeneracy” the secular students were up to.  All Mama and Papa ever wanted to talk about was Carson, it was like their other children ceased to exist whenever he opened his mouth.

“So honey, have you met any young women at school?” Mama asked at the dinner table that night.  “Any girl you’d think would be a good wife?”

“I don’t know, a lot of the college girls aren’t very modest or respectable.”  He sneered, cutting into his steak.  

“Oh, don’t worry sweetheart, you’re a good man, and one day, God will lead you to the perfect woman.”  Capella silently prayed that God would bring her to him soon. She didn’t think she could stand him living with her for much longer.  His gaze came to rest on Capella, and his smirk got somehow even more insufferable.

“How about you, sis? Met any nice boys?”  She turned tomato red with embarrassment, staring down at her plate while he chuckled.

“N-no.  I haven’t courted anyone. But, I think that’s a blessing in disguise.  I don’t think I’m ready for marriage.”

“Oh, nonsense.  You’ve been ready for years.  You’re getting a little old for it.” Mama continued.  “I think you’d make a man very happy.  You’ve been training your whole life, and you have a benefit that a lot of other girls don’t.  You had a twin brother you’ve been helping, he’s basically your practice husband!”  Capella coughed, almost choking on a salad leaf. 

“I mean, I don’t really know any man in town who’d like me.”

“That’s not a problem, he doesn’t have to like you to be a good husband.” She gently elbowed Papa.  “Honey, doesn’t one of your coworkers have a son about her age?”

“Oh, Tommy?  Tommy Foster?”  Capella knew Tommy Foster.  He’d been in her homeschool group since she was six. He used to throw rocks at bird’s nests and liked ripping the heads off his little sister’s dolls.  And now, as a man, he liked to drive his lifted truck 15 miles over the speed limit in school zones.

There was a brief flash of images in her brain, so vivid they felt like memories, of herself 20 years from now, pregnant and barefoot in a filthy kitchen while holding a screaming toddler. Tommy Foster is parked firmly in front of the TV, demanding a beer and dinner in front of him by the time his show ends.

A feral desperation began to claw at her brain, to do anything in her power to keep Tommy Foster’s greasy engagement ring from ever touching her finger. 

“I…I can’t court Tommy.”  It slipped out of her mouth instinctually, like the defense mechanism of a cornered animal.

“Why not?”  All eyes were locked on her.  Sweat beaded on her forehead.  In a burst of courage provided by distress, she managed to tell the first lie of her life.

“I…I met a man, and h-he told me he wants to court me.”  

The dining room went completely silent for a full five seconds.

“And who exactly is this man, young lady?”  

“He’s from out of town, he was here on business when we met. His name is Copia, Copia Emeritus.”

“Sounds foreign.”  Papa grumbled.  

“His family is from Italy, but he lives in America.” Papa hated anything visibly “too foreign”.

“And why haven’t we met this ‘Copia’ fellow?”

“He…wanted to wait until I told you.  He’s a little bit shy, and we’ve only met once.” Capella was shocked by how easily it was to lie once she’d started. 

“Is there anything else we need to know about this mystery man?”  For once, Capella wished her family would go back to paying attention to Carson. But still, she kept going, she was in far too deep to back out now.

“He lives in California.  He was just passing through Texas when we met.  He was the guy who took me home, y’know, that one time I got caught in the rain.”

“And what does he do for work?”  Papa always considered a man’s job one of the most important things about him.

“He’s…in ministry.  And he’s a musician.  He has a nice singing voice.”  The little kernel of truth made her feel a bit better about all the lies she was spewing, but she still chose to neglect exactly what type of ministry he was leading.  Mama’s mood seemed to lift at that.

“Did you hear that honey?  He’s a man of God!”

“And a musician , from California .”  Papa said the words like curses.  “I’d like to meet this fella who’s planning on courting my daughter.”

“He gave me his phone number.  I haven’t called it, of course, but in the morning, I can ask him when he can come out here.  He told me it would be an honor to meet you all in person.”

After dinner that night, Capella laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what could have possibly possessed her to doom herself like that.

Copia sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“I…I don’t even know what to say signora.”

“I really am sorry, this was really stupid.  I can tell them you want to call it off.”

“No, no, just…”  He smiled a little.  “I’m honestly a bit proud of you.  Your very first lie, and an impressive one at that.”

“I feel so dirty, does lying always feel like that?”

“I was raised Satanist, signora, I couldn’t tell you.  Lying is alright as long as you’re good at it here.  But I’m willing to bet it gets easier the more you do it.”

“But what am I going to do!?   I don’t wanna drag you into all this!”  Copia chuckled under his breath.  This girl was going to keep him young, wasn’t she?

“Well, who says I’m not willing to play along?”

“Wait, what!?  Copia, I can’t ask you to do that!”

“You don’t have to, I want to.  I’ve been needing an excuse to get out of all that damn paperwork I’m stuck with after tours.  Why not help a friend out with a fun little sin?”

“But you understand what this means, right?  You’re going to have to basically pretend to like, a Christian guy, a Christian guy who wants to marry me!”

“I’m a better actor than people think.”  Copia thought bitterly of Nihil, the dickhead. “Tell me what I need to do to keep up the charade?”

Chapter Text

Since Copia was a very small child, he’d had a flair for the dramatic, Zia Psaltarian had the tapings of every school play he’d ever been in since kindergarten stashed away to prove it.  But this role was shaping up to be his very hardest yet.

Being raised in an old-fashioned Diabolist Satanist household, none of that “new fangled LaVeyan nonsense” as Nihil would put it, Copia did not have many fond thoughts to spare about Christians.  As he was taught, they were deluded, hypocritical and irrational at the very best of times, the eternal adversaries to the efforts of the Dark Lord.  But, as he’d grown older and matured, his views on them became far less hostile.  Lots of them were still plenty annoying, especially when they did all that protesting and hand wringing about his music, but plenty of Ghost fans were practicing Christians, so they clearly weren’t all bad.  But these Christians…

He had a book titled “Research in Principles of Life: Advanced Seminar Textbook” open in his lap, and every page made his stomach twist into knots.  How people this sick and depraved, and not in the fun ways, managed to produce someone as clever and kind as Capella, he’d never know.  He considered it a miracle from The Fallen Angel himself.  Still, he suffered through the book, he owed it to his friend. He needed to inform himself to play the part of “good Christian man looking for an obedient helpmeet” well enough to keep her parents off her back for a little longer.  Still, he gave himself the mercy of flipping through most of the text to get to the proper pages about “courtship”, such a pretentious word for what is basically just wife-shopping.  Reading “The Seven Phases Of A Godly Courtship” made it crystal clear exactly why his friend was nearly a quarter century old but acted like a teenager frightened of her own shadow, she was taught that being anything more than that sabotaged her chances of snagging a meal-ticket man of her own.  And he was about to meet the people who raised her like this.

Into the belly of the beast , he thought, slamming the book shut and resisting the urge to toss it off of his hotel room’s balcony. He turned towards his vanity mirror, to see if he had managed to look the part, too. He didn’t wear his typical daily eye paint or black lipstick, making his countenance look uncomfortably “normal”. He was somewhat thankful for his family’s quirk of heavy eye bags, he felt they completed him in a way.  Looking at his eyes themselves, he briefly wondered if he should do something about his family’s other odd ocular quirk, staring back at him colorlessly.  Perhaps he should stick in a contact lens or something?  He decided against it, it would be a sensory nightmare, and maybe he didn’t want to make himself perfectly palatable to southern Fundies anyway.  Perhaps it would be good for them to be frightened by something outside of their tiny comfort zone for once. 

He looked down at his outfit. A simple black suit, with a clerical shirt and collar.  Pinned to the left side of his breast was a glittering cross.  Taking a breath, he inverted it to its “rightside up” position, ignoring how gross it felt.  It was like wearing his shirt inside out.  He barely recognized the version of himself he saw in the mirror.  Good , he thought. Better to keep up the pantomime.

Capella’s heart felt like it was going to burst right out of her ribcage.  She leaned against the wall of her bedroom, trying not to hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness. There was no way this was going to work.  If one even mildly blasphemous thing slipped out of Copia’s mouth, she was doomed .  Doomed to what exactly, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to find out.  The doorbell rang, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

“Your boyfriend’s here!”  Carson shouted obnoxiously up the stairs, and Capella prayed.  

God, if you get me through this one little lie, I’ll never lie again!

Mama opened the door, revealing that familiar face with the two tone eyes. He looked a little awkward in that charming way Capella had come to appreciate, a bouquet of slightly wilted supermarket roses held to his chest.

“Is this the Grace residence?” The family was gathered around the door, eyes wide as they drank in the stranger’s visage.

“Are you Mr. Emeritus?”

“That is me, but you can just call me Copia. Are you Capella’s mother?” Mama nodded, a little wondrous.  “Then these are for you.  It is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Grace.”  He deposited the flowers into her arms, and she gave a girlish little giggle.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, too, sir.  I’ll have the children set the table, and dinner will be out in a minute.”

“It’s really no rush, madame. I pride myself on being a patient house guest.” He turned his gaze towards Papa.  “And you must Mr. Grace.  An honor to meet you as well.”  He extended a gloved hand.  Papa looked him up and down, his white brow furrowed in permanent disapproval.  He accepted the handshake, his grip tight.  Copia responded with what he hoped was a suitably masculine grip.  As a man who’d been dabbling in fruitery since boyhood, heterosexual men confused him greatly.  He’d given up passing these “tests” of manhood ages ago, and for a man even older than he was, Copia was a little peeved off that Capella’s father hadn’t given up on such childish behaviour by now.

“Interesting gloves.”  Stupid men seemed to always use “interesting” as an insult.

“Circulation problems.  My fingers are like ice most days.”  He let go with a manly grunt, seemingly content with his assessment so far.  Copia internally sighed with relief, and then felt a little hand tugging on the leg of his pants.  He looked down to see a curly-haired and gap-toothed boy, no older than seven, staring up at him with blank, innocent curiosity.  Copia smiled, kneeling down to speak to him on his level.

“And you must be Caleb.  Your big sister told me all about you.”  Caleb blinked, staring shamelessly as only children can do.

“How come your eyes are weird?”  Copia unsuccessfully bit back a laugh, while Cassie blushed from ear to ear, mortified. 

“I’m so sorry, sir, we’ve been working on good manners!  Caleb, you can’t just ask people that!”

“It’s alright, signorina. He’s just curious, that's all.  To answer your question, little man, I was born with it. It runs in my family, all my brothers have it, but my father tells me that he got his when my mom punched him in the face.”  After savoring the shocked silence that fell over the room, he continued.  “He says it was the best night of his life, and they got married shortly after that night.  But don’t worry, I’m planning a more , conventional relationship with your sister, if she’ll have me.”  Capella blushed in the corner of the room.

At the dinner table, Copia submitted himself to being grilled like a chicken by the family’s endless questions.  To his relief, his half-assed skimming of that godawful book seemed to be carrying him through.  For all intents and purposes, Papa Emeritus IV of the Satanic Ministry of the Morning Star seemed like a wholesome, Christian man, pure as the driven snow and righteous as a saint.

“My daughter tells me you’re a musician.” Papa stated coldly, hands folded in his lap. Across the table, Carson smugly muttered something about “liberal arts degrees” into his mashed potatoes.  “How’s that lifestyle working out for you?”

“It’s not easy, I won’t lie.  A lot of time on the road.  I prefer to be home, in quiet contemplation.  But I feel it’s worth it.  I enjoy what I do, and so does everyone who listens.  I really enjoy that about my job, being able to touch the human soul on a deeper level.”

“And what sort of music are you singing?”  Capella coughed, choking a little.  She downed a cup of water and averted her family’s gaze while Copia tried to find the right words.

“Typical worship music, but to be totally honest, I don’t think my music career is as important as my ministry.”  Capella seemed relieved at that.  She gave him an almost imperceptible look that just screamed keep going, really push the priest angle!  “It’s a family tradition for all Emeritus men.  My father, and his father, and his father before him all led our church. And before me, it was all three of my older brothers.  Some day, I hope that my child will take up the reins.”  Mama looked pleased as punch.

“I know you’re from out of town, but in our community, it’s every mother’s dream for her little girl to grow up and be the faithful wife of a man of the cloth.  I really think Capella has the right aptitude.  She just shines like a little star, and I think I speak for everyone when I say she is just a role model for young girls.”  Copia felt more than a little uncomfortable about his friend being talked about like how a salesman talks about an old used car he’s desperate to get off the lot.  He swallowed a mouthful of under seasoned bland pasta that broke his Italian heart, and tried to formulate a response.

“She has a wonderful shining spirit, I agree.  Not only that, but smart, kind, selfless even.”  He abruptly realized he wasn’t supposed to have had more than about three conversations with the girl, and promptly covered his tracks. “From what little I know of her, of course.” Crisis averted.  “Now, I know I am an…older gentleman, to say the least, but I promise, my intentions with Capella are true.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Mrs. Grace waved away the complaint, as if wanting to know why a 53 year old man would be trying to date her 23 year old daughter was not a reasonable request.  “We were actually thinking a more mature man would suit her very well, provide a sort of paternal support, helping her grow and mature into a good helpmeet. And we of all people would know that age is really just a number when it comes to true love in God’s eyes.”  She set a loving hand on her husband’s shoulder.  “He met me when I was seventeen.”

It took every bit of willpower Copia had not to vomit. Satana mio, I need to get the fuck out of here.  He flicked a glance at Capella. Let’s wrap this up, signora.

“I…I really like him, Papa.  And I’d like to get to know him better.”  Capella spoke up for the first time that evening. “He was very kind to me.”

“With your blessing, signor, I’d like to officially propose a courtship.”  He stood, extending his hand to the patriarch, preparing his best “straight man handshake”.  He sighed, rolled his eyes, and agreed, like he was getting an unpleasant contract over with.

“And I expect you to follow the rules of decency to the letter, am I understood Mr. Emeritus?”  What he wanted to say was you wouldn’t know the first thing about decency, you married a child.   What he actually said was: 

“Yes, sir, I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Text

Capella went to do the dishes after dinner was over.  Copia offered to help her, which made her mother melt over how “gentlemanly” it was.  Once she was able to ensure that they were alone in the kitchen, she exhaled, slumping against the countertop like a marionette with cut strings.

“Oh my God .” She whispered.  “I can’t believe you pulled that off!”  Copia cast a quick glance back at the family in the dining room.

“I’m more impressed at you, signora.”

“For what?”

“For surviving your whole life with these people.  I’ve barely spent two hours with them and your father alone nearly drove me nuts.”

“He…he’s not usually like this.”  She murmured, wiping down a plate.  “He’s just nervous about his first daughter courting.”

“That’s not an excuse for the way he treats you.  And you were right to complain about your brother.  Merda , what a bonehead.” He grit his teeth, taking out his emotions by furiously scrubbing a cup.  “Back to the plan.  How long are you thinking we’ll need to keep this up?” Capella bit her lip, thinking.

“I don’t like, expect you to actually marry me, that’s crazy, I’d never make you go that far.  And you’ve got a life to live, y’know, with the church and the tours.  I just…I just need you to play along until I can find someone halfway decent in this town who’ll actually marry me.”  Her voice betrayed the fact that she knew the chances of that were slim.

“You don’t have to get married.  I hope you know that.”

“But I do.” She stared back at her family, her distant, hazy expression making her look about ten years older.  Copia had the distinct and vivid image of a dove in a birdcage, her wings clipped and her ankle chained to her perch.  “It’s the only way they’ll let me leave.”

“I hope to see you all again very soon.”  Copia stood in the family’s doorway.  “I thank you very much for being willing to accept an odd man like me and his feelings for your daughter.”  He locked eyes with Capella.  “Tomorrow, if you’d like, I’d like to have you for dinner personally, with proper supervision of course.”

“That would be my job.” Carson puffed out his chest, anointing himself the sole defender of his sister’s virtue.  How Copia wanted to dropkick him.  Instead, he nodded in agreement.

“Until then, goodbye Miss Grace.  I look forward to our friendship.”  With a small bow, he lifted her fingers to his mouth, giving her a chaste kiss on the hand, an act that mirrored their first meeting. Her felt the pulse in her wrist electrify beneath his fingers.

Chapter Text

“Theatre Kid” energy was a little quirk of the Emeritus bloodline, and as if flying halfway across the country to fake-date a friend to keep her parents from marrying her off to a complete dolt wasn’t enough, he was determined to prove it by giving her the best fake-courtship a man could, and scare the hell out of those dolts she called her family.

“Hmmm.” He pondered aloud.  “What will I do for our first date?

He decided to take a page out of his fratello’s book, and dress in an outfit similar to what he wore in the “He Is” music video, swapping pink and white for black and red, and making sure that his sleeves were rolled down far enough to cover his tattoos.  He shuddered a little as he shrugged on a Crucifix necklace, but smiled as he remembered that bearing an image of a dying Christ tended to freak out Protestants.  He wanted to unnerve the family just enough for it to be funny.

That predator father of hers had given him a frankly creepy questionnaire, over 400 fucking questions!  He was half-tempted to just hand it over to a Ghoul and let them fill it out for him. But knowing his beloved chaos gremlins, they’d manage to invent new obscenities to write in it. He’d stayed up damn near the whole night just to finish it, bringing back uncomfortable memories of high school homework.  Thoroughly repressing those, he returned to planning his date.  A jackal grin split his handsome features as his plans came together.

Capella wasn’t so sure why, but she felt the need to dress up for her fake-date with Copia.  Some part of her didn’t want him to see her in just any old frumpy dress, she’d look so plain and boring in comparison to the women she imagined he surrounded himself with.  Beautiful, curvy Ghoulettes in skin-tight black pants, and the Sisters of Sin, which, based on his description, she could only imagine as doll-faced girls running around in half-naked versions of nun outfits…her mind was wandering too far.  She needed to focus on picking out a dress.  Somehow, none of hers felt nearly as pretty as they used to.  She resigned herself to letting Cassie treat her like one of her American Girl dolls.  She ended up in a pencil skirt peplum dress, lacy and cream colored, with a matching cardigan.  She and Carson had been coordinating outfits since they were born, and he was wearing a blue polo and a pair of dress slacks that were the same color as her cardigan. He whistled as Copia’s Buick pulled into the family’s driveway.  

“That is a very nice car, sir.”

“I know, it was a 16th birthday gift from my uncle.” Copia stepped out of the car, a bouquet of white peonies under his arms.  “Made high school a lot more bearable.  Anyway, these are for you.”  Capella blushed as they were given to her.  She’d never gotten flowers just for herself, not even for her birthday.

“What do you have planned for today?”

“Hop in and I’ll tell you.” Capella was given the place of honor in the front seat next to Copia, which gave her a little vindictive pleasure at Carson being relegated to the back.  “I had a little idea that I thought you might like.  I’ve been staying at a hotel for the last couple nights, same as I do when I’m touring.  It’s nice enough, but not any good for hosting.  Then I remembered something.  My family’s church has been around a long, long time, and we ended up with a lot of property we don’t really use.  There’s a little house a few miles out from here, apparently I inherited it, I was just so bogged down in paperwork I never found the deed.   I’ve started cleaning it out and setting it up, and I was hoping you two would do me the honor of being the first guests, help break the new place in.”

“Oh, we’d be honored, Copia.” He’s a genius , she thought.  It was the perfect courtship date.  It was casual, easy to supervise, and had a domestic sort of angle, the sort of thing a couple looking to get down the aisle within the year would do.  Completely beyond any realm of parental or community suspicion. 

“Wonderful!” He smiled, baring his teeth.  They were a little uneven, and made his smile look so sweet.  It made her feel warm in a way unfamiliar to her, and she squirmed a little in her seat.  “If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll make dinner tonight, too.”  A scoff came from Carson.

“You cook?”

“Since I was a child.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened a little.  “I’m of the opinion that all men should at least know how.  Being single shouldn’t render you helpless.”  Capella bit back an enormous laugh as Carson went beet red, and shut up for the rest of the drive.

The house wasn’t quite a mansion, but it wasn’t small either, with an ample, if overgrown, lawn.  It was also beautiful, a dark Victorian Gothic Revival.  It almost looked like a black wooden church.  A raven sat on the roof, cawing into the wide blue sky.  Carson shivered.

“It’s, uh, a little bit of a fixer-upper.”

“Oh, I think it’s gorgeous! It just needs a little bit of love.”

The inside of the house was even more unique than the outside. The people of Capella’s community would most likely substitute the word “unique” for “demented”.  Taxidermied animals and mounted heads on plaques stared at her with blank, glassy eyes.  Wet specimens sat in formaldehyde jars on dust-caked bookshelves, pinned insects and cattle skulls hung on the walls next to woodblock prints and paintings of odd and unnerving figures, particularly falling angels. 

“This house belonged to my great-grandfather, Pseudopropheta Emeritus. I never knew him, but I’m told he was very eccentric.”

“I can see that.”  Carson looked about ten seconds from pissing himself.  “Anyway, I was told there’d be food?”

“Before I get started on dinner, would you two like to meet my ladies?”

“Ladies?”

“My rats.  I missed them after touring, so I decided to bring them with me.  They’re very friendly and love new people.”  

“We would love to.”  Carson definitely did not want to, but she answered for them both anyway.  Copia guided them to a little room upstairs, containing a giant metal cage.  Soft rustling and gentle squeaks emanated from it as its occupants woke up.  Carson immediately retreated to the furthest corner of the room from the cage.

“Don’t they have diseases or something?”

“Not anymore than a cat or a dog. Here, hold out your hand.  This is Sarah Connor, she’ll climb onto you when she's ready.”  He opened the cage door, allowing a pudgy white rat to stick her wriggling pink nose out.  She gave Capella’s fingers a brief sniff, and fearlessly climbed into her palm.  

“Oh, you really are a friendly little thing aren’t you! And so cute!” Within minutes, she was cooing at and and cuddling her like a baby.

“If you give her a treat she’ll love you forever.”

Not long later, Capella was sitting on the couch downstairs,  doting on the rat trio and spoiling them with little yogurt melts.  Copia, meanwhile, was emptying out one of the boxes he’d found in the house’s attic.

“Just to warn you both, there might be some creepy sh..creepy stuff in this box.” Nice save , Capella thought. “Yesterday I found a mummified two-headed calf up there.”  Carson barely suppressed a whimper.  Copia smiled as he pulled out an ancient-looking vinyl record, the sort of thing played on a wind-up gramophone, like the one sitting on the coffee table.  “It seems music has always been in my family.  Dear old gramps had good taste.  I’ll put this on and get started on dinner.”

The voice of a woman titled Sister Rosetta Thorpe crooned elegantly from the gramophone’s brassy mouth.  It was worship music, clearly, but like nothing she’d ever heard in church. It made her want to tap her feet and gently sway side to side instead of bowing her head.  Meanwhile, Copia tied on an apron and got to work on making something he called Carbonara sauce, to go with rigatoni pasta, which was in his humble and very dedicated opinion, the superior pasta shape.  “Better sauce distribution, and it just feels nice in my mouth.”  Capella offered to help, but Copia insisted on cooking alone.

“My Auntie taught me to never let guests do their own cooking, it’s a sign of a bad host.  Let me spoil you tonight, Capella.”  The way he said that made her go lightheaded and weak in the knees, so she nodded and sat back down, content to just watch and keep him company.

“That bacon smells really good.” Copia chuckled.

“Don’t ever let an Italian, especially not a Roman, hear you say that, we are the most insufferable pedants in the world about food. This is guanciale.”

“What’s the difference?”  He then proceeded to explain in incredible detail the varieties of Italian cured meat.  Capella felt she could listen to him talk about almost anything forever.

Once dinner was done, it was delicious.  All other pasta was ruined for her now. It was so good that Carson, a man who didn’t even make his own sandwiches or pour his own cereal, was shyly asking Copia for the recipe.

By the time they were leaving the house, after Capella had kissed all the rats goodbye on their sweet little heads, Carson had fallen asleep in the backseat like a 5 year old after daycare.  Copia and Capella took advantage of the moment of privacy to speak freely.

“How am I doing?  Am I convincing enough?”

“You’re perfect, he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Good.  I hope I was able to show you a good time tonight.”

“I did, you’re an amazing host.”

“I hope one day, your real first date is just as good, even better.”  Capella went silent, pursing her lips.  

When the girls in her homeschool group started courting, it was considered the height of male chivalry to take a woman to Olive Garden.

Chapter Text

Makeup was more or less explicitly banned from the Grace household, the sole exception being a thin coat of pink lipgloss for special occasions, but other than that, it was a strict “natural beauty” rule for the women, save for two exceptions.

It had been made very clear to the Grace girls from a young age that “natural beauty” was not meant to be understood as “going au naturale”.  Though no one ever saw them, Capella had been shaving her legs since puberty, to “prepare her for her future husband’s desires”.  It was especially important for her, as the hair on her legs grew in like wild prairie grass.

The other exception was the hair on the Grace women’s heads.   Mrs. Grace was one of the few people in the town (“few” as in a single digit number) who was of African American descent, and her daughters inherited from her thick, tightly curled hair. But no one would ever know that just by looking at them.  It had been straightened twice a week since the age of two.

Capella was in the process of that now, the sizzling of her flat iron against her hair akin to frying bacon.  

“Honey, he’s downstairs waiting for you!”    Her mother’s voice came calling up the stairs.

“Be right down!”  Capella said, putting the finishing touches on their hair.  Fully straightened, it was a black curtain, long enough to reach nearly to her waist.   If it were a more special occasion, she might take out her curling iron and curl it up again, into big, loose, ringlets,  but she didn’t have the time today.  All she had time for now was her typical pigtails.  Satisfied with it, she made her way downstairs, to see Chloe sitting happily in Copia’s lap.

“She doesn’t usually let strangers hold her.”  But from how content she seemed, you would think Copia had known her all her life.

“I’ve been told I’m good with children.  I’ve been asked to hold more babies than I can count.”  Chloe cooed, a pudgy little hand firmly gripped onto his shirt collar.   

“Have you ever thought about having any of your own?” Mama asked.  There was a mutual, unspoken understanding between Capella and Copia that this was a “courtship question”, and he needed to be careful of how he answered. For him, the “right” answer seemed to come naturally.

“I’ve always wanted to, deep down, but I’ve always been afraid I wouldn’t be a good father, and I’ve been too shy to really find that special someone to have them with.  But now that I’m older and more confident, I think with the right woman, I would be ready.”  The way he looked at Capella directly when he said ‘the right woman” made her need to take a breath and sit down.  Mama smiled, he seemed to have passed one of her tests, but Capella could tell by the look on her face that many more were brewing in her mind.

“I’ve been wanting an opportunity to get to know you better personally.  You’re so mysterious.  I know young ladies like Capella can be drawn to that sort of thing, but we need to be more sure about the man she could be spending the rest of her life with.”  Copia suppressed a deep urge to roll his eyes. She acts like we’re already engaged.

“I’m an open book, signora, ask me anything.”  He braced himself for a volley of no doubt pre-prepared and somewhat invasive questions.

“What’s your relationship with your family like, particularly with your parents?”

“My father passed a year or so ago.  I was never very close with him, and he seemed to disapprove of everything I did.  But I am close with my mother, she cares for me dearly, keeps my head on my shoulders.”

“Any siblings?”

“Three older brothers.  We have separate mothers actually, my father wasn’t a very faithful man.”  Mama blushed, hand over her mouth.

“Oh, your poor mother, she must have been so embarrassed!”

“Less embarrassed, and more furious.  It took her years to get over the hurt.  I suppose that’s why I was raised more primarily by my aunt and uncle, she must have wanted me to grow up in a more stable home.  But, I think eventually, she forgave him.  Even towards the end of his life, they cared very deeply about each other.”  Mama smiled tenderly.

“We’ve always held the value that a wife should be loving and forgiving.”  Copia cleared his throat, changing the subject.

“Anyway, my brothers.  We weren’t raised together, but we have become close in our own way.  It took them a bit to warm up to me, this young upstart guy taking their old job, but I think we’re all on good terms now.  They are my biggest models for the priesthood, and are all musical geniuses.  I’ve been trying to live up to my third brother my whole career.”

“You say that you work in ministry, right?  Family business?”

“Yes, going back generations.”

“As a man of God, what is your personal approach to it? How do you bring the good word into people’s lives?”

“We’ve always tried to focus primarily on a message of acceptance and love.  I want to make people feel loved, to bring people that are hurting this feeling that they are worthy of kindness.”

“What about, y’know, when people misbehave?  When they aren’t doing their rightful duty?”

“I’m not someone who likes to condemn anyone or tell people off.  I am the type who prefers to lead by example, teach people, and let them make their decisions for themselves.”

“And what about modesty, Mr. Emeritus?  Do you expect the women and girls of your church to dress properly?”

“I’m not really in the business of telling people what to wear either.  I find that it’s less about what a woman wears, and more about how we as men respond to it.”  Capella saw a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “I expect all the men in my congregation to be able to control themselves around any woman no matter how she’s dressed, they’re not animals, and even a dog can avoid a raw steak if you train them right.    Like the scripture tells us, ‘If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and cast it from you. It is better for you to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes, to be cast into hell fire.’ ” Mama went starkly pale, and Capella did too. “I mean that only metaphorically of course, ladies, as did our saviour.  He is fond of hyperbole, I’ve noticed, a poet in a way.  What he’s telling us is to be responsible for our own actions instead of blaming others.”

“I…I never thought about it that way.” Mama mused.  “What a fascinating perspective.”  The thought had genuinely never occurred to her.  For women in their community, few thoughts ever do.

Chapter Text

Copia noticed that something was off about Capella from the moment he picked her and Carson up that morning.  There was a certain hazy, distant look in her eyes, as if she couldn’t really focus on what anyone said.  He didn’t want to pry, and assumed that if she were struggling she would speak up about it.

When she saw her later, sitting on the edge of his couch, curled into herself and miserably resting her head in her hands, he cursed himself for that.  He should have known her well enough by now to know that it takes a force akin to an apocalyptic natural disaster to get Capella Grace to speak up about anything.

“Signora, are you alright?”

“Hmm?”  She mumbled, her glassy eyes struggling to focus on his face.  “Oh, sorry, I’m okay.”

“You don’t look so good.  Do you want to go home?”

“No, no!” She weakly shook her head.  “It’s no big deal, just a headache.  I get them all the time.”

“It certainly looks painful.  Here, let me turn a few lights off in here.”  He’d recently gotten the electricity in the place redone, and he cursed himself for making the mistake of not choosing warmer lighting. He muttered a swear, Italian to spare Christian ears, under his breath as he switched the overhead lights off.

“Better?”

“A little.” Capella looked a tiny bit less miserable.  “But it’s really not a big deal.”

“Yeah, she pretty much gets like this every week.  Sometimes she’d try to stay home from school, but Mom always made us go.”  Carson said, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone from his place on the couch, as if that were the most normal statement in the world.  Copia had to bite his tongue.  Some days, it felt like the only thing keeping him from strangling him was that it would make his poor, softhearted sister very sad.

“Can I do anything to help you?”

“There isn’t really much you can do, I’m sorry.  They last a while, and I just have to wait them out.”

“Do you have any medicine allergies?  I’ll get you some painkillers.”

“Oh, Copia, that’s so sweet of you.  But it’s not like an emergency or anything.  If I really needed that, I’d be in the hospital.”

“Nonsense, my dear.  Ibuprofen and I are good friends.  Literally one of the few things keeping me going until I could get diagnosed and get the good stuff you need prescriptions for.”  As if to make a point, he braced a hand against his lower back as he reached into his medicine cabinet. “They teach doctors to ‘hear hoofsteps, think horses not zebras’, and never diagnose anything really serious unless you’re practically at death’s door, and even then they never do it half the time.  People like me are the zebras.”    He tumbled a couple blue liquid gel pills into his palm. “Don’t be ashamed of accepting help when you need it.”  He brought her the pills, and a glass of iced water.

“I just don’t wanna be…I don’t know…lazy?  I’ve been handling them fine for years without anything.”

“With all due respect, my dear, you look like you’re in agony, that’s not really ‘handling them fine’.   And there’s no shame in not pushing yourself past your limits, I had to learn that the hard way.  Once I dislocated my knee onstage.” Capella’s jaw dropped.

“And you kept going!?”

“And my poor body paid the price for it.  Thank god it was the last song of the night.  I had to limp backstage, and couldn’t even stand on that leg for a week.  The point is, don’t punish your body when it tells you something is wrong.  Rest, take medicine, whatever you need.”

“I won’t get addicted or anything, right?”

“My dear, it’s Advil.  If you have safety concerns, read the bottle, but it’s not heroin.”  She squinted at the text on the bottle, and after a moment’s hesitation, took the pills.  “It might take it a while to kick in, and if you don't wanna go home yet, you can rest upstairs.”

She was in too much pain to refuse.  He guided her upstairs, a gentle hand on her arm, and after ensuring she was comfortable, under the blanket in the master bedroom with the lights off and water on the nightstand, he came back downstairs.  Carson watched him in wonder. 

“Wow, you’re really nice to her.”

“She needed help, and she’s my friend.  And if I intend to marry her, I want her to expect that kindness from me.  Is your father like that to your mother?”  Copia already knew the answer to that question.  Carson clearly knew it too, from the way he uncomfortably fidgeted.

“No, not really. She doesn’t really ask for much help.  I guess she doesn’t really need it much.”

           “I’ve been in ministry for about half my life.  One of the most important things I’ve learned about people is that just because a person doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t mean they don’t need it.  They usually don’t ask because they feel like they can’t.”

“But, Mom can ask for help whenever.”

“Can she really?  Look at Capella.”  He flicked his eyes towards the stairs.  “Your sister has been suffering for years and never spoke up about it out of fear of looking ‘lazy’. Your mother or even your other sister, Cassie, might feel the same when they’re struggling.”

“But, how would anyone know they need help if they never say anything?”  Sa tana qui sotto, this boy is an idiot.  Let me put some sense in his head before he drives his future wife to insanity and the poor thing puts cyanide in his coffee.   

“You offer.  Sometimes all a person needs is the acknowledgement that they’re struggling to realize they need it.  Offer a few times, if need be.  And sometimes, it’s good to do something without being asked.  Your mother never has to be asked to keep dinner on the table and the house clean, does she?  Or your sisters to keep the little ones happy, bees tended, and the goats milked?”

Carson bit his lip, blushing a little, and nodded.  Meno male, the lad’s not hopeless.  I may have just saved his life.

Chapter Text

Once her head stopped hurting long enough for her thoughts to clear a bit, it became very obvious to Capella that she was in Copia’s bedroom. Curiosity overcame anxiety, and she sat up in bed and looked around. From the piles of boxes, it was clear he didn’t live at this house, but somehow left his mark on everything in the room.

On the vanity was an open and regularly used black and white makeup palette, and few matching stains on the mirror, as if he’d been clumsy while applying his paint. On the dresser was a black Nintendo DS, like the one Carson had been given for the twins’ 13th birthday. Capella had gotten a doll. Next to that was a half empty bag of rat treats (Had he been eating them himself?) and a bottle of cologne.

Was that what that smell was?

Copia had a very distinct smell, she’d been able to detect that from the moment she met him. Musky, but not overpowering and artificial. It was cologne, and something underneath it, something animal, something human. The scent was concentrated particularly in the bedsheets, making Capella realize that startlingly, she’d slept off her headache in his bed, as in, he’d been sleeping here. Some invisible boundary of intimacy had been crossed. They’d, however indirectly, slept in the same bed. Her heart pounded, quickening even further as someone knocked on the door.

“Signora, are you feeling any better?”

“I am.” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted it to. “My head doesn’t hurt anymore.

“That’s very good, I’m glad. Can I come in? I brought dinner.” Her nose wrinkled pleasantly at the smell.

“Go ahead.” Copia came in, holding a bowl of something golden yellow. “I thought you might feel better with some food in you.”
“What is it?”

“It’s nothing special, my dear, just mămăligă, cornmeal porridge. But I added eggs, cheese, sausage, and a metric shit ton of butter.” The corners of Capella’s lips turned up. Swearing sounded very natural when Copia did it, wholesome in a strange way.

“Thank you, it smells amazing.” He settled the bowl in her lap and handed her a spoon. It tasted as good as it smelled. “Oh, that’s really good.”

“There’ll be dessert too, I’ve got cheesecake in the oven.”

“I swear, you are gonna make your real wife very happy someday.” Capella spoke around a mouthful of sausage and cheesy cornmeal.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever get married.” Copia sat on the bed next to her, leaning back on his hands. Capella felt her heart fall a little.

“Why not?”

“I’m getting old, signora, no sugarcoating it. If the right person was really out there for me, we would have found each other by now. And I’ve had my heart broken too many times. Call me a coward, but I'm afraid of getting hurt again.”

The dim yellow light of the hallway trickled into the room through the door, casting his face in a strange combination of light and shadows. His expression, the way his black ringed eyes drooped, his full lips pouted, looked so vulnerable in this lighting. He looked younger, almost like the soft, fragile teenager he must’ve been once. It was painfully easy for Capella to imagine him as exactly that, the shy sort, with weaknesses that ran like blood in the water for the bloodthirsty sharks of the world. She knew, because she was the exact sort of teenager not long ago, and deep down, she still was.

“You’re not a coward.” She scooted closer to him, hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be brave enough to travel hundreds of miles and pretend to be someone I’m not, just to help out someone I barely know.” He chuckled, and the weight on her heart lifted as mirth came back to him.

“Maybe not, but I would never be brave enough to dream up a scheme like that in the first place.”

Chapter Text

Capella sat on the kitchen counter,  knees pulled to her chest, twirling her fingers around the telephone cord.  She almost looked like a lovesick schoolgirl. 

“What else did you find in the basement?”

“I think Great Grandpa Pseudopropheta may have had a hoarding issue.” Copia responded.  “You would not believe the shit I’ve seen down there.  I’m pretty sure I found a fully intact human skull, plated in gold with rubies stuck in its eye sockets last night.”

“Wait, whose skull!?”

“That may be one of my distant great aunts.  She was a Dark Saint, St. Acedia the Slothful.  In the 1890s, she convinced an entire factory town to go on a complete general strike, and when the sheriff convicted her, she had to be physically dragged out of bed to the gallows.  She was still in her pajamas and wrapped in her duvet.  And they say she fell asleep when they put the rope around her neck.”

“Oh my God, and her skull is just down there!?”

“It’s a relic, the Ministry’s been looking for this for years.   Her sister, Tristitia, had her  whole skeleton gilded and bejeweled. There’s been basically a treasure hunt for the pieces for a century, right now, aside from the skull, we’ve two femurs, half a rib, and a hyoid.  But you wanna know something not creepy I found in there?”

“What?”

“A pottery wheel. And a kiln.  They’re both ancient, but once I cleaned all the crust off, they worked.”

“Do you like pottery?”

“I do.  I, uh, took a class in 9th grade.  Got bullied to hell for it though.”

“Why’d you get bullied for liking pottery?”

“Eh, you’d get bullied for anything in the 80’s.  And bullies don’t really need a reason, they’ll prey on any weakness they can, and I had plenty.  I was the nerdy kid with bad joints, weird eyes, and a weirder accent. Plus, I was 100 pounds soaking wet, I couldn’t do anything to stop them.”

“I get it.  I was one of, like, seven non-blondes in my homeschool group, two kids  with glasses, and the only one with skin more than two shades darker than computer paper.   I got bullied for wearing sneakers instead of ballet flats, and for giving Adam and Eve black hair in my coloring books.  When I got older, I got bullied, in a more quiet, sneaky kinda way, when all the girls my age started courting and getting married.   The quiet bullying was worse than when they were pulling my hair and calling me names.”

“Oh, I get that, I get it hard .  Anyway, back to pottery.  I uh, had an idea, signora.  I may have impulse bought way more porcelain than I know what to do with.  Do you want to come over and let me teach you how to throw a vase?”

“Like, for a fake-date?”

“Yeah, for a fake-date.  I think it would be convincing.”  Capella gave a soft, sigh of a laugh.

“No guy around here’s ever asked a girl to do pottery with him before, but I think it’s great.  I’d like that.”

That was how Cappella found herself in Copia’s backyard the next day, having to bite down very hard on her bottom lip to distract herself from the bizarrely enticing image of her friend literally elbow deep in clay.

She’d always known Copia was attractive.  But it felt like an innate piece of information, as normal as the sky being blue.  He was a handsome guy, no big deal. It had never felt like something she had to contend with.  But for some reason, this was a very good look for him.  

Slightly mussed hair, silver roots shimmering in the morning sun, dangled in front of focused contrasted eyes, his expression somewhere between deep concentration and tranquil peace.  His shirtsleeves were rolled up, baring well-built forearms, spattered with wet clay, underneath which she could see the barest glint of a tattoo.  It made her want to learn to draw, just so she could capture this image forever.

“And voila!” He smiled, beaming down at his creation, a shapely, long necked flower vase.  “I may be rusty, but I’ve still got it!  Do you want to try now?”  

Capella nodded once she’d regained her wits.

“You might want to take off your ring first.” Capella looked down at her hand.  She’d been wearing it for so long she’d forgotten about it, even wearing it in her sleep.  Her father had given it to her on her 12th birthday.  She slipped it off her finger.  There was an inscription on the inside, “True Love Waits”.  Setting it down on a nearby tree stump, she sat down on the stool in front of the wheel.

“Where do I start?”

“First, you'll have to center the clay.  Here, let me show you.”  Her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach as she felt the heat of his body press against her from behind.  Her breath hitched to the point where she felt starved for oxygen, as his wet hands slipped over hers.  “It’s a bit difficult to get the clay to behave at first.”  His breath was warm against her shoulder, but she didn’t shudder.  It took every microfiber of will in her to stay focused on the clay she was supposed to be moulding.  Silently, she thanked God that Carson had been bored enough at the idea of pottery to choose to remain inside, because this was far closer than two people who were courting should be together.   Capella’s eyes widened as she realized that this  was far closer than people who were fake-dating should be together, too.  There was no audience to be putting an act on for here.  Had he gotten this close on purpose?   Was he trying to-?

No, don’t think like that, she chided herself strongly.  This was a platonic moment, a friend trying to teach her a skill.   If Copia were to attempt to real-date someone, in the touchy feely sort of way that people who date, not court do, it would never in a million years be her .  Copia was wealthy and handsome.  He could have his pick of almost any girl, or even any boy , in the world.  When he had an ocean of people falling into his lap, why would he pick the girl who couldn’t even find a husband in a town where people are already down the aisle before they can legally buy cigarettes?

“There, you’re a natural.” His voice practically purred in her ear.  Somehow, with all the blood rushing from her head, she’d managed to get the lump of grey porcelain into something resembling a pot.

“Th-thank you.”  She stuttered out. 

“Now, we let it dry overnight, and tomorrow, we’ll trim it.”

Chapter Text

Capella sat on the edge of her bed, biting her lip.  She had an idea in mind, and she wasn’t sure if she had the courage to carry it out. She wanted to test something.  Try as she might, she couldn’t get how close Copia had been to her yesterday out of her head.  Had it really been as platonic as she thought? She had no idea what his intentions had been, and a crazy idea, not as crazy as her original fake-dating proposal but a close second, popped into her head. 

Sitting on the bed next to her were the two most scandalous pieces of clothing she owned.  One was a skirt, one of her typical denims, but one she’d outgrown years ago.  It was not only short enough to bare her ankles and a not insignificant amount of shin, but tight enough on her that the shape of her upper legs was visible through the fabric.  On the other was a bright pink sweater, similarly tight, enough to present the vague image of her bust, with a low enough cut that the smallest bit of her clavicle was visible.  She wasn’t doing anything crazy, like having her knees out, but it still felt like she was about to walk out of the house in her underwear.  She told herself it would just be a one-time thing, a test to see if Copia really had some “real” thoughts for her or not.  If he could get just a glimpse of her body, she could gauge how he reacted, was he attracted to her or not?  The idea of a guy, this guy of all guys, looking at her body and feeling lust gave a tumultuous mix of shame and thrill.  She told herself that trying to look “sexy” for Copia wouldn’t be causing him to stumble.  Knowing his lifestyle, he’d probably already metaphorically tripped, stumbled, and rolled all the way down the hill.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw a girl that the old ladies in the town could call a “jezebel” or a “temptress”.  But it wasn’t enough.  She took down her pigtails, and brushed her hair into a silken curtain down her back.

As she walked down the driveway to Copia’s car, she attempted some kind of “sexy model walk”, though she was sure she probably just came off like a drunk baby giraffe.  For a moment, she envied the real temptresses, the women who had men dying at their feet.  Seduction seemed to come so naturally to them.

“I tried something new today.”  Capella said, brushing her hair away from her shoulders coquettishly, or, her best attempt at coquettishly.  “What do you think?”  She studied the way his gaze fell on her.  He smiled, and it looked genuine.

“You look great.  Now hop in, we’re meeting Carson at the art store and I want your help picking some glaze colors.”

After boring Carson halfway to death trying to help him differentiate between about a hundred shades of blue glaze, back at the house, they graciously allowed him a reprieve from crafty activities by putting on a football game for him in the living room to distract him like a toddler with cartoons, giving the pair an opportunity to privately trim their respective clay creations outside.

Either Copia was too mysterious a man, or Capella was just awful at reading people, which was more likely, but either way, she was having a world of trouble trying to tell if he was attracted to her or not.  The men of her town weren’t supposed to be attracted to any particular woman, really, just marry and make babies with them, or at the very least not show their attraction.  They were assumed to be attracted behind closed doors, where else would all those babies be coming from, but nothing beyond holding hands or a chaste kiss on the cheek in public.  Male lust was a boogeyman, an unseen, unspoken monster that women in their town lived in terror of awakening, and yet remained in the complete slaves to it.  Capella wasn’t sure what would be considered a worse fate a for a girl in the town, to be completely shunned by male desire like she was and end up an old spinster, or to become sullied by it, with premarital sex, or worse, a baby out of wedlock, and become a “fallen woman”.  Copia’s lust was a bear she was unsure of how to poke.  Still, she made an attempt.

    “I have a kinda weird question.”  She said, dipping her paintbrush into a pot of black glaze.  She was trying to paint a baby goat, but it was starting to look more like a misshapen kangaroo.  “I don’t know, like, any guys besides my family, the exception being you, I wasn’t even allowed to play with boys as a kid.” Copia made an annoyed little noise.

“And yet they expected you to have a husband by your eighteenth birthday.  Anyway, ask away.”

“I was just kind of curious.”  She avoided eye contact, looking into the bottom of her pot like it was the most interesting thing in the world.  “What do you, as a guy, like about girls?  What makes a girl attractive to you?” Copia blushed, his ears turning a sweet shade of pastel pink.  

“Do you mean, like, personality, or… physically?”

“Either, I guess.”

“Well, uh, personality, let’s see…” He painted a few lines of white onto his vase, whiskers for the image of a rat.  “Sense of humor. I like people who aren’t afraid to laugh.  I don’t think I could ever call myself a very serious man, even when I try to be.  So I’d like someone I can laugh with.”

“Okay.”  Capella mentally took stock of all the times Copia made her laugh.  Her heart fluttered a little when she realized they were too numerous to count. “What about physically?”

“Uhhh…” He blushed even deeper.  “Let me not be vulgar about this.”  Capella had to restrain herself from asking him to be as vulgar as he wanted.  “I like…legs.”

“Legs?”

“Yes.  Call me old fashioned, but I have a little bit of a thing for long legs.”  A jolt ran down her spine. Capella was an outlier among her town’s girls in many ways, one of which was her height.  Centuries of a small gene pool that selected for petite ladies had resulted in an average female stature of 5”4, which Capella had cleared by puberty.  This resulted in a pair of legs that she’d been told made her look like a stick bug, but for the first time in her life, she was proud of them.  Despite the heat building under her collar, she wanted to keep going, this was exciting.

“What about hair?  Do you have a color preference?”

“Not a preference, I’d say, but I am a bit biased towards one hair type in particular.”

“And what type is that?”

“Dark, curly hair.” Capella had to grip her brush so tight she felt it almost snap in her hand to stay calm.  “And I can point to one experience that shaped that bias.”  Copia leaned back in his chair with a wistful, dreamy sigh. “Big, curly perms were all the rage when I was a kid.  We went through so much hairspray they had to change what was in it because we ripped a hole in the damn ozone layer.  But there was one woman, my first real crush, that made it all make sense to me.  You ever heard of Signourney Weaver?”  Capella shook her head.  “Thought so, she was before your time, and your family doesn’t really do movies.  Anyway, she was a star when I was young, and I went to see her breakout role when I was 9.  It was Alien, my first horror movie, and I was way too young to be watching that shit. I had nightmares for months.  But the one thing that made it all worth it was seeing Sigourney Weaver as Ripley.  Ever since then I’ve had a thing for curls, and I rewatch the Alien trilogy at least once a year.”

“Wow.” Knowing that she was potentially included among the women that fit Copia’s “type”, Capella had to find some way to calm down, she needed to change to subject.  “I never understood why people like horror movies.  Aren’t they super scary?”

“I used to feel the same, signora, until I realized that’s the point.  Some people, including me, like to be scared.  It’s exciting, you know, get’s the blood pumping.”  Capella’s blood was pumping hard enough to make her light headed. If horror movies made people feel like this, all dizzy and nauseous, and at the same time, want to flap your hands around and smile so hard it hurt, she could definitely get the appeal.

“What’s your favorite scary movie, besides Alien?”

“Oh, signora, you have no idea how hard of a question that is.  I was growing up in the time when all the very best ones were made. A lot of shitty ones, too, but sometimes the shitty ones had an appeal all of their own. Let’s see, The Evil Dead is a classic, The Thing is a technical masterpiece, and Little Shop of Horrors had good music and gave me my first boy crush on Rick Moranis…”  While he waxed poetic on the artistic merits of each film, Capella stood up to go put her pot in the kiln. She neglected to realize that all the hot-blooded hormonal conversation today had given her a case of jelly legs, and she tripped over a stray rock on the ground.  As soon as she became aware of the sense of falling, she stopped, and became aware of a pair of strong, warm hands, holding her by the waist.  Copia pulled her back upright before letting go.

“Sorry about that, I didn't want you to fall.”

“It’s okay.”  She mumbled to the ground, all the words blurring together. Her cheeks felt like they were burning.  Before he let go of her, she could have sworn his hands lingered onto her for just a fraction of a moment longer than strictly necessary, almost as if he had wanted to touch her.

Chapter Text

It’s such a strange thought , Capella mused silently to herself, head pressed against her pillow.  Being desired.   She wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tightly.  She’d been taught that all men had the potential to desire all women, and it was her duty as a woman to keep the desire of her husband, and only him, trained on her.  Desire in her mind was a raging torrent, an inherent animal evil, that had to be funnelled and contained by strict guidelines into its proper purpose, marriage and producing children.  But that wasn’t the way Copia talked about it.

Whenever they had enough privacy, with Carson being given a convenient distraction somewhere, for their conversation to turn towards romantic topics, such his past love life or his family’s history of misadventures, he never made desire sound scary at all.  It wasn’t something he seemed ashamed of or tried to control, he simply liked a woman, or occasionally a man, and that was that.  The impression he got from him was that there was nothing to control.  His desire was a tame puppy, not a chained bear.  He made it all seem so normal, natural, like eating, breathing, or drinking.  Was that how it felt for him? How did it feel, to be able to like whoever he wanted, do whatever he wanted with them?  What did he want to do with her?

Did he want to know her in the carnal way?  The way she’d been taught it, no man could know a woman as a friend, unless she were ugly or old, and not eventually want her in the physical sense, and Capella would always be at risk of tempting her male friends to sin, which is why she never made any, not until Copia.   But Copia seemed to have female friends, occasionally he would mention a close Ghoul of his and refer to her as a girl, and he didn’t seem to have any relationship with them beyond simple friendship.  If he thought they were pretty and desired them, he was keeping it entirely to himself.  But, was he treating Capella any differently than he treated them?

The memory of his hands still lingered on her waist.  His hands were big , his fingers large enough to dip down to her hips.  Her body seemed to burn at the thought, her skin on fire beneath her pajamas.  He seemed to almost squeeze her, the pressure he put on her flesh just the tiniest bit more than what was necessary to keep her from falling.  Was that how men touched with desire?  Would he touch her more if he got the chance?  Did she want him to?  There was only one way to find out.

Capella wasn’t taking any chances this time.  When Copia came to pick her up the next morning, she was wearing the result of ransacking her closet for an outfit even more scandalous than before.  Her hair had been thoroughly treated with a curling iron, she had on her best church heels, sheerest tights, and a pale red dress, red seemed a very outrageous color, with a flowing skirt that ended just above her ankles, and a sparkly faux leather belt sewn in that make the shape of her waist visible.  The dress had no sleeves, and though she had on a white cardigan, it still felt completely obscene in the most freeing possible way.  She’d even braved a touch of lip gloss.

Copia had asked her where she wanted to go that day.  Her mind went blank. She wasn’t used to her opinion being considered.  Eventually, she settled on the aquarium.  She’d never been, but always wanted to since she was a little girl.  Her parents could never afford the cost of bringing a family of four, five, and eventually seven people. But as soon as she made the suggestion, Copia was giddy.  He seemed to love aquariums, and love the ocean in general.  He was raised in California, and his favorite aquarium was a tie between the Aquarium of the Pacific and Monterey Bay.  He was eager to see what the Dallas World Aquarium had to offer.  

It was even better than Capella imagined.  She’d never imagined so many beautiful things could live in the ocean.  She and Copia stood beneath a dreamlike tunnel of glass, watching sharks drift past each other elegantly.

“I used to be so scared of them.”  She mused aloud, watching a sawfish sail above her head like some sort of strange bird. “But they’re really pretty.”

“They’re harmless, most sharks, so long as you give them space.   Even great whites rarely bite.  Did you know you can’t keep a great white in captivity?”

“You can’t?”

“Technically, you can, and people have tried, but you really shouldn’t.  They can’t survive it.  They starve themselves, ram into walls, and either go mad or slowly die.”  He looked at her, and then at her reflection in the glass wall.  It gave off the illusion that she was the one behind it.  “They’re open water fish, signora, they weren't made for this kind of life.”

“You’re so smart, you could’ve been a great tour guide.”

“I was, once, when I was still just Cardinal Copia.”

“You were?”

“Mhmm, for the Ministry.”  Just as she was about to ask him more, she heard a childlike whine from behind her.  Her teeth grit.  She’d almost forgotten about Carson. 

Her twin had been against the aquarium idea from the moment she suggested the trip.  He’d been an emotional drag the whole time, finding something to complain about the entire time. The tanks were too dark, the jellyfish were too boring, the flamingos were too pink, and Capella’s patience had been completely tried.  Her hand twitched, almost clenching into a fist.

“Copia, could you give me a minute?  I need to talk to my brother.”  He blinked slowly, seemingly understanding, and nodded. 

“Carson?”  She tried to keep her voice sweet, but it was difficult, and anger was slipping audibly through the cracks.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, just make it quick, I don’t wanna be here any longer than I have to be.”  She inhaled deeply, shaking a little.

“When was the last time you did something that I wanted to do?  Besides today?”  He pouted, hands on his hips.

“I’ve been letting you drag me around with your boyfriend or whatever for weeks.”

“You haven't been dragged anywhere, you chose to be my chaperone. Mom or dad or even Cassie could do it, you volunteered remember?”

“Where’s all this coming from?  You’re being such a jerk right now.”

“Oh, I’m being a jerk? Because I don’t let you treat me however you want?”  She wasn’t sure if being dressed up, being borderline enraged, or being surrounded by predatory giant fish was giving her this confidence, but she wasn’t about to let it go while she had it.  Carson had been a pain for far too long.   She stood up straight, looking him in the eye.  With her heels on, they were the same height, and Carson couldn’t look down his nose at her anymore.  Visibly, it made him uneasy.  “Listen, you’re Mom and Dad’s favorite.  That’s fine, whatever.  Dad named you after him, you’re the oldest boy.  You get to do almost whatever you want, stuff I’ll never get to, and I’m okay with that.  You get to leave town, go to college, run for senator one day, and you know what I get?  A husband and babies, and that’s it.  I don’t get a degree, a career, or anything. This?”  She gestured to the aquarium around them.  “Is literally all I’ve ever asked for.   Just a tiny bit of time doing things that I like with someone who likes me.  Would it be impossible for you to just let me have this without throwing a tantrum about it like a big spoiled baby!?”  Carson looked like he wanted the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.  He looked around from side to side, seeing the few weekday aquarium visitors around them starting to cast furtive glances in their direction.

“Sis, I get it, but you're kinda making a scene here-”

“No, I don’t think you do get it!” She raised her voice a fraction of a decibel, an odd sense of twisting satisfaction rising inside her as she saw more people turn their heads.  Was it so wrong for her to want him to be embarrassed, after what he’d been putting her through?  “Our family’s given you everything!  You’re the smart twin, the prodigy, the center of the whole universe!  And I’ve been washing your dirty underwear since we were six!   I don’t like baseball, but I showed up for every game you played since tee ball!  I don’t like plain vanilla, but that’s been our birthday cake flavor our whole lives because you do!  I shared a room with you until we were thirteen, and I was the only one who ever cleaned it!   Would it be too much to ask for me to have a little bit of time just for me?”

Carson went silent.  She couldn’t tell if he couldn’t find the words to respond, or if he was just too ashamed to.  Either way, he simply didn’t meet her gaze or speak. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go and leave you to it, I guess.”  Hands in his pockets, he walked back down the tunnel and left.  As he slowly disappeared from sight, Capella’s anger cooled, and was quickly replaced by remorse.

“Wait, Carson, I’m sorry-”  Just as she moved to chase him back down, a warm, gentle hand gripped her wrist. Her heart jumped into her mouth.

“Don’t bother signora.”  Copia assured her.  “It feels harsh, I know, but he had it coming.  I’ve been watching how he treats you.  A little scolding won’t kill him.”  Wordlessly, he slipped his fingers between hers, holding her hand.  All thoughts of her twin promptly departed her mind.  “Now that we’re alone, how about we enjoy our privacy?  I doubt we’ll get many more chances.”  In that moment, Capella realized two very important things.

The first was that, in some way, somehow, whether physically, romantically, or both, Copia desired her, at least a little bit.   The second, more damning, more amazing thing, was that she desired him , in any way he would let her have him.   

With a love drunk stare, she let him lead her down the tunnel and towards the manatee exhibit, where he proceeded to inform her about how sailors used to mistake them for mermaids.

Chapter Text

Whenever Capella’s father would talk about why their community prided themselves so much about their separation from the secular world, he would use the analogy of a mountaintop.  In order to be closer to heaven, you have to be further away from everyone else.  But as Capella grew older, she began to feel how lonely it was to be at the top.  A thought that came into her head more than once, one she’d begged God’s forgiveness for time and time again, was the wish that she’d been born someone else, a girl further down the metaphorical mountain.  Sometimes she wondered if she’d be happier then, a woman who could wear pants and short skirts, who could date boys and not even think about getting married.  

This was what Capella was thinking about as she got dressed for church on Sunday morning.   When had her life ever made her happy?  Sure, there had been some joy.  Singing, playing her violin in the church instrumental band, weddings and potlucks and ice cream socials, but what else?  With a sobering thought, she realized that, for a time nearly as long as she could remember, there had been a thick blanket of sadness over her, heavy and suffocating, but it had been there so long she’d gotten used to it, barely realized it was there.   An idea drilled into her mind since she could understand it was that God wasn’t supposed to make you happy while you were on earth.  In this life, He tests you, putting you through trial after trial, and only after that have you proven yourself worthy of true happiness, the Kingdom of Heaven.  Father Jim was fond of the analogy of a donkey running from the harsh sting of a stick, and towards the promising reward of a carrot.   Capella had been chasing that carrot in the sky her whole life, but all she’d ever gotten was the stick.  

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and startlingly, she didn’t recognize the girl looking back at her.  She was wearing her “safest” outfit, the one not even the harshest old lady in the congregation would find any objection to.  She was wearing heels just tall enough to be uncomfortable, but just short enough to be acceptably modest, and ugly.  They were paired with the plainest, faded out denim dress, a thing that had been through the wash a million times and fit like she was wearing a paper bag.  It didn’t even have any cute embroidery patterns to sweeten the hideous thing up.  Underneath that she wore the itchiest starched up white blouse, with a peter pan collar that made her look like a Puritan pilgrim.   The whole getup was topped off with her pigtail braids, the limp, straightened out strands dangling out of the ends like dry wheat stalks.  Had she really been going around, dressed like that , her whole life and not seen anything wrong with it?

Dressing up Chloe in a matching outfit, all the Grace’s matched their church outfits, felt like doing the poor baby a disservice. She didn’t blame her for being difficult today.  Capella wanted to be difficult too.  She must have known how once, but it had been trained out of her, like breaking a wild horse.  She longed for a part of herself that was lost so long ago she didn’t remember it.  It made her angry .  Her mere ability to fuss and rebel had been stolen from her, beaten out of her literally .   She’d been blanket-trained into submission, limp and helpless, conditioned to sit quietly and nod along no matter what.  She needed that back, whatever weak power she’d had, the one Chloe, too young to have it stripped from her yet, commanded with ease.  She indulged in a small act of rebellion that day.  She didn’t shave her legs.  If anyone caught a glimpse of hair through her white tights, so be it.  They could all be grossed out, she didn't care.  It wasn’t like she wanted any of those creeps in town to marry her anyway, she only had eyes for one man now, and he didn’t give a damn either.

Copia was waiting outside for her, insisting on going to church with her.  His presence was an immediate comfort.  He put her nerves at ease instantly.   With one arm, he took the toddler from her and settled her on his hip, and with the other, he planted a kiss on the back of Capella’s hand.  It grounded her, made her feel safe .  Was this how a man is supposed to make the girl he’s courting, dating , feel?

“Father Jim asked me to be the guest pastor today?”

“Really?” Father Jim’s hatred of blasphemous music, especially Ghost, was a well known fact to the entire congregation.  

“He wouldn’t recognize me out of my papal paint.” He whispered in her ear, winking playfully. “Hopefully, that’ll make the experience more bearable for you.”

“I didn’t use to have to bear it.”

“It’s a good thing that you have to now.  It means you’re learning to think for yourself.  That’s a miracle actually, I don’t think anyone in this town can.”  

Copia would admit that he wasn’t the most mature man in the world.  He was prone to anger, spite, and jealousy, and Lord Below knew he could be petty.  Auntie Marika would call him her “Little Leviathan” for his envious nature, and “Little Prince of Satan” when he was being particularly wrathful.  But even if he knew he hadn’t fully grown out of his childish nature, for Lucifer’s sake he still rode a tricycle , he still felt he was justified in his utter loathing for Father Jim DeFroque. 

The man spoke like God himself had revealed pure truth into his brain, as if he were Jesus himself returned and that everyone owed him that worship.  He preached of hellfire and brimstone, ghastly fates awaiting anyone who stepped away from the path he’d carved.  Had this been what Capella had spent her entire life listening to?  Her bright mind and kind nature struggling, suffocating under the weight of plagues and salt pillars?  Taught that she would be smote and struck down for wanting anything more than the pitiful life of being a domestic slave to a worthless man that was offered to her?  He looked out at the congregation, glassy-eyed, enraptured women chained to husbands who barely looked at them.  Something in them had died, their spark of life suffocated, replaced with numb and blind obedience.  He looked at Capella, squirming uncomfortably on the pew.   He realized with a dawning horror that Father DeFroque’s words were trying to turn her into one of them .

When he met the woman, she was practically terrified of her own shadow, utterly convinced that anything outside of her narrow world, anything that made her happy , would damn her.  In the short time he’d known her, he’d managed to pull her out of her shell, revealing the pearl within.  And by the Morning Star, she was a pearl , comparable to the finest Black Pearls the oysters of Tahiti could offer him, and she was being thrown before the worst swine in the world.

When Copia was announced as the guest speaker, he walked to the podium, shaking Father Jim’s hand.  It took divine willpower not to try and break a few of his fingers while he did.  He stood in front of the crowd. He’d been in front of many crowds in his life, but this was one he was unsure of how to handle.   But, then his eyes caught hers , and their minds seemed to sync.  He knew exactly what he needed to say, and what she needed to hear.

“I’d like to thank you all for being here, and Father Jim for being kind enough to share the stage with me.  I am a stranger to this community, but I have been treated with much kindness and respect, perhaps more than I deserve.”  He swept a hand through his hair, cooling his nerves.  I need to play a part now, need to be the humble preacher.   He had a plan, and he needed to look more godly and pious than ever.  “Father Jim and I believe that a true, loving God, is a being of endless compassion, endless understanding.  No one willing to give his life for you could ever hate you.”  Jim smiled awkwardly from his place beside the pulpit.  Nothing he’d preached on even came close to the idea of compassion and understanding.  Copia suppressed a cruel, vindictive chuckle.  “Yes, I believe that God can forgive any sin, even something as awful as hypocrisy .”  

Copia folded his hands atop the lectern. “Hypocrisy is, sadly, very common in our line of work.  Men who project the idea that they are perfect, sinless as no human can be, are the ones most likely to be debaucherous behind closed doors.  They condemn in public what they relish in private.”  Jim winced, almost imperceptibly, tugging a little at his collar.  “They cast stones at everyone despite being the least worthy to do so.  They are married men who condemn the unwed mother, and yet are at the doors of the brothels every night without fail.  Men who chastise the drinker, and yet do more cocaine in a day than the average Wall Street stockbroker goes through in a week.  They curse the homosexual and yet…perhaps I shall not say that one while little ears are listening.” Jim looked like if Copia went on much longer, he’d die of a violent heart attack.  Copia almost pitied him. Almost.  “There’s a kind of honor in the proud sinner, the person who does as they please and has at least the dignity not to hide it, to not pretend to be anything that they are not.  But the hypocrite , particularly the hypocrite preacher , has none.  They are the ones who have the words of the Lord on their lips, but in their hearts, are very far from him.  And yet, God, in His infinite charity, forgives them, so long as they admit and repent, and no longer deceive themselves and others.”

“Thank you for such an, ahem, passionate speech, Father Emeritus!”  Jim interrupted, and Copia let him, having already had his fun verbally torturing the bastard.  “It is an absolute pleasure to have you here with us.  Now, I’d like to take this opportunity to remind everybody that, as we pass the collection plate around, we are trying to add a new wing to the church building…” Copia had the sneaking suspicion that they’d been trying to add a new church wing for longer than Capella had been alive. He was able to reunite with her after the service, while they came to pick Chloe up from the Sunday School Nursery.  

“You did good up there.”  She smiled, a genuine one, not a fake, plastic church smile.  “He looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel.  Do you think he was really doing all that?”

“I know he was, signora.  I ah, have my methods.  Methods being curious Ghouls who were able to figure out his reputation up in Houston.  He’s done things that made Jimmy Swaggart look like a saint.”  She sighed, kissing her little sister’s forehead.

“I was having some…doubts today.  About our plan, about everything.  What if…what if he’s right? What if I am, you know…?”  She whispered, eyes on the ground.  “Going to Hell?”

“Oh, tesoro.”  He pulled her close, not giving a damn who saw them.  “I don’t think the man’s ever said a truthful word in his life.  And I know people from Hell.  The Kingdom of the Fallen Angel is not a bad place to be.”

Chapter Text

Capella's first crush lasted about three months.  

She’d been eight at the time, and the boy was her babysitter’s younger brother.  His name was Lukas, and was pretty much the only boy outside of her family she was allowed to talk to.  Naturally, she became borderline obsessed with him. Trying to hold his grubby little hand, which was more often than not covered in Cheeto dust, at every chance she could.  The grown ups around them would coo about how sweet it was, and make halfway serious jokes about their future wedding.  But then Lukas’s family moved away, and it was like he ceased to exist.

Capella was worried that her feelings for Copia were similar.  Puppy love, a childish infatuation born from him being the only non-relative man she was in contact with.  But the harder she tried to convince herself that was all they were, the more she seemed to prove herself wrong.  Every day spent with him was better than the last.  He was handsome, considerate, kind, understanding, everything she’d ever dreamed a man could possibly be.   The only issue was, she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

What did normal women do when they had a crush?  Did they take things slow?  What would Copia want her to do?  He’d told her he didn’t think marriage was in the cards for him, and to her surprise, she found she didn’t mind all that much.  She couldn’t name one couple in her community that looked happy to be married.  Marriage was an obligation, a duty to perform, begrudgingly if you had to, not something you did because it made you happy.  And all Capella wanted was to make him happy.  She just wanted to be with him, ring or no ring.  But did he feel the same?  Capella’s self-appointed mission that night was to find out, and then figure out where she would go with that.

They were at the state of their pantomime courtship where people would start to expect a proposal soon, and dates were expected to be more “mature”.  The more liberal, daring families might permit a bit of hand holding, and with Carson’s vote of confidence in their “decency”, they were permitted to go without a chaperone.  Capella had told him that if he hated tagging along with her so much, no one was making him, and that was all it took for him to convince their parents to finally permit her a tiny inch of freedom and privacy, and she was ready to savor every second of it she could.

She’d curled up her hair to the nines for the occasion, tying it back into an elegant high ponytail. She’d not only braved lipstick, but the thinnest line of eyeliner, too.  Her long, elegant neck bore not only her typical faux gold cross necklace, but a chain of white pearls, too.  Only fake costume pearls, she knew, but she still felt very glamorous.  Her dress was a humble, modest, hideous pink thing, like a larger example of a polyester princess dress made for a toddler’s birthday party.  It was fit only for a repressed homeschooler’s prom, which had been where she wore it last, crying next to the punch bowl in the rec center basketball court because no one had asked her to dance, but it was okay.  It was only what she was wearing out the door.  She had something much better planned for later, neatly folded up in the bottom of her purse, next to a bottle of cheap, yet passionate perfume and a pair of real stiletto heels, all borrowed from Connie, of course, the angel.  

To think I wouldn’t have met him if she hadn’t dragged me to that concert, she silently mused to herself.  I’ll have to thank her.   Connie, however indirectly, saved her life.  As soon as Copia stepped out of the car, Capella, after looking around quickly to assure no one was watching, pulled him into a hug, fully chest to chest.

“It’s nice to see you.”  She murmured into his chest.  He was warm, and solid, and soft in all the best ways.  

“Nice to see you too, signora.”  Slowly, his arms snaked around her waist, and it made her feel safe.

“Where are you taking me tonight?”

“I want to surprise you. But first, these are for you.”  He settled a bouquet, the fancy kind you get from a florist, not a grocery store, wrapped in white fabric and a pink ribbon, into her arms.  They were fragrant spider lilies in full scarlet bloom.

“What is it with you and flowers?  I’m not complaining by the way, these are beautiful.”

“You know, I’m not sure.  They’re a little fascination of mine.  And my oldest brother has a garden, so it may be genetic.”  She gently slipped a blossom out of the bouquet, and tucked into Capella’s hair.  Her breath hitched as he settled it into place.  “The color suits you.”

The place he took her to made her thank her lucky stars she’d packed a better outfit, because it was the sort of place you have to make reservations for, the sort of place you take a woman on for a real, serious date. Dazzling ladies leaned on the arms of wealthy men as they were guided inside.  Was she among them now, the worldly women? 

While Copia confirmed their reservation, Capella quietly excused herself to the ladies’s room to change.

Quickly, she shimmied out of that hideous confection and into the most risque piece of clothing to ever touch her body.  It was an ordinary cocktail dress, a shimmering black one with a Queen Anne neckline, that hugged her body enough to make the shape of it visible for the first time in her life.  Slowly, Capella turned in the bathroom mirror, admiring the shape she’d never been allowed to become familiar with.  She had curves , nothing extreme, but nothing to sneeze at either.  Her hands ghosted above her hips and bust with a mixture of bubbling shame and budding excitement.  The mere idea that she’d ever wear something like this would send her parents to an early grave.

She looked real, like an ordinary girl, someone who could walk down the street in almost any other town in America other than the one she was raised in and no one would bat an eye.  She looked real , not like the childlike paper doll she’d been raised to be, shallow and almost nonexistent, something to be crumpled up and hidden away.  She realized with a start, making her take deep breaths that made her slightly exposed bosom heave (Sweet Jesus, she had a bosom!), that she was a real woman now. A grown up creature of flesh and blood, who could do what she wanted with who she wanted.    Some part of her, the frightened little girl within who was scared of scolding family and the disapproval of an angry god, wanted to rip the entire ensemble off and run back home to cower under the covers, but she silenced her.  She would never go back to being that girl again. The last remnant of her and the life she’d planned to lead was the cross necklace, dangling in the cleavage between her breasts.  With an animal impulse, she ripped the thing off hard enough to break the worn-out clasp, and it detached with a weak pop . Her transformation was complete.  She shoved it into her purse, and after slipping on her heels and spritzing a little perfume around her shoulders, she stepped out the door.

Copia’s eyes widened as he saw her approach their table. She smiled bashfully, sitting down across from him.

“I wanted to change things up a little. How do I look?”  It took him a moment to collect himself.

“Stunning, signora.  This is a very good look for you.”

“That’s good, I feel nice wearing this.”   She did.  This new woman she was felt braver, stronger, more daring.  “Should we start by ordering drinks?”  Copia raised a playful eyebrow.

“Feeling a little sinful tonight, my dear?”

“Very.”  She was still wary of alcohol and she didn’t want to get drunk.  With Copia’s guidance, the pair selected a bottle of rosé Moscato d'Asti to share. It was a sweet dessert wine, with a low ABV, good for a beginner like her.  She found herself liking it, and the pink color looked pretty in her glass.

While they were debating whether to get the lobster or steak, there was a sudden happy outburst from the table next to them.  A man had gotten down on one knee and proposed to his squealing, ecstatic lover.  The woman threw her arms around him and blubbered out a desperate “Yes, a million times, yes!” while the rest of their table cheered.  The girl looked older than Capella, possibly old enough to have a daughter her age, but she was still happy.  She was still loved.  She cast a glance at Copia, more than thirty years her senior. His eyes, tender and warm, had that same light.  

I hope you know, you’re never too old to be loved.  

“You know, I’ve been a bridesmaid before.”

“You have?” Capella nodded.

“Lots of times. No one actually liked me, but there’s enough girls getting married in a small town that we all just invited each other to every wedding.  I’ve caught more bouquets than I can count.”

“I imagine the bachelorette parties were awkward.”

“We don’t do that in my town, I’ve only ever heard of bachelor parties.”

“Lucifer’s balls , you have got to leave that place behind and never look back.”

“Currently working on it.”  I want to leave with you.  

She’d had childish fantasies of him sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away, like a fairytale prince.  It wasn’t hard to picture herself as Cinderella, given how she felt like a glorified housemaid in her own home.  And Copia, no matter how old and awkward he professed himself to be, was very princely. Would he let her go with him when they decided their passion play was coming to an end?

When dinner was over, Capella wasn’t ready for the night to end, and neither was Copia. There was a park not far from the restaurant, and they decided to take a walk.  It was dark and cold, and the full moon hanging in the sky completed the dramatic, romantic atmosphere.  She shivered briefly, and without further thought, Copia draped his suit jacket, still warm from his body, over her shoulders.

He cut a beautiful figure in the light of the pale moon and dim streetlights, the silvery grey streaks in his hair shimmering, his striking features highlighted in shadow.  His white eye seemed to almost glow in the dark.  She took a breath, and offered her outstretched hand to him.  With a natural familiarity, his fingers laced around her.  Their hands fit so well, almost like they were made for each other.

“We should have a seat here.” He said as they came across a park bench.  “We’ve been walking for a while, and those shoes look uncomfortable.”

“They are.”  She admitted.  They were lovely, but her feet were in agony.  On the bench, she leaned against him, close enough for their thighs to touch.  Slowly, as if he were working up the nerve, she felt his arm slide around her shoulder.

“I hope you had a good time tonight.”

“I have.  And the night’s still young, it’s not over yet.”

“My my, signora. Drinking, staying out late, that dress, are you even the same woman anymore?”

“No, no I’m not, you’ve ruined me completely.” And she wanted to go further.   She knew in her heart of hearts that she would let him destroy her beyond recognition. She would let him turn her into a creature of pure sin, and do it gladly.  What would a real woman, a woman who all the time in the world to get married, if she even wanted to at all, call that feeling?

Love.

For the very first time in her life, Capella was in love.

The realization made her warm, like her skin was steaming in the frigid night air.  Her blood ran like electricity in her veins, the energy burning her alive from the inside out.

She was in love with Copia.

And what was she going to do about that?  What was she, the new woman she had metamorphosed into, going to do about that?  She leaned into him, head against his chest. His heart thumped against her, as alive and human as the day he’d brought her hand to his chest.  Their faces were so close together that she could feel the warmth of his breath.  Her newfound courage was bolstered by the heady mix of alcohol and physical touch.  Closing her eyes, she leaned in even closer, and gently, put her lips against his.

Chapter Text

Capella, in her fraction of a second of decision making time, had run through what felt like every possible scenario of Copia’s reaction to the kiss in her head.  Would he accept it, kissing her sweetly and running his gloved fingers through her hair?  Or would it be a lustful, needy kiss, where he would gracefully slide his tongue into her mouth and pull her into his lap?  Or, perhaps he would reject her, push her away?

What he actually did seemed to feel worse, hurt her more than she could ever imagine being hurt.

At first, he seemed surprised, eyes widening in shock, but accepting, his lips receiving hers with a gentle embrace.  But then, with a whimper, he pulled away, shaking his head.

“No.” His breathing was heavy and labored, eyes screwed shut.  “I can’t.”

“Oh.”  Capella made a little sound like a kicked puppy.  “I, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…” Why would he want you, why would he ever want you, stupid girl? He could have anyone in the world, why on Earth would he choose you?

“Capella, I’m sorry, it’s just-” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning back against the bench.  “It’s not you it’s, fuck.   How do I say this?” He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.  “You’re beautiful, you are, but you are too young , signora.  Or, more accurately, I’m too old , too old of a man for a girl like you to be wasting your time on.” She gasped sharply, indignant tears budding in the corners of her eyes.

“You’re not too old for me! I’m not a kid , Copia!  I like you, I do!”

“My dear, try to understand me!” He squeezed her shoulders desperately. “You’ve been rotting in that cult since you were born, and now that you’ve woken up, your life is just starting! You have your best years in front of you, you don’t have any business wasting them on some fossil.  You’ll find more appropriate, better men.”

“But I don’t want them!  There’s not anyone better than you!”

“And there’s our problem, Capella.  You’re not mature enough yet to-”  Seeing the look on her face, he froze, realizing what he'd just said to her.  “Signora, I didn’t mean that.  What I’m trying to say is-”

“Stop, just-” She drew a deep shuddering breath, her ribs seeming to rattle against each other. “I understand.  I must seem like a total kid to you, huh?” 

“No, no , not at all, it’s just-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.”  She sniffled.  “Um, can you take me home though?  I’m pretty sure I just murdered the vibe.”  He made an odd little sound, one of his little quirks that she loved so much, like he wanted to say something more.  But instead, he simply nodded.

He walked her back to the restaurant so she could change back into her original outfit. It felt like a ritual of humiliation.  She had failed at being a real woman, and now had to slip back into her old skin, that of someone little more than a mindless child.  The dress and shoes that had never really been hers felt like a costume, for a role she had deluded herself into thinking she was ready to perform.  The second she caught sight of her reflection, the shameful, pathetic creature she’d always been, the tears she’d been holding back burst out of her in an ugly, inelegant sob.

There was another woman in the bathroom with her, reapplying her red lipstick, and by some sick twist of fate engineered by a cruel god, it was the recently engaged one from dinner.  She looked stunning, beautiful even, mature and elegant and happily in love with the man of her dreams, everything Capella had tried and failed to be.  The sight made her cry even harder.  The woman, kind as she was, noticed and offered her some tender words of comfort.

Capella realized with a nauseous lurch of her stomach that, sobbing in that hideous dress, she must’ve looked to her like a teenage girl after a bad prom night.  That was little more than what she was, wasn’t she?  A big, stupid, child, blubbering like a baby over a man she never had a right to.

“Are you alright, sweetie? What happened?”  The woman dabbed away her running eyeliner with a paper towel.

“I’m okay.  It was nothing I shouldn’t have seen coming.”

Chapter Text

The drive home was almost silent, the air thick with an agonizing tension that threatened to suffocate Capella to death.  It was unbearable, and she could tell by his shifty, uncomfortable glances Copia would occasionally make at her that he felt it too.

“I…” She attempted to break the unbearable quiet.  “I don’t want you to feel bad for this, or like you did something wrong.”

“Signora, if I hurt you at all-”

“It’s okay.  You feel how you feel, no one can force that.”

No further words were said until they were in the driveway of Capella’s home.  Copia, trying to be as gentlemanly as he could, God did she love him for that, helped her out of the car.

“Is there anything I can do for you?  I don’t want to just leave you to your feelings like this.”

“You don’t owe me anything, C.” Not your love, not your presence, not your time.  “But, um, can we not do our thing anymore?”

“You mean our thing?  Our little fake-date plan thing?” She nodded, biting her lip.

“It’d be super awkward after tonight, and at this point people are gonna start expecting a ring and a wedding and I don’t wanna put you through all that.”

“Then, what will you tell your folks?”

“I’ll just say we’re doing a long-distance thing now. And maybe later I’ll just say that you broke it off, and that I’ll start looking for someone new.”

“And, after that?”

“Start looking for someone new, I guess.”  She shrugged, laughing weekly.  “Someone I can at least tolerate being married to.”

“Alright then.”  He sighed, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I don’t want this to be the end of our friendship, signora.  I enjoy your company.  Can I still call you?  Visit you, if you can find the time alone?”

“Of course you can, C.”  Thank God, she thought.  She couldn’t lose him completely, his presence, his voice. That would break her entirely.

Carson was starting to get concerned about his twin sister.  

It had started the night after her first solo date.  She’d come home that night looking all limp and exhausted, with red, puffy eyes like she’d been crying. She’d mumbled something to their parents, about how Copia had to go back home to California, but “marriage had been definitely discussed”.  She then practically ran upstairs, and wasn’t seen until it was time for chores the next morning.

Ever since then she’d been acting weird , sad and quiet and nothing like her usual self. She barely left her room unless she had some kind of chore or job to do, and even then, she never made eye contact with anyone, or said much of anything besides “yes sir” or “yes ma’am”.  

Carson had never been in the habit of giving too much concern to the wellbeing of his siblings.  They seemed to manage fairly well on their own, and the girls never really asked for much.  It was a realization he made with some guilt. Something Copia had told him had stuck in his mind.  People don’t always ask for help, even when they need it, because they feel like they shouldn’t need it.

Was that how she was feeling?  Suffering in silence like she did with her headaches, all out of shame? What should he do?

They had been very close, almost inseparable, when they were very small.  But as they got older, and the lines in the sand between “boy” and “girl” began to be drawn more clearly between them, their lives diverged into two different paths.  Carson barely knew her anymore.  He missed her, and all this time he’d been pushing her away.  He watched her from the porch, seeing her tend to her beloved goats.  She was alone outside, or at least thought she was, and as soon as she looked around to be sure, she buried her face into the neck of one of her gentle nanny goats, her shoulders heaving as her body was wracked with heavy sobs.  Carson had an urge to run right across that field and pull her into his arms, hold her until she felt better like he had more times than he could count when they were children, the same way she used to do for him.  But, he had an instinct that that kind of help wasn’t what she wanted right now.  He had to be subtle about this.

He went back inside, pondering.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mother in the dining room.  She was muttering to herself, eyes squinted as she looked into the text of her recipe book.   She looked… tired.  Had she always looked like that?  There were a few more frown lines and grey hairs on her than was normal for a 40 year old woman.  She was young, for a 23 year old’s mother.  All of his friend’s moms were older than that, and yet, she wouldn’t look out of place among them.  An uneasy feeling squirmed in his gut.

“Hey mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“How about I take care of dinner tonight?” She scoffed lovingly.

“Oh, honey, that’s sweet, but I’m your mom.”  She said matter-of-factly, as if that explained it all.

“And everyone needs a break sometimes.  I can cook.” Theoretically, he could.  But he had two hands and a functional brain, how hard could it be?

Pretty damn hard, he found out not long after.  After putting out a grease fire, mourning his mildly singed eyebrows after his previous attempt to put it out with water, he cursed himself for ever taking a meal for granted.  Somehow, possibly, by the grace of a divine force, he got enough grilled chicken and rice for a family of 7, and it tasted edible.  His mother was praising him for being such a good son, which made him oddly uncomfortable.  So it was impressive when he did it, but “just her job” when she did?

Capella wasn’t at the table.  She’d retired to her room earlier, complaining of a headache, but he suspected she’d just wanted an excuse to be alone with her sadness.  An idea lit up in Carson’s mind.  He started fixing her a plate to bring up to her, like Mom did whenever they got sick. It had always made Carson feel loved, cared about. Maybe that’s what his sister needed right now.  Just in case she actually did have a headache, he grabbed two Tylenol pills from Dad’s private stash for his joint pain and backaches.  Funny how he was the only one allowed to take them.  He brought a glass of apple juice, Capella’s favorite since she was a kid, to wash them down, and oh screw it, a couple of Cassie’s homemade cowboy cookies.  Sad people always appreciate cookies, right?

He ascended the stairs, and found the door of Capella’s room cracked open, a sliver of the dark room visible from the outside. He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.

“Pelly?” It was a nickname only he called her, a holdover from when he was little and pronouncing “Capella” was a little bit too much of a mouthful.  “I brought dinner, can I come in?”

She lifted her head from her pillow, the wet tracks of tears shimmering in the darkness. Bewildered, she nodded, and he let himself in, setting the tray on her nightstand. 

“What are you doing up here?”  Her raw voice croaked.  Had he really grown so far apart from her that he needed to explain why he’d come to see her of his own volition?

“I, uhh, I had a feeling, call it twintuition, that you needed me.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “You seemed sad, really sad actually.  I was starting to get worried.  Is there anything, you know, you wanna talk about?”  He reached a hand out, placing it on her knee. “I promise, if it’s like, really personal, I won’t tell anyone, not even Mom or Dad.”  Her bottom lip quivered, and her resolve fell apart.  She burst into tears, and he pulled her into a hug.  Slowly, he rocked back and forth, squeezing her tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.  God, I’ve been an awful brother, huh?”  She mumbled something like “You’re not.” into his sweater.

“No, I am, I totally am.  You were right to yell at me at the aquarium, I was being a jerk.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“Yes, I did!”   He pulled her away from his chest, looking her in her wide eyes. “You gotta stop letting people walk all over you, especially me!  I’ve been treating you like crap for years!  You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it!”  He sighed, standing up and pacing the room.

“God, I’m such a loser.  And college made that clear.  You know how Pastor Jim tells us that our town produces the cream of the crop?  All the boys here are God’s perfect shepherds, destined to inherit the world?”  She nodded.  “Well, it turns out that’s complete horseshit.”  Cursing felt good, he understood why people liked it so much now.  “What we actually produce are a bunch of thickheads who know the Bible front to back but can’t point to Europe on a map.”  He ran a hand through his sweaty curls.  “I know because I’m one of them.   I’m almost failing all my classes, Pelly.  I’m only keeping my head above water because I begged my classmates to share their notes, and even then I barely understood anything.  My professors think I’m a lost cause.  It would be a miracle if I even graduate at this point.”

“Oh, Carson.”  Her voice was soft, compassionate, even now.  God, she was the smart twin, wasn’t she?  The good, kind smart twin who deserved better than him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright Pelly, there’s no way you could’ve helped me.  And it doesn’t excuse how I’ve been acting.”  He sat back down, leaning back on his hands.  “All the kids who drink and smoke and have sex, the crazy party kids who go out every night, they’re all doing better than me, and here I was thinking I was God’s righteous little gift to mankind.  I’m a goldfish in a shark tank out there. But when I come back home, to my dinky little fishbowl, I’m king of the world again.  I’m the oldest son, the college-bound genius, bearing my father’s name, and everyone bows down to me.  I’ve been treating you like a servant, like God put you on Earth to do my laundry, just to boost my own ego.  I’m sorry Pelly, I really am.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, and you’re allowed to still be mad at me.  You can yell at me to wash my own damn socks, I won’t be upset, I promise.”  He scooted closer to her, in the subconscious hope that bridging their physical gap could be a stepping stone in bridging the emotional rift that they’d carved out.   “And you can tell me what’s been going on.  I don’t want you to be hurting any more.”

And with those words, her resolve shattered. 

She broke down, revealing it all, telling him everything, her and Copia’s plan, her feelings for him, and how her castles had come crumbling down when he rebuffed them.  He’d let her say what she needed, let it all off of her chest, without judgement.  It hadn’t felt like a burden.  Having his sister, his Pelly , the little girl who’d helped him hunt for frogs in muddy creeks until she wasn’t allowed to anymore, who hadn’t cared when she got water in her boots of mud in her hair, trust him again, was a reward, a prize he didn’t feel worthy of.

He’d failed her, time and time again in his life, and he wasn’t going to let her close herself up to him again. 

Chapter Text

Carson felt like the best way to help his sister heal from her broken heart was to get her out of the house, and out of the town, away from the suffocating gaze of their parents and community.  She needed privacy and freedom. So he’d taken her to a nearby strip mall, given her $80, and told her to have fun, and that he’d come pick her up in an hour or so. 

Freedom and privacy weren’t things Capella very much knew what to do with.  The first person who’d ever made her feel like she had them was Copia, and she was doing her best not to think about him today.  Easier said than done, everything seemed to remind her of him, especially the place she was now.

She was standing in front of a record store.  There’s probably Ghost albums in there , she thought, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.  But, that wasn’t the only kind of music there was. She hadn’t ever been allowed to venture into the world of secular music.  She had a lifetime's worth of music to catch up on.  

She stepped inside, the store smelling vaguely of dust and vinyl.  In a sea of more genres than she knew existed, she felt completely lost, out of her element.  I don’t know anything about music, no wonder he thought I’m immature.   All she knew is that she wanted to steer clear from the Hard Rock and Metal sections for now, in the fear that they would dredge up too many painful memories.

Instead, she veered towards the comforting bright colors of the Pop section.  One shelf caught her eye.   On a pink background, a blonde teenage girl stared up at her, with a picture-perfect shining smile.   She looked like almost every other girl in her town, but her short hair and shorter skirt would’ve gotten her labeled a floozy at best.  Instantly, Capella felt like she would like her.

“Excuse me, miss?”  The girl at the counter, a woman with purple hair and a nose ring that reminded her of Connie, looked up from her phone.  “Can you tell me who she is?”  The cashier looked at the cover of Britney Spears: …Baby One More Time [Pink Vinyl Edition], and then back at Capella like she’d grown a second head.  But then, she took in the image of a girl with waist-length hair and a long jean skirt, and understood.  

A half hour later, the saleswoman, named Astrid, had convinced her that she needed five more Britney albums, especially Blackout, which Astrid insisted was her best work, as well as an audiobook CD of her biography.

“The girl’s been through a lot.”

When Carson came to pick her up, he saw what she’d gotten, and promised to loan her his record player when they got home.  

Once back home, discreetly, she snuck upstairs,  and unwrapped the first album, marveling at the pastel pink color of the vinyl.  She made sure she was alone, and that no one besides Carson, her accomplice, and Chloe, a baby that didn’t know any better,  was in the house. Cassie was out babysitting for the neighbors, and had taken Caleb with her.  Mama was at Monday Bible Study, and Papa was out with friends.  Holding her breath, she slipped the record onto the turntable of her twin’s antique wooden record player.

Almost as soon as she pressed play, Capella was struck with the feeling that Britney Spears, whoever she was, understood her.

She laid on her bed, eyes shut, hands folded onto her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with the tide of her breathing, listening.

Feeling.

Tears, eventually, ran down her face, and she simply allowed them to.  

The world she’d been raised in demanded grinning, happy girls, perfectly cheery, allowing any man to treat them in any way he wished, and doing it all with smiles on their faces and not a single complaint.  Female unhappiness was a personal insult to the men of the town, an act of rebellion and ungratefulness in and of itself.

So let me be miserable , she thought, her lips quivering.  Let me be a sad, mopey, miserable bitch.

Chapter Text

Copia leaving felt like a hole had been ripped into Capella’s chest, leaving her ribcage hollow and empty.  Sometimes, he’d call her, and as much as she loved him, loved his voice, hearing him and knowing he would never love her was almost too much to bear, and their conversations had become painfully short, a maximum of five sentences per call between them.  The only thing that came close to filling the Copia-shaped hole in her heart was music, specifically, the work of Miss Britney Jean Spears. 

Listening to her music felt like having a friend, a cool, older friend like Connie, someone she could have real, grown-up woman conversations with.  After finishing all her albums, Capella wanted to try and know at least something deeper about the woman behind them. And so, she turned her attention towards the audiobook, “The Woman In Me”.

Oh my God.   

Capella was kneeling on the floor, hands braced against her skull as if it were going to fly apart if she weren’t holding her head together.

Oh my God! She’s exactly like me!

Within the pages of the memoir of a tortured pop star, stripped of her autonomy, even her humanity, by not just a world of cruel, selfish paparazzi and talk show hosts, but by her own flesh and blood, the people she should’ve been able to depend, Capella saw a dark reflection of herself.

Britney’s prison had been made of glitter and stage lights, Capella’s was denim church hymns, but strip away the superficial layers, and they were very much similar girls.

No, not girls.

Women.

Women, who, through the machinations of men like their fathers, men like Father Jim, had been warped and twisted out of shape and made into little girls in grown up bodies, bodies they had to cover or strip down the moment the men who owned them, be they pastors, fathers, or husbands, said so.

Capella was ready to find the woman in her.

She’d found her before, when she was with Copia.  He’d been a guide, in a way, his proud, unabashed adulthood serving as a model by which she could base her own newfound one on, but how could she find her again, now that she was alone?

How could she be a real woman, without depending on someone else?

She stood, naked, in front of the bathroom mirror.  The sight of her own nude body made her uncomfortable, nauseous.  No one should ever see her skin, or at least, that was what she’d been taught. How had she come to fear her own flesh?  Why had they wanted her too?  She lifted a hand towards her collarbone, sliding her fingers down until they rested between her breasts.  It was almost like looking at the body of a stranger, like her body didn’t belong to her.  It didn’t , according to Father Jim.

Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own…

Her body was the marked and labelled property of the Lord, and in her tiny world, the Lord manifested Himself in men.

She needed to take back control, to wrest her flesh from the jaws of a selfish deity.  And how would she do that?

She reached a hand upwards, grabbing a loose pigtail.  The hair made a crunching sound under her grip, dead and fried into limp, agreeable, manageable strands.  She’d never been allowed to even know what her natural hair looked like.

Inspiration struck, dangerous and frightening, exhilarating inspiration.

Britney’s body didn’t belong to her either.  Before her father and the conservatorship, it was treated as if it were public property, for crass paparazzi and leering talk show hosts to stare, poke, prod, and make judgement off. 

And what had she done, to take back control?

She ran downstairs, life and energy in her steps that had been missing for weeks, and dove for the phone.  Looking around for any witnesses, she dialed in one of the only two phone numbers she knew.

“Connie?”  She’d come back to town to visit family, and Capella had an idea for what they could do for her next visit.  “I’m gonna say something crazy, but I need you to hear me out!”

“I’m home!”  Capella called into the doorway, bright and cheery.   “Should I start setting the table for lunch?”

“Make sure you don’t set out my good tablecloth, I’m saving it for-” Her mother froze mid-sentence, punctuating it with a scream and the shatter of a dropping plate.  Hand over her mouth in horror, she stared at her daughter like the girl was possessed.

“What did you do to your hair!?”

Capella didn’t have very much hair left at all.  Her waist-length tresses had all been cut, leaving her with an elegant buzzcut, the soft dark fuzz covering her scalp was all that remained.

“Oh, this?”  She said, running her fingers over her head as if she barely even noticed the change.  “Oh, yeah.  I was over at Connie’s and she said my hair was super damaged, like, basically fried.  It was practically falling out every time I breathed.  She told me I could either treat it and condition it, which could take forever, or just cut it all off and start over.”  She briefly admired her reflection in the entryway mirror.  “I think I’m gonna wear headbands and stuff while it grows out, but I think it suits me!  And when it’s all grown in I’m gonna let it be its natural self. Connie thinks too much ironing is what damaged it in the first place.”

Her mother’s mouth flopped open and shut a few times, like a fish, and she made a few strangled attempts at speech, before throwing her hands in the air in defeat.

“Just you wait until your father gets home, young lady!”  She stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs, scowling and grumbling under her breath.

“So do I still have to set the table, or no?”

Chapter Text

Capella moaned, pressing her face into her pillow.  Her head was pounding, not even the cool darkness of her room was soothing it.  Stress almost always triggered a headache for her, and she’d just had one of the most stressful nights of her life.

Her parents were used to the “old” Capella, a girl who rolled over and accepted whatever scoldings and punishments they saw fit.  Not the new Capella, the woman who’d recently grown something resembling a backbone, who defended herself, and didn’t take shit lying down, a woman with enough guts to argue .

Her father had been fuming, so personally angry about her haircut that it bordered on perverse. No, not bordered , she scowled, he is perverse.  A disgusting old man .

He’d accused her of all sorts of insane things, “rejecting her womanhood”, etc, and quoted some Corinthians at her, and she was having absolutely none of it.  After suppressing the natural instinct to argue for her entire childhood, her broken, rebellious spirit awoke, like a dragon, and he was standing downwind of the flame.  Their first ever argument, and Capella preened a little at the fact that she’d definitely won.

Sure, maybe storming upstairs and slamming her doors was cheating, but still, she’d left him in stunned silence after telling him to “fuck off and mind his own business”.  She counted that as a victory.  There was some guilt, though.  Her mother had burst into tears, and gone to bed crying.  Capella, pitied her, to be honest.  She didn’t ask for a life like this.

Capella’s mother described the story of her marriage as a romantic fairytale.  Now that she was older, and hopefully wiser, Capella saw its true nature as a horror story.  Her mother was a distressed teenager, shuffled in and out of foster homes all over the state, before eventually being dumped here, with foster parents who liked to pretend she didn’t exist.  In high school, she started a “friendship” with a 40 year old bachelor, who liked to play preacher and drag her into the word of God.  Slowly, he transformed her into his ideal, submissive wife.  She took down her braids and straightened her hair, put on long skirts and high collars, and the day after her 18th birthday, they were married. Less than six months after the wedding, Capella and Carson were born. And they were full term.

The more she thought about it, the more angry she became.  Why had no one stopped him!?  Why had this damned town just smiled and nodded when a middle aged man proposed to a teenager!?  Why had no one cared enough to talk her poor mother out of this!?  

She thought of her little sisters.  Cassie, the sweet girl so sensitive she cried when she stepped on bugs, and the way the men in town, married or not, had started to leer at her.   She thought of Chloe, the baby who’d barely started walking and speaking in sentences.  Were they already starting to make plans?  Did they look at her and see a potential bride?

She was born and raised in a hive of evil, that churned out bible-thumping predators and called them saints.

No wonder Copia left, she mused.  Had he worried that he was repeating the patterns?  An old man chasing after the skirt of a child?

But Capella wasn’t a little girl, or a wayward teen, no matter how much her life had tried to force her to act like one.   

I’m a woman now.  A woman who loves him.

Her heart was still broken.  She wanted to see him again, face to face, to go back to the way they were.  No, not the way they were, her heart couldn’t take the farce of love, or whatever passed for “love” in this shitty little town.  No, she needed him, the real him, just as blasphemous and sinful as he was.  

But I’ll never have him. 

She pulled her arms close to her chest, a sob breaking on her lips.

He probably doesn’t even miss me.

A sudden burst of energy she couldn’t explain for the life of her lit her body up like electricity in her nervous system.  She gasped sharply, and she became aware , in a way unconfirmable, yet impossible to doubt, that she was wrong.

Somehow, some way, she felt what Copia was feeling, 1,500 miles away in California. And he missed her.  

She sighed into her pillow, staining it with tears of relief and sadness.  I’ve driven away the man of my dreams.

Capella wasn’t the only one sitting awake, lost in regret that night.  

Copia was sitting on the edge of his bed, mattress on the floor. He’d been meaning to  build his bed frame for a few months now, but never got around to it.  Next to it, between his feet was a few empty cans of piss-tier gas station light beer, and a half-empty glass of some shitty box wine that Terzo would kill him for even thinking about drinking.  He didn’t plan on wasting any good alcohol on one of his “drink to forget, remember, then cry yourself to sleep” sessions.  His phone sat in his lap, open to a contact titled only with a goat and a heart emoji.  The contact photo was one he’d taken himself.  A moth had landed on Capella’s nose, a gigantic Io moth, and to Copia’s surprise, she didn’t seem frightened at all.  Only surprised, and laughed a bit.  She gushed over how beautiful it was, and Copia took the picture, wanting to immortalize the image.  He told her it reminded him of The Silence of the Lambs, but in all honesty, he just wanted to capture her smile, the wondrous look in her eyes.

His thumb was hovering over the “call” button, desperate to hear her voice, her laugh , but he couldn’t.  For one, it was late, especially in Texas.  There was little chance she’d even answer.  And , he thought bitterly, why would she even want to talk to you?

He’d loathed himself for every moment after that night.  In fact, he loathed himself the minute he’d seen her face, those beautiful black eyes shining with tears.  Satana, how could he have said that to her!?  And she just accepted it, those cruel, terrible words, like she believed them. His pearl had retreated back into her shell, and he’d been the one to force her.  She’d painstakingly built that confidence, the night he’d done that to her was the very first one in all the time they’d spent together where she seemed comfortable in her own skin.  Had he taken that from her?  Made her feel so small and immature that she had no choice but to crawl back into the ill-fitting mold that she’d been pressed into since birth?  The thought made his stomach twist into knots.

He’d never, in a thousand millennia, want to hurt her, but he had.  And he had no idea how to fix it.

He…He loved her, or at the very least, liked her enough that it could become love, if he allowed it to.  But how could he?  How could he do that to her?

She was a smart, kind, elegant, beautiful young woman.  She’d been wasting her life in a cult, and he was the first man to ever treat her with the respect she was entitled.  Of course she’d come to like him, believe she loved him, but it would be crueler to let her follow through on that, wouldn’t it?  

He was more than thirty years older than her, almost as large a gap in age as the one between her mother and that predator she shared chromosomes with. Wouldn’t that make him the very same sort of person as him?

His desire for her disgusted him.  She deserved better, far better, than the repulsive thing he was.  But, why did the image of her, on the arm of some young, strapping gentleman, make him so sad!?

Bătrân pervers urât , he told himself, scowling. Possessive and greedy, acting like you own her, just because you want her.

But hadn’t she wanted him, hadn’t she been the one to make the first move?  

She’s not a child like her mother was, she can make her own decisions, a small, weak part of himself spoke up, before he promptly squashed it.

“What kind of friend would I be if I let her make this choice?” He grumbled aloud, before downing the last of his wine, and getting up to get some more.

“You’re not drinking that cheap shit again, are you, fratellino?”  He froze in his tracks, before turning to see his older brother leaning against his door frame.  Copia sighed.

“I don’t deserve the good stuff, Terzo.  Not tonight at least.”  Terzo rolled his eyes.

“You are so melodramatic, C.”  He stepped into the room, sitting down next to him.  “Just tell me what happened.”  Copia sighed, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a long, embarrassing story.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of those.  One time I-”

“I don’t need to hear that, Terzo.”  He was in no mood for tales of either his sexscapades, or the times he’d fallen offstage.  “My problem involves…a woman.”  Terzo’s eyes widened in amazement.

“Fratellino, I’m shocked!  You actually held a conversation with a woman for more than five seconds?”  Copia groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why does everyone think I’m a vir- nevermind.  Back to the subject at hand.  I met her on tour, in Texas.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.  More than that, actually, she’s beautiful. A rose that grew from concrete.”

“You always quote Tupac when you’re sad, C. What happened with her?”

“She was born and raised in a cult.  Evangelical fundies.”

“Like the fucking Duggars?”

“Right down to the matching letter names and ugly outfits.”

‘How’d a girl like that end up at a Ghost concert?”

“Dragged by a friend.  Anyway, we kept meeting after that, as if by fate.  We got close, became friends.  She started to trust me.  And eventually, in a panicked moment, she concocted this genius little scheme.” Copia smiled fondly.  “Her parents were trying to marry her off to one of the little predator boys their religion turned out, and she was desperate for a way out.  And so she called me, asked me to pretend to be a suitable candidate and take her on dates.”

“Really!?”  Terzo elbowed him in the ribs with a shit-eating grin.  “So that’s where you’ve been all this time? Playing boyfriend to a pretty Christian girl? Let me guess, somebody caught real feelings.”

“In the end, I think we both did.”  Copia sighed, deflated.  “But, I just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Couldn’t let her be with me.”  Terzo’s eyes narrowed.  

“What do you mean ‘let her’?”

“She…she’s too young, Terzo.  She wanted me, and Satana, I wanted her too.  I still do, damn it.  But wouldn't that be disgusting?  A woman in her twenties, fresh out of a vulnerable situation, running around with me, at my age?”

“She’s not a child , C!”  Terzo stood, fuming with righteous indignation on her behalf.  “Are you telling me you made the choice for her!? Rejected her, even though you knew her feelings were returned and then left her to rot alone!?”

“I…” Copia couldn’t defend himself.  How could he?  Knowing how much he hurt her.  “But doesn’t she deserve better than me?”

“What she deserves is not to have her feelings played with just because you’re too scared to admit them!”

He placed his hands squarely on his shoulders, looking him deep in the eyes.

“Listen to me, fratellino.  You are my little brother, and I love you dearly.  But if you don’t take your sorry ass back to Texas and give that poor woman a proper apology for breaking her heart like this, I will force you onto a plane myself and lock you out of the Ministry. Capisce?”

Terrified, Copia nodded, knowing that he was right.  He would never forgive himself for leaving her like that.

Chapter Text

The crescent moon hung in the sky, surrounded by an audience of stars, like millions of eyes staring down, watching Capella’s boots stir up the dust on the ground as she stepped out of Carson’s car.

“Thanks for the ride.  I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No problem, Pelly.”  He stifled a yawn.  “But remind me to teach you how to drive.”  As he drove off, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, staring up at the house.

The house Copia inherited looked even more haunted and ominous at night.  She said a silent prayer, unsure to whom, as she walked up to the door, fiddling with the house key in her hand.  It was a dark, skeleton shaped key with an elegant black patina and rubies in the eye sockets, because of course it was.  His family had a flair for the dramatic. Copia had given it to her before he left, in case she ever needed to come to him for an emergency.

Does a broken heart count as an emergency?

As much as she needed him now, he wasn’t there, a fact that made her break just a little bit more.  The dark windows seemed to taunt her.  He’d be up right now .  Her dear night owl.  She wondered what he was doing at this very moment.  Was he sitting awake in his office, dutifully completing his sermon for morning Black Mass?  Or was he playing his video games, ignoring no doubt a mountain of paperwork he’d been putting off for weeks?  Her nose wrinkled with a sad little laugh.  God, she missed him.

She unlocked the door and swung it open, calling into the house.

“Hello?”  She didn’t know why she did that.  No one would answer.  To be completely honest, she had no idea why she was even here.  She knew Copia was far, far away.  Did she expect him to be just sitting on the couch, waiting for her with a glass of wine and a smile, ready to invite her to snuggle and watch The Thing with her?

Something, the same odd energy that made her realize Copia missed her, too,  had drawn her here, like a magnet in her soul. But for what purpose? What was she supposed to do here? She sneezed abruptly. Maybe I should do some vacuuming.

A noise from upstairs nearly made her jump out of her skin. It sounded like something was moving around up there.  Had Copia left one of his rats behind?  No, he loved his little ladies too much. Maybe a raccoon got in?  The sounds continued, and Capella, very fearfully and brandishing an old wooden broom in case it was very much not a raccoon, ascended the stairs.  

Following her ears, she realized that the noise was coming from one of the closets.  She let out a sigh of relief.  They were too small to house an entire person.  She lowered the broom, and prepared to be faced with no doubt the nest of some kind of adorable wild critter.  She opened the closet, and to her disappointment, there was no nest.  Only a cardboard box, shaking and rattling around on the top shelf.  Was something inside it?  She stood on her tip-toes to reach it, but as soon as her hand came within an inch of it, somehow, the damned thing managed to launch itself directly at her, hitting her square in the chest and knocking her onto her back.

She wheezed in pain, lying supine on the floor until the wind came back into her lungs.  Once she had the strength to sit upright, she scowled at the offending box, sitting on top of her and shaking.

“What the fuck is in here!?”

She pulled back the flaps holding it shut, and found that inside was a collection of antique jewelry boxes.  One of them, a fetching silver Art Deco little thing, was jumping around like it was alive.  Catching it in one hand, like one would a rambunctious baby chick, Capella pulled it out of the box.

She briefly remembered that Copia mentioned that his great grandmother, Avaricia Emeritus, had been fond of jewelry and stockpiled it like a dragon up until she died. Curiosity led her to pin the little box down long enough to open it.

Only one piece lay inside, but it was a stunning thing.  A broach, made of a massive emerald-cut amethyst, set in a silver bezel, engraved with heraldic images of rearing goats and occult symbols she wished she could interpret.  On the backing was a Latin inscription. 

Coram Daemonibus Loquor.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but the broach was beautiful, and seemed to almost glow with energy, the same kind of energy that was burning inside her.  Is this what had called her to the house?

Why had it been jumping around so much?  Was all of this some kind of weird Satanic magic thing? Would Copia be upset at her if she kept it? Avaricia was his great grandma, after all.  

Maybe I’ll just hold on to it until I can ask him.

She, taking great care not to pierce her fingers, pinned it to the front of her blouse. It was one of the few passable articles of clothing from her closet, and the brooch seemed to pull it all together, making it more “genuine old fashioned period piece” and less “republicans playing dress-up”.  

Is this all she needed to do here?  Collect this brooch?  She laid her fingertips over it, finding comfort in the coolness of gemstone and metal.

No , the energy within her seemed to say.  There is something else you must do.

A clap of thunder shook the house to its foundations.  It hadn’t been raining earlier, had it?  She turned to the window nearest to her.  It was dry, not a droplet. Then, another thunderclap, preceded by a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky, and landing in the backyard. The house shook again, and Capella ran downstairs, towards the backdoor.  She looked through the window to see if anything had caught fire.

No flames, but there was a thin plume of smoke rising from a charred spot in the grass. She looked around the kitchen drawers for a flashlight.  She found one, and to her relief, it didn’t need batteries.  It was the kind you need to shake to charge.  With a few thrusts of her arm, she was ready to head outside.  

Shining the light on the spot revealed a circle of smoking, brown grass surrounding a black spot.  As the plumes rose from it, she could see a shape within them, a wispy black skull.  The energy spoke to her again.

Run inside and find a shovel.

As if on autopilot, Capella mechanically shoved the rusty blade of the shovel into the spot the lightning had marked, and began to dig.  She was unsure of how long she dug for, it could have been seconds or hours, but she didn’t stop, not until her shovel struck something hard.  The sound of metal scraping wood greeted her ears, and she cleared away more dirt until the object was visible. It was a casket, of lacquered apple wood, and carved with an image of a lamb-horned dragon.  A silver plate bolted to it bore a name.

Papa Pseudopropheta Emeritus.

Was he buried here , on this property!?

“C, honey, your family is so weird.”  She sighed.  And then the casket moved.

She screamed, running towards the house and leaving her shovel behind. Clinging to the wall and shaking, she watched the casket shake, until the lid popped off with a pressurized hiss of sweet smelling steam.   There was another, smaller casket inside, of wrought silver and gold, and surrounded by glittering coins.  This one opened as well, revealing the final coffin, made of solid lead, and in the shape of an inverted cross.  A bony, skeletal hand snaked its way out, and Capella collapsed to her knees, as a wizened, shriveled, halfway skeletal corpse emerged from its resting place.

The bony jaw unhinged itself with a noise like a dusty cough, opening the cavernous mouth, and the thing, Pseudopropheta, began to speak .

“Quis me suscitare audet?”

Oh my God, he speaks Latin with a Texas accent, Capella wanted to laugh at the terrifying absurdity of it all, but she was too afraid of getting that thing’s attention.  And then he looked at her.

His ancient spine cracked and groaned as his head snapped around, one-eyed gaze, as the other one had long since rotten away, locked directly onto her.  She froze in place, collapsing to her knees.

Is this how I die? Killed by my fake boyfriend’s zombie great grandpa?

“You.”  He pointed a finger, held together by a weak, shriveled sinew, at her.  “You bear my love’s most treasured jewel.”

“I-I’m sorry.”  She blubbered out, cursing herself for being dumb enough to pick up the brooch.  “D-do you want it back?”  And then his gaze, somehow, with most of his facial features dried up and withered away, softened.  He looked at her with that one eye, silvery white, and she realized it was the very same as Copia’s eye.

“Nevermind that.  Come here to me.”

Like a puppet on a string, she walked on jellied, wobbling legs towards him, and knelt at his coffin.

What should I do!?  He’s a zombie Satanic pope!  Is he gonna kill me!?  Should I try to make a good impression to convince him not to?  Maybe I should kiss his ring?  That’s what you do when you meet a pope, right?  I don’t know, I was raised a fundie Baptist!

She made a motion to attempt to kiss his ring, but he made an annoyed noise, just like Copia, and waved her away.

“None of that now, child.”   He looked down at her, studying her, and gave a sad, deep sigh.  He raised a tender hand to her face.

“Oh, my poor Ghuleh, the Christians have stolen so much from you, haven’t they?”

He sounded so kind.   How had a literal Satanic corpse speak to her with more kindness than her own father?  She nodded, and felt a bony thumb wipe away a tear.

“I was afraid your family was lost forever, but here you are.  You’ve found your way back to us, my brave little Ghuleh.”   His eye scanned her again, and he made a low, rumble of anger.  “They have taken your birthright from you, stolen away your Satan-given gifts.  But I can restore them.  My dear Ghuleh, would you let me wash away their taint?”  She had no idea what he was talking about, but she trusted him completely nonetheless, and nodded. He pulled her into a hug, and damn it she needed one, even if it was from a guy who’d been dead for almost a hundred years.  He didn’t stink, either. He’d been well embalmed, with incense and dried flowers.  He planted his teeth against her forehead, a lipless attempt at a paternal kiss.

“Let us find you a garment, and my old baptismal font.”

Per Pseudopropheta’s instructions, she’d found a black lace gown, and put it on, before allowing him to lead her into the house’s basement.

Following a Satanic mummified pope into the basement of a creepy house.  Yep, it’d totally die first in a horror movie.

   But he seemed to mean her no harm.  As if waiting for his return, with a wave of his hand, the wall sconces lining the basement were lit with a red flame, the light revealing the basement being empty, except for a large black stone tub, carved with images of demons and falling angels, and filled with clear water.

He offered her gentlemanly assistance into the tub, but she refused, not wanting to risk leaning on him.  She might break the poor old mummy.  To her surprise, the water was warm, lapping gently at her waist.  Pseudopropheta began the rite.

“What is your name, Ghuleh?”

“Capella Grace.”

“Capella Grace, do you cast off the spiritual chains of the Eternal Tyrant?”

“Do you reject the cruelty of sacrifice, and purge the flesh and blood of the Victim, the Mistaken Savior, From Your Body?”

“I do.”

“Do you reject all curses in the guise of blessings, all false promises of eternal life, and all commands of your former Master?”

“I do.”

“Then let us rejoice, as the Fallen Angel walks with you now.  His wings are yours, to use for your own pleasure and benefit, to soar to new heights and find new truths, to bask in the light of knowledge, away from the suffocating darkness of the Demiurge.  Kneel, my child.”

  She knelt, and ducked her head under the water.  It felt like an embrace, warm and safe, like being held as a child in the arms of her mother.  It felt like here, at the bottom of this pool, was exactly where she always wanted to be.  It felt like she’d come home.  She stayed, stayed until her lungs screamed for oxygen, and she came up for air with a gasp.

“Arise, Ghuleh Capella Grace.  And welcome home.”

Chapter Text

Heart in his mouth and mildly jetlagged, Copia was finding it difficult to focus on the road.  And driving in Texas was a nightmare in general anyway.  The traffic seemed to calm as he got further away from Dallas and closer to Capella’s town.  However, he almost began to miss it, as in the absence of road rage, he was left alone with his thoughts.

Guilt clawed at his insides, feeling like a parasite about to tear him open and spill his worthless innards everywhere.  How could she ever forgive him?  He’d broken her heart, then left her alone in a town that was poison to her poor, beautiful soul.   What had her parents put her through since he left?

Had she been forced to court properly, to go out with some stupid boy who would leer at waitresses in front of her, and in the same breath scold her if she so much as mentioned another man?  Or worse, had she been thrown into the arms of some ancient bachelor, who would no doubt be disappointed she wasn’t younger?  What if she was engaged already?  

The thought made him want to swerve off the road and directly into the nearest ditch.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he pulled into the parking lot of the nearest florist.

Flowers, flowers make everything better. His mother liked flowers.  The Ghouls liked flowers. And Capella always liked it when he brought her them.  Even if she resented him, hated him, and threw him right back out of her home, which he deserved, flowers would at least make her happy.

The florist at the counter was a young mother, a babbling baby swaddled in olive green cloth wrapped against her chest.  The mother’s short, pale pink hair was tied back with a colorful bandana, the rings in her nose jingling as she turned to greet him.

She smiled, seeming to glow from within with peace.   Motherhood looked so good in her, as if she were calm and comfortable with the role.  He thought briefly of Capella’s mother, how she looked at all times like she was bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders.  How could motherhood destroy some women, but the florist looked like she had an entire happy life ahead of her?

She looked him up and down, and with a look like she had read him like a book and already knew, asked him who he was intending to give flowers to.

“The woman I love.” He said succinctly, knowing there was no point in lying to anyone, especially not himself, anymore. “I…I hurt her feelings by mistake, and I want her to know I regret it more than anything.  And that no matter what, I still love her.”

She nodded, readjusting the baby to free her hands, before standing up to guide him through the store.  She presented him a stunning bouquet, every blossom in it being either a deep purple or near black.

“I think she’ll love these.”  And she would. Capella had a fondness for dark colors.  Perhaps she’d spend a childhood deprived from them, in a sea of beige, denim, and only the most eye-bleeding pastel patterns.  Dark colors must be a relief for her eyes.

“Thank you, signora.” He paid her, and left a generous tip.  She must have seen hundreds of men come in looking for apology flowers, to make up for whatever they’d done to make their women miserable, with or without, and usually without, an actual change in behavior. He briefly wondered if Capella’s father ever even bothered with flowers for his child bride.  As he slipped back into his car, in the rearview he got a glimpse of the florist being tenderly greeted by a handsome man with the same blonde hair as the baby.  No doubt he was one of those outdoorsy young fathers, who managed to find time between their hiking trips and days at the office to actually pull their weight around the house and be involved parents.  He seemed plenty involved actually, slipping the baby out of their sling to nuzzle their fat cheeks and nibble their fingers.  

He realized something about the florist, and how motherhood looked so good on her. She wasn’t alone .  She was reaping the 21rst century benefits of a stable job, birth control, and a husband who gave a damn, who she could divorce if he stopped.   Motherhood was a choice for her, an informed, active choice that she was able to support with her lifestyle.  

Girls like Capella’s mother, or any girl in that Satan forsaken town, didn’t have a choice.  

And he’d taken away Capella’s choice, her choice to decide the fate of her own love life.

Idiota , he cursed himself, backing out of his parking space.  No wonder no woman ever loved you before.

As he pulled in front of the Grace home, he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down.  Satana, I haven’t been this nervous since I was a schoolboy.   He was shaking so badly that he didn’t trust his poor joints to carry him all the way to the door, so he was forced to rely on his cane.  He thanked the Dark One he’d remembered to bring his nice one, fetching black with a gilded rat skull handle. 

He rang the doorbell, and bounced on his heels as he waited for an answer. What if she looks awful, like she’d been crying all night because of him?  What if she throws the flowers in his face and tosses him out?  He’d deserve that, wouldn’t he?

The door opened, and he wasn’t sure if he felt relief or disappointment to see not Capella, but Carson standing in front of him.  His eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I, uh, left a voicemail.  Sorry for the lack of warning.  Is she home?”

“No, she, uh, well, she had a big fight with our parents and she needed some space.  She’s been staying at your old place, actually.”

Right, I gave her the spare key.

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, but she's been pretty sad ever since you left.  Sadder than I’ve ever seen her.” If Copia could beat the shit out of himself, he would have.  

“Right.  Well then, I suppose I owe her a visit.”

“Wait. Before you go…”  Carson crossed his arms and leant against the doorway, brow furrowing.  “I…I know I’m the last guy who should be calling you out, but you really hurt her.  And, I need to know.  Are you just gonna keep leading her on, playing with her feelings like this?  Because she deserves better than that.”

God, Copia was so proud of him. 

“You’re right. I…I was cowardly, I let my weakness get the better of me.  And no, I intend to be honest this time.  I care for your sister deeply, Carson.  She deserves a man who isn’t afraid to admit that.”

The old Emeritus house looked just as dark and foreboding as ever, the crows sitting on the gables seemed to mock him with their harsh laughter.  He’d rehearsed his apology a million times from the car to the door, but none of the words seemed to come out right.  It was like the worst kind of stage fright, when he was on in 5 minutes and forgot every lyric.

He shook himself out like a wet dog, trying to shake off the worst of it, and knocked on the door.  There was no answer.  After two more attempts, he wondered if she could hear him.  Maybe she wasn’t home?

He still had a key.  As much as he felt he deserved to sit out on the porch like a dejected dog, he didn’t want to make her feel bad for him.  Perhaps he should just come inside and wait for her? The door opened with a creak.

“Hello?”  He called into the house, just in case she was home.  “It’s just me, signora.”  No answer.  He looked around the living room.  One of her cardigans was slung over the back of the couch, a favored cherry chapstick of hers sitting on the dining room table.  She’d been home recently.  A restless energy burned within him.  He couldn’t just sit around waiting for her to come back.  He chose to pace around the house like a zoo tiger, needing to burn some of it off so he wouldn’t be too much of a jittery mess when she saw him again.

He’d wandered out to the yard first, and circled it a few times.  There was a brown patch of moist dirt in the middle, like someone had dug it up and then hastily reburied it.  Had she attempted some gardening recently?

He went back inside, bracing his hands against the kitchen island countertop to take a few breaths.  When he got like this as a child, Auntie Marika would give him something to do, either a game or a task, to calm him down.   He supposed he should be medicated for this, but he’d had bad experiences with Ritalin as a child and he kept forgetting to ask someone about trying something new, and so he made do with caffeine and spite.  (Plus a little bit of playing around with meth in the 80s).  

He chose to do the dishes, wipe down all the counters, and clean all the spoiled leftovers out the fridge.  Capella would appreciate that, and his heart no longer felt like it was trying to escape him.

He turned his anxious pacing up the stairs, and stopped once to admire a black and white photo hanging on the wall.  It reminded him a little of American Gothic, but even more unsettling, in a nostalgic kind of way. Papa Pseudopropheta was in his papal robes, his arm around the shoulder of a splendorous woman, dripping in jewels, no doubt Avaricia.  Between them was a buck-toothed young boy with the Emeritus eye, who Copia concluded was his grandfather.  He’d been told he was the family rebel, and abandoned his papacy to run away and start a circus.

The Emeritus bloodline was chaotic, infamous for producing a lineage of Lotharios and Don Juans who had lovers tumbling into their beds, all the better for producing more heirs. Copia considered himself an exception.

He wasn’t entirely luckless in the matters of the flesh.  He was told he was good-looking, and he did have plenty of fawning groupies. A few Ghouls liked him well enough. But fucking his fans and coworkers wasn’t the pathway to longstanding love, in his experience.  Most of his family, even Nihil, the prick, were able to find love, a companion, or even multiple, that they wanted to spend their lives with, who eventually returned the feeling.   His mother had walked out, but she came back, didn’t she?  And look at Pseudopropheta.  Avaricia adored him, their love story was one for the Ministry history books. He’d, with her knowing consent, snatched her from the altar of her beloathed arranged marriage, and her former fiance was never found after he attempted to steal her back, though a Ghoul was later found wearing his pocket watch.  They were obsessed with each other, up to the very end. Avaricia was buried with her wedding ring. And here Copia was, not even sure how to get his own lady love to forgive him.  

He continued up until he reached the second floor.  The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar.  He walked past, and heard soft breathing.   His own breath hitched as she realized she was in fact home, just sound asleep.  He pushed the door a few inches further open.

She was laying on top of the covers, curled up around a pillow.   She was just as lovely as he remembered, though, even in sleep, he could tell that she was troubled, her lips pursed and her brow knit. He had an urge to kiss the expression away, until the worry on her face melted into her million-dollar smile.  Abruptly, he realized that he was watching her sleep like a damned Mormon vampire, and cursed himself before attempting to slide back out of the room.

The door squeaked, and her eyes fluttered open.  Her stunned gaze landed on him, and he froze in place like a deer in headlights.  She sat upright, rubbing her eyes, before pulling her glasses from the nightstand.

“Copia?”

“Ah, forgive me, signora.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”  Damn you, you old fool, you fucked it all up before you even started.   He moved to leave.

“D-don’t go!”  She rushed to her feet, her hands reaching out, like she longed to touch him.  Her shining eyes pleaded with him.  “Please.”

“Oh, tesoro.”  He took her hands, kissing them with a desperation akin to a parched man for water.  “I’ll never leave you again.”  Her lips quivered, and he pulled her to his chest, letting her bury her sobs in him.

“Oh, my love, my poor, dear love.”  He rubbed his hands down her back.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Am I dreaming?”  She muttered, holding onto him like he’d disappear into thin air if she didn’t.

“No, no signora.  You’re right here, in this world, with me.”  He sat her down beside him on the edge of the bed.  “Will you ever forgive me for hurting you like this?”

“I…C.”  She sniffled, rubbing at her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  You’re not in love with me.”

“But I am , signora.  Try to understand me.”  He pulled her hands into his lap.  “I love you.  I loved you already then.”

“But, then, why did you…?”

“I was afraid, signora.  Frightened and cowardly of my own love.  I was afraid that by letting you love me, by letting myself love you, I would be taking you away from the best years of your life.  You’re free now, signora.  You’re not bound to them anymore.”  He gestured in the direction of the town.  “And I was afraid that by being with me, somehow, you were sacrificing it.  But what you do with your freedom is up to you, that is a decision I don’t have the right to make.”

“You…you love me?”  She looked at him like she couldn’t believe it.  He wanted to strangle himself, and every other bastard on the planet who made her believe she was unloveable.

“It'd be impossible not to love you, signora!  Look at you, so lovely and so kind, so intelligent.  And I’m sorry I didn’t admit it.”  He sighed, allowing her to lean into him.  “If…if you’ll still have me, I’d be honored to-”

“Yes!”

She threw her arms around him, slotting her face between his neck and shoulder.  She fit so perfectly.  “A million times, yes!” She settled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”  She cradled his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs down the bridge of his nose. He leaned into the touch, desperate and longing.

“Signora…” He muttered, his breath heavy.  “May I kiss you?”  And just like that, she was on him like a she-lion.  She was clinging to him like he was the mast of a ship in a storm, and their lips were crashing violently against each other.  It seemed like every suppressed instinct for desire came bubbling up out of her at once. When they finally came up for air, a single shimmering thread of saliva connecting them, he could only stare up at her in reverence.

“You are a goddess, baby.”  She chuckled softly, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you, C.” She made a small frown for a moment.  “But before we go any further, I need to tell you something.

“You can tell me anything, doll.”  And he meant it.  If she told him she killed a man, he’d ask her if she needed help hiding the body.

“I’ve kinda changed since you left.”

“I can see that.  You’re wearing pants.”  She had on a pair of leggings that gave him a  much-appreciated view of her shapely legs.  

“Not just that.  It’s…uh, it would be better if I just showed you.”

She guided his hands underneath the hood of her jacket.

“Satana , you cut your hair. I’m sure it looks stunning.”

“It’s not just that.”  She guided his hands further upward, where they found an identical pair of short, bony lumps.

Horns.

Chapter Text

“Satana mio , you’re a Ghoul.”   Copia said, soft and reverent, as he admired the cloven hoofed foot, covered in soft, dusty lilac fur, that Capella had removed her sock and presented to him.  

“Only part Ghoul, but yeah.”  She reclined on the bed, her foot sitting in his lap.  “At least according to Pseudopropheta.  He told me that back in the 1920s, one of his Ghoulettes, a young one he raised like a daughter, was kidnapped by Fundamentalists.  She was baptized against her will, and forcibly married to a very pious and much older man, Nathaniel Grace.”

“Your ancestor.”  He concluded, and she nodded.  

“I guess taking strong young girls and breaking them into helpmeets is a family tradition.  Anyway, slowly, she lost her Ghoul features, and by the time she took her own life in ‘33, she looked completely human.  None of her kids looked like Ghouls either.  He told me it’s because we were raised in the church, and baptized as kids.  It didn’t just break our spirits and make critical thinking really hard. It actively suppressed our true nature.   But when he unbaptized me, well, it broke the spell I guess.  So…” She gestured to her legs.  “Here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.”  He kissed the hoof, making her giggle, before curling up beside her.  He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling into the back of her neck.  “What a stroke of luck that we just happened to meet.”

“Maybe it was more than luck.” She leaned into him, putting her hands over his. “Maybe, we were meant to be together.”  He squeezed her tight, peppering kisses along her neck.

“The Dark Lord brought you to me.  The greatest gift I’ve ever been given.  I thought I was cursed for so long.”

“You’re not cursed.”  She brought her hand up to gently card her fingers through his hair.  “You’re mine.”

“All yours.” He rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top of him.  She smirked, and bent down to kiss him.  Before their lips could connect, there was a knock at the door.  Capella groaned and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll get it, doll.”  He patted her thigh before slipping out from beneath her.  “If it’s your parents, I’ll tell them we eloped.”  She giggled, and shooed him downstairs.  

At the door, he looked through the keyhole to see exactly who was daring to interrupt the peace he'd found with his first and only girlfriend (What a glorious word!), and swore.  It wasn’t her family.  Worse, it was that damned priest!   He looked so pathetic, standing there like a lost puppy.  Copia wanted to grab him by the clerical collar and toss the bastard as far as he could. Instead, a devilish idea bloomed in his head.

He left for a moment, and then came back down, in full Papal paint.  He opened the door, and watched with no small amount of pleasure as Jim DeFroque nearly jumped out of his skin. He sputtered, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“It’s-It’s you!”

“Indeed it is, Father Jim.”  He leaned against the doorway, taking advantage of their slight height difference to stare down at him.  “Now tell me exactly what business you have here, besides annoying me?”  Jim took a breath, tugging at his collar.

“Now, I’m sure we can find some common ground between us, despite our, uh, differing lifestyles.  We’re both leaders, men of the cloth, and, well, I’m sure you know how fond I am of certain vices .  We all have our flaws.”

“Get to the point.  There’s a beautiful woman upstairs waiting for me.  I’m sure you can understand how… eager that can make a man.”

“That, actually, brings me back to my point. Ahem, the young lady you are enjoying, shall we say, amorous congress with-”

“Not yet.”  He corrected him.  “But hopefully soon.”

“Anyway, Miss Grace’s parents have a few objections to your relationship. They think you’ve been a bad influence on her, and ask that you send her back home.” 

“To be frank with you, Father Jim, I would sooner send her naked into Antarctica.  That would be saver than the bit of vipers that spawned her, that she calls her childhood home.  You and I both know she doesn’t belong there.”

“But she used to!  She was a good girl , you know, the cute one with little pigtails and glasses!  And she could be that again, just-” He took a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look.  Her dad’s been breathing down my neck real hard here, and my reputation is already on the ropes.  You’re the Devil’s right hand man, no doubt you’ve got road whores and groupies falling all over you.  You don’t need her!  If word gets out that one my little lambs left the flock for a Satanist-”

“She’s not a lamb , you idiot.”  If anything, she was a goat, a full-grown doe ready to kick in teeth and gore anyone who ever fucked with her.  The Ministry was fond of goat imagery, the rebellious creature that thought for itself instead of following placidly like a sheep.  No wonder they depicted the Dark Lord, the First Rebel, as one.

“And she can speak for herself.”  Capella stood at the top of the stairs, staring wrathfully down at DeFroque.  Her hood was down, revealing her little horns, burgeoning confidently from her skull. She walked down the stairs, her feet bare, so her hooves clacked against the wood as she descended.  DeFroque seemed to wilt, cowering before the she-demon in front of him.  “Hello, Father.”  He cleared his throat.

“C-Capella?”

“I’ve been meaning to thank you, for encouraging me to go to that concert with Connie.”  She leaned onto Copia’s arm.  “Otherwise, we never would have met.”

“Look, Miss Grace, you gotta understand-”

“No I don’t .”  She growled, an honest-to-Satan growl , like a proper Ghoulette.  She sounded like Cirrus did whenever Dew got too rowdy around her.  “You can get the hell off our porch, and you can tell my Dad to go fuck himself.”   She leaned in close to him, in a predatory, catlike motion.  He whimpered, leaning away like he was being stared down by a mountain lion.  She sniffed him for a moment, and her eyes flashed with a brief purple light.

“And if you don’t, I’m sure the whole congregation would just love to hear what a big hockey fan you are.”  He turned almost neon pink.

“I’ll get out of your hair now!”  He sputtered, running back to his car.  Copia burst into frantic laughter, pulling her in close by the waist.

“You really are one of us, tesoro!”  She nuzzled into his shoulder with an exhausted whine.

“Get me out of this damn town, C.”

“I will, baby.  I will.”

Chapter Text

Capella felt the first breeze of autumn that morning when she opened a window for some fresh air.  She smiled, having always loved colder weather.  Besides, it was an excuse to wear Copia’s jacket outside.  It was a little big on her, the red fabric draping over her form.  She pulled it tight around herself.  It was soft, worn down by years of washes and wear, and smelled like him.  

The man in question was still asleep in their bed, and he looked so sweet, snoring and drooling into the pillow, that she didn’t have the heart to wake him. She'd wanted to stay in bed and cuddle him all morning, but she’d gotten hungry, and carefully slipped out of bed to get some cereal.

She wanted to enjoy the weather, so she decided to eat her bowl of Cheerios outside.  They were the honey ones, the ones her parents refused to buy because they were “too sugary”.  

Fuck ya’ll , she thought, sitting on a tree stump and shoveling a heaped spoonfull into her mouth.  I eat what I want now.   As she sat down, she felt something small, cold, and hard, pressing against her rump. Shifting slightly, she reached down, and pulled out from beneath her a single, silver ring.  Had she really changed that much, that she had forgotten it completely?

The inscription inside brought back vivid memories of her and Carson’s12thh birthday.  While her twin got to go to a NASCAR race, she’d instead attended a Purity Ball.  Girls all in identical white gowns, miniature replicas of bridal gowns, being made to swear their virginities to their fathers, in an eternal promise to remain “clean” for their future husbands.    Capella wanted to toss the ring into the nearest lake, to get buried in mud and remain there for the foreseeable future.  Maybe in a thousand years, an archaeologist will find it, and put it in a museum exhibit about the barbaric, backward ways of Ancient Texas.

She twirled it between her fingers, thinking.  

True Love Waits.

   What if she didn’t want to wait anymore?

“G’morning, doll.”  Copia came downstairs with a stretch and a yawn.  Capella was in the dining room, sipping a mug of tea.

“Morning, C.”  She purred as he kissed her forehead.  “Do we have any plans for this morning?”

“The Ministry wants me back as soon as possible.” He sat down with a grunt, joints popping.  “But I told them I’m not going back without you.  They can at least wait until we pack your things.”  

She smiled into her cup. “Do you really think I’ll fit in with your people?”

“Sweetheart, you’ll flourish, I know it.  You’re a Ghoul.  And besides, it's the exact sort of place people like you go, to help heal the wounds Christianity left on them.  You’ll have plenty in common with the Sisters of Sin.  A lot of them are Mormon runaways.”

“Speaking of my old church…” She stood up, sauntering over to him.  “You wanna know a crazy thing they taught me?”

“And what would that be?”  She ran her hand along his face, tilting it up to kiss him.  She slid carefully into his lap, slipping his arms over her shoulders.

“They taught me that my body is like a rose.” She kissed him again, and again.  He was starting to get a little short of breath, the air around them feeling warmer.  “The more I…well, you know , before I’m married, the more my petals fall off. And eventually, I’ll be ruined , and no man will ever want me.  And I need your help with something related to that.”

“What do you need, principessa?”  He panted, looking up at her like she hung the moon and the stars in the sky.  “Say the word, and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want any of them to ever want me.  I want them to feel sick when they think about touching me.”  Her hands began to roam around his body, grabbing needily at the soft fat and hardened muscle of his core.  “I want to be destroyed , a bare stem to them.”  

“Is that…” His hands began to respond in kind, moving down to her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.  “Really what you want, tesoro?  You want me to ruin you?”  She whimpered, desperate.

“Yes.  Ruin me, Papa.”  With a surge of excitement, she felt him twitch beneath her.  Warmth pooled between her thighs.

“Cazzo, you’re going to be the death of me.”  He leaned back in his chair, pushing back his hair.  “Let’s take this upstairs.  Your first time should be somewhere more comfortable.” With another furious kiss, he pulled her into his arms and carried her upstairs.

On the bed, he leant back against the headboard, submitting himself for her to kiss and touch as she pleased.  She remained in his lap, nipping gently at his neck.  He braced a hand against her lower back.

“I’ll stop the moment you tell me to.”  She responded with a lick, beneath his jaw, making him writhe beneath her.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

“Diavola.” He teased, beginning to mouth at her neck in kind. He hardened further underneath her, and she began to inexpertly grind against him.  She seemed unsure of what to do, but thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. He grabbed her by the hips and adjusted her position, so her cunt was sitting on top of his growing erection.  Grabbing his shoulders for stability, she bucked her hips against his, whimpering with pleasure.

“That feel nice to you?” He asked, panting. 

She nodded, whining and humping his clothed cock.  “You feel so good. It’s just, fuck , you’re so big! ”

“I’m all yours, doll, all yours.”  He reached down, grabbing his thick bulge and pressing it into her mound. “Feel that, baby? It’s yours.  I belong to you.”  She mewled, and began to tug at his shirt.

“Want it off, wanna see you.”  He pulled it off, tossing it to the floor.  Her lust-fogged eyes scanned him, unsure of where to start.  She pawed at his chest, rubbing her thumbs over his peaked nipples. She planted a kiss on his “666” tattoo, before moving downwards.  He had a bit of a belly, a soft pouch of supple fat, spilling a little over the waistband of his pants.  He chuckled mirthlessly, rubbing a hand over it.

“I’m a little overly fond of pasta, as you can see.”

“You’re perfect.” She pushed his hand away, kneading it lovingly.  She slipped out of his lap, bending down to trail kisses down his stomach, before setting her sights lower.  Experimentally, she wrapped a hand around his bulge, kissing the tip, before beginning to gently mouth it. He squirmed, grunting.

“Such a tease…”  She tugged at his waistband, pleading with her eyes, and he nodded, slipping out of them.  Her jaw dropped as she looked at his full, naked girth.

“Impressive, eh?”

“Do you just not wear any underwear?”

“It’s comfier, and besides, I’m always prepared.”

“Alright then.  My turn.”  She pulled off her top, and Copia felt like his eyes must have been bulging out of his skull.

“Satana.”  She was stunning. Amble breasts sat in a lacy bra that he longed to rip off with his teeth.  A soft, delicate belly lay beneath them, tapering down to lovely hips.  “Come here, let me taste you.”

He pressed his face between her breasts, adoring each one with a kiss, before gently lifting the left out of its cup, and sucking at the dark nipple, and massaging the right.  With an expert hand, he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, leaving her naked from the waist up.

“God created tits like these , and then had the gall to chastise humanity for lust.” He mouthed the other, wrapping an arm around her waist.    His arm brushed against something soft and furry, and his breath hitched.

“You have a tail!?”

“It’s new, came with the hooves. You can touch it if you want.”  He stroked it gently.  It was like a shorter version of a full Ghoul’s tail, a fuzzy little stub poking out of her lower back, ending in a bony spade. 

“Turn around, baby, I wanna see it.”  She turned, presenting it to him. On the top, it had the same dusty lilac color as her leg fur, with white on the bottom.  The spade was purple, too, and marked with a white star.

“Goodness, you are just full of surprises.”  The little tail wagged, and she pulled down her pants.  If Copia wasn’t already at full mast, he would be now.

“Lucifer below, were you hiding an ass like that under those ugly skirts all this time!?”  She pressed her ass against his cock, and he groaned, rutting against the thin layer of panty fabric separating him from her cunt. 

“You’re perfect, every inch of you.”  She began to tug down her panties, but Copia grabbed her hand.

“Stop, honey, not yet.”  Her face fell.

“Did you not want to?”

“No, by the nine hells no, I’d kill for the chance you’ve given me.”  He never wanted to make her feel unwanted again.  “I just need a condom first.  Wait here a moment.”  He rolled over to open his nightstand drawer.

“Would it still feel good for you?” No doubt they’ve taught the poor girl all kinds of lies about birth control.

“Of course, baby. I got the good kind.”  He was very picky about condoms. He pulled out a thin, pre-lubricated one, and ripped it open with his teeth, eagerly slipping it on.  “Now, since it’s your first time, let me prepare you.” He slid down her underwear, taking a moment to admire her.  Her soaking cunt was covered in elegant, curling black hair.

“Sorry, I haven’t shaved in a while.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.”  He reached down to cup it in his hand.  “If a man is afraid of the bush, he isn’t fit to explore the forest.” He slid a gloved finger into her, enjoying the strangled gasp of pleasure she emitted.

“Copia…your gloves…don’t wanna ruin them…”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart.”  He slipped in another finger, and she squirmed against him, gripping the sheets below her. “Does it feel good?”  She nodded, bucking her hips and mewling for more.

“I know, I know, just fingers aren’t enough for you, doll.”  He pulled them out with a wet pop. He sniffed them, before pulling the glove off, and grabbing a handful of the warm flesh of her thigh.  He used it as an anchor while he aligned himself with her entrance.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?”

“If what- oh!” She almost shrieked as he thrust himself about halfway into her. 

“You’re officially not a virgin anymore, princess, how does it feel?”  He slid deeper into her, and she couldn’t form coherent words.  Her lips flapped open and shut, before she whimpered, and forced him all the way in.

“N-need you!”  Grabbing her by the hips, he thrusted into her.

“At your service, m’lady.”  He fucked into her, muttering terms of affection, and the occasional swear, under his breath.  “If only you could see how pretty you look like this.  Perhaps, when we get back to the Ministry, I can put a mirror on the ceiling?  Would you like that?”

She could only mewl something vaguely affirmative, too busy trying to match his rhythm.  Eventually, the pair fell into the same pattern, matching each other’s thrusts perfectly.  Copia’s arms began to shake.

“Sorry to ask, princess, but can we change positions?  Doggystyle’s a little hard on my joints.” 

“Mmmhmph.”  She nodded, and being careful not to pull out of her, he sat down with her on top of him, to ride as she pleased.

“That feel good?” Her response was to grunt, and bounce on him at a desperate pace.  “Good, good. And now I’ve got a view of that lovely ass.”

Capella threw her head back in pleasure, a low, keening moan of bliss slipping past her lips.  She was a ruined woman now, wasn’t she? Completely destroyed, unsalvageable.  She’d had nightmares, of being dragged back into her old life, being made to smile and play along with their stupid game.  Would they even want her back anymore, after this?  What would the boys of the town think, the ones taught by fathers to call girls with their shoulders out whores, of her now?  Would she still be just another doll at the bottom of the toy bin, a last-pick potential bride, if they saw her, splayed out on another man’s cock like this?   Would they finally leave her alone?  She wasn’t one of them anymore. She was a half-demon, bouncing on the fat cock of a Satanic pope.  She was beyond “saving”.

And for the first time in her life, she felt completely safe.

“Copia!” She called out. “Pull my tail!”

“Gladly.”  He wrapped it around his hand, tugging downward.  It felt like an anchor, holding her down to earth, down to him .  She was safe, grounded, never at risk of being pulled into the empty heaven of a cold, unloving God.  She was right here, right now, with the man she loved.  It sent her tumbling over the edge of an earth-shaking orgasm. She gasped, coming apart on top of him. “Did you finish baby?”

“Yeah.”  She panted, her brown skin glimmering with sweat.  “You?”

“Not yet, doll.  But don’t worry, I can handle it mysel- ngh!”  She began to bounce again, making sure to press her ass against him with extra force.

“This good?”

“You’re a goddess, cara mia, I mean that.” He moaned, holding onto her hips.   It didn’t take much for her already sensitive body to reach its second peak, and seconds after that, Copia joined her, his toes curling as he growled his way through it. She looked back at him innocently, like she hadn’t just fucked him senseless.  

“Was I good?”

“Good?  Tesoro, you rocked my world!” He sat upright, pulling her against his chest, kissing her shoulder.  “You sure you’re a virgin?”

“Well, not anymore.” She giggled, stroking his sweaty locks.  “Thank you Copia, that was amazing.”

“Glad to be of service, doll.”  He slid out of her, pulling off the condom.  “I’ve got half a mind to keep this as a souvenir.”

“Don’t, that’s kinda gross, babe.  If you want a souvenir, take these.”  She tossed him her panties, still darkened by a wet spot she’d left. “I know I’m not the first woman to throw her underwear at you.”  He held them reverently, like a sacred relic.

“But by far my favorite.  I’m honored, tesoro.  But won’t you need to wear these for the rest of the day?”

“Nah.  I kinda like the breeze.  Besides, now we match for the day.  Easy access if you want a round two.”

“As glorious as that sounds, before I even think about round two, we need to rehydrate.”  They redressed and went downstairs, where Copia unearthed his juicebox stash in the fridge.  “Apple or orange?”

“Apple.”

“Good, because I like orange. We won’t have to share when we live together.”  He handed her the juice and kissed her forehead.

Chapter Text

She looks like a painting , Copia thought, looking at his bed partner.

Capella’s bare skin seemed to glow in the pale moonlight as she stared out the window, chin resting on her hand, lost in thought.  She looked like a nude, reclining, Renaissance Venus. Her eyes shone, like black gemstones, her expression longing.  

“What’s on your mind, cara mia?” She sighed elegantly, rolling over to put her head on his chest.

“A lot of things, mostly my family.”

“Want to tell me about it?”  Tears glittered on the ends of her lashes.  

“I’m not the only one trapped here.  When I leave, my little siblings will be alone with our parents.  And I won’t be there to protect them.  Chloe’s still just a baby, she needs me, and Cassie…she’s sixteen.  After one ruined daughter, Mom and Dad will be trying to marry her off as fast as they can, before my reputation rubs off on her.  And Caleb, he’ll turn out just like every other man in town. They’ll turn my baby brother into a monster.”  Copia kissed the crown of her head.

“Oh, my poor dove.  But, I have a good feeling they’ll be alright.”

“Really?”

“Look at you, dear, you found your way out.  Who’s to say that they won’t too?  Especially since you’ve already shown them the path.  People in cults like this, they stay, because they’ve been told there’s no other way.  Why do you think you grew up so isolated?”

“I was ready to run almost the moment we became friends.”  She ran her fingers through the dusting of soft hair on his chest.  “You, a man I was taught was the living epitome of evil, was kinder to me than almost anyone.”

“They’ll teach your siblings that you are evil, my dear.  Evil and hellbound for daring to leave. But then they’ll look at you, their big sister who was practically a second mother, and start to wonder who really is the evil one.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Do you think you can come with me back to my parents’ house tomorrow?  It’s probably gonna be super tense, and I could use the emotional support.”

“I wouldn’t have the heart to leave you there alone.”

Capella’s heels thumped against the concrete driveway leading up to her childhood home.  They were platforms, and the heels were exactly six inches.  An odd quirk of the structure of her newly grown hooves was that heels were the only shoes she could wear comfortably.  She could technically go barefoot, but she didn’t exactly want to flout around the fact that she was an unholy creature of darkness quite yet, hence the black sun hat to cover her horns.  It felt a little mismatched with her baggy Ghost t-shirt and basketball shorts, but it protected her from the sun, and Copia thought it looked cute anyway.

She held her head high as she approached the front door.  She couldn’t show a single sign of weakness, not today.

“Honey?” She turned towards Copia, following behind her, faithful as a hound. “I need to talk to them alone for a bit.”

“Should I come in if I hear screaming?” He said, half joking but clearly meaning at least a little of it, judging from the look of worry on his face.

“No, I think I can handle screaming.  But, maybe if you hear glass shattering or something, come in.”  Seeing his worry deepen, she tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

“I think you could beat my dad in a fight.  He’s like, really old, and he’s got arthritis.” He laughed, playing along.

“I’m no spring chicken myself, and my joints aren’t that good either.”

“But you’re way more athletic.  You’re a career performer and did ballet for years.  You showed me the Rats music video, my dad couldn’t do half of that. Carson Grace Senior couldn’t pirouette if his life depended on it.”  She smooched him on the cheek as she went up to the door. “If I don’t come out in ten minutes, feel free to join me. Worst comes to worst, you hold him down while I punch.”  

She took a deep breath, attempted to make as much of her false bravado feel real as she could manage, and knocked.  

The person who answered was her mother.  It was hard not to feel guilt stricken to see her, eyes red and black-ringed like she hadn’t been sleeping.

“Oh, baby.”  She said, softly, cradling her daughter’s face. Capella put her hand over hers.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Please.”  She pleaded, begging.  “Come home.  We’re your family.”

“I can’t, Mom.  It’s not my home anymore.  I don’t belong-”

“Is that little whore here!?” An ugly shout came from inside the house.  Capella’s mother jumped at the sound.

“Honey, don’t…”  She attempted to find the strength to contradict him, but it had been slowly stolen from her from the very day she met him. Capella put her hand on her shoulder.  She had to be strong enough for the both of them now.

“It’s okay, Mom.  I can handle this.”  She stepped into the house. “If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face, old man!” And thus began the fight that shattered the Grace household.

The family had always projected an idea of sterile perfection.  A noble paterfamilias, with his obedient wife and army of subservient children.  To display anything else was practically a sin in its own right.  All problems, or even suggestions of problems, were swept under the rug, where they festered into resentment and trauma.  And here Capella was with the audacity to air them all out.

She and her father exchanged venom-filed barbs and violent words, while her mother tried and failed to get them to calm down and restore a state of peace.  Whenever his voice raised a decibel, she would respond in kind, until it felt like she was screeching loud enough to shake the windows out of their panes.

The other Grace siblings sat crouched behind the railing of the stairs, watching in equal parts fascination and horror.  Someone was challenging their patriarch’s authority, and they couldn’t tear their eyes away.

Carson Sr. accused his daughter of being unfaithful to their family unit, hellbound for eternal damnation.  He told her she was destined for all sorts of terrible fates, such as being a homeless, heroin-addicted prostitute with AIDs, having to raise countless illegitimate bastards in a one room apartment, which she’d somehow have despite being homeless. Capella promptly told him that he wished he’d drop dead.  He proceeded to accuse her of being “brainwashed” by her lover, which enraged her even further.

“Oh, you wanna talk about brainwashing!?  What about what you did to her!?”  She gestured to her mother, sobbing at the kitchen table.  “She was a child!  The only reason I exist is because no one in her life cared about her enough to protect her from you!”

Mrs. Grace, who’s real name was Aaliyah, though she’d nearly forgotten that herself, attempted to intervene on her husband’s behalf.

“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t like that-”

“You stay out of this!”  He seemed to lurch towards her, and she jumped, flinching, as if in expectation of pain.  And a million memories came flooding back to Capella.

The Graces were a household that never spared the rod.  Capella had been familiarized with wooden spoons, switches cut from trees in the backyard, and more often than not, just bare hands, from an age as early as she could remember.   Every child under their roof felt an instinctual chill down their spine at the sound of a belt unbuckling.  It was all nothing new to her.  But…

But her mother was a grown up, one of the untouchable gods that ruled the insular little universe of their family.   No one was allowed to…

Unless…

When Capella was very small, perhaps four or five, she’d sat, shaking on the edge of her bed, as her parents across the hall engaged in the only argument she’d ever seen them have.  She was too young to remember or even understand what it was about or how it ended, but she’d heard the sound of a loud thump, like a human body hitting the floor, and the argument ended.  She’d gone to sleep without much thought after that, but when Mama took her to violin practice the next morning, she’d seen an odd, almost hand shaped red mark on her left arm.  She told her it was just a sun rash. 

But sun rash doesn’t look like that.  And it was the middle of January.

“Mom..” Her voice softened, fearful.  Aaliyah was looking at her with the expression of a frightened child, like she’d somehow done something wrong.  “Did he ever-?”

“Look at me when I talk to you, you little-!” She felt a hand squeeze around her shoulder.  

Her fist was swinging before she realized what had happened.

There was a sickening thump of bony knuckles against cartilage, followed by a shocked gasp from the entire room.  Carson Senior was sent stumbled back, clutching his nose.  His hand came away bloody, matching Capella’s own hand, warm and sticky, dripping onto the pristine beige carpet.

Upstairs, there was a tiny wail, as Chloe, too little and scared to do anything else, burst into tears. Guilt, old and familiar as her own breath, filled her. But no, she couldn’t afford that luxury anymore. Not with a man like this .

“Keep your goddamn hands off me!”  It came out as a screech, a defense mechanism like the hiss of a frightened cat or the warning cry of a songbird.  If she were loud enough, she could ward off the predator.  And it seemed to work.

Blood dripped down her father’s face, and he looked at her in fear .  She, the girl who, a year ago, would have walked barefoot over fire if he told her to, and scolded herself for being burned after, had threatened and wounded him in his own home, the seat of his power.  His entire world was crumbling down around him.  And, God help her, it felt good.

“If you ever try to touch me, or her, or anyone else in this house I swear to God, or Satan, or fucking anyone , I will kill you, do you understand me!?  You keep your damn hands to yourself!”  He was silent, but afraid, and relented.  He, now in a position of no power for the first time in many years, was unsure of what to do, besides scurry away, into the kitchen in search of paper towels to staunch the bleeding.  Aaliyah motioned to follow him, but stopped before standing up, only having the strength left to break down and cry.

Capella looked around, at the wake of what they’d wrought, and sighed, swallowing a sob.

“I only came here to tell you I’m moving out, and to start packing up my stuff.

The door swung open, and an anxious-looking Copia poked his head inside.

“I know you said not to come in, but I heard loud noises and I got worried and- oh.” He looked around the room, making mental connections, especially between Mr. Grace bleeding through a wad of paper towels and the matching red stain Capella’s hand.  “What happened here?”

“Nothing that wasn’t 24 years in the making.”  She sighed, wiping her hand off on the hem of her shirt.

Chapter Text

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay.”  Capella rocked her little sister back and forth, calming the child down.  Chloe mumbled sadly, before falling asleep.  Cassie sat on the edge of Capella’s bed, eyes bloodshot from tears.

“Do you really think Dad was hurting Mom?” Capella sighed, nodding.

“Even if he wasn’t, he was still treating her badly.  She was just a kid, and he took advantage of that to ruin her life.”

“Is that why you have to leave?”

“It’s one reason, of about a hundred million.  But you have to listen to me.”  She squeezed her sister’s hand.  “It’s not safe for you here, either.”

“But-”

“This whole town is poison , Cassandra.” She used her full name, showing her conviction.  “It’ll ruin you too, like it ruined Mom, and ruined me.   It almost turned me into a woman like her, and it’ll turn Caleb into a man like Dad. You need to leave as soon as you can.”  Cassie bit her lip, blinking away tears.

“I…don’t know if I can.  I don’t have anyone who can help me.”

“You have me.”  She smiled.  “We’re family, we look out for each other.  As soon as I get my stuff to California, and as soon as you’re ready, we can come and get you.  Caleb and this one, too.”  She ruffled Chloe’s hair.  

“But what about Mom?  If he’s been hurting her all this time, we can’t just leave her.”

“We won’t.”  Carson added, standing outside Capella’s room.  “One of my professors has a law firm, and they specialize in divorces and family law.  I’m friends with one of his junior associates.  She’s taking cases pro bono right now, it means she’s not taking payment.  I think she can help Mom get out of this. I’ve seen in the courtroom, she’s new but she’s ruthless.  If we can get proof he’s been hurting her, not just hitting her, screaming at her and stuff, she can get full custody of the kids.  And, since she doesn’t have a job and can’t support herself, he might have to pay her alimony money, and potentially child support.”  Cassie sighed, folding her hands in her lap.

“I didn’t know she could get all that.  I thought divorce left you all alone.”

“They teach women that to scare us, so we don’t try to leave.”

“But Mom still would need a place to stay until she can get back on her feet..  Divorces can take a while, and I don’t wanna leave her with him.”  Carson paced, thinking.  “There’s plenty of shelters for people in her situation, but she might feel lonely.”

“She can stay at the Ministry, too.  A lot of domestic violence victims end up there, actually.”  Copia had told her many stories of Sisters of Sin donning the habit after running away from horrendous marriages.  “Speaking of that, I need to start packing.  I need to get out of this house as soon as possible.”

Moving out proved a relievingly quick and easy process. With the aid of her lover, friend, and siblings, everything she wanted to bring with her to the West Coast was packed into a rented van.  It wasn’t like she had much to her name anyway.

She was one of five siblings, and had never been overindulged in possessions, or really indulged at all.  Most of her childhood toys were handed down to little sisters or cousins years ago, leaving behind only a few stuffed animals.  She also didn’t intend to keep most of what she had, at least in terms of clothing.  She didn’t want to dress like a fundamentalist anymore, so she was content with getting rid of most of her closet and making do with articles borrowed from Copia until she could get things for herself.

“I still can’t believe this.” Connie said, sitting on the curb next to her after the last box had been loaded.  “I take you to one concert and you end up turning into a half-demon and hooking up with the lead singer! I better at least get free tickets from now on.” She laughed, ribbing her.

“I know, it’s crazy. But the good kind of crazy.”  She leaned on her shoulder.  “I can’t thank you enough. You saved my life, you know.”

“I’ve watched this town eat girls like us alive, over and over again.  I couldn’t just let that happen to you.  I can’t be the only one who made it out.”

“And you won’t be.  Once my family’s out of here, I don’t think I ever wanna see this place again.”

“Well, since you’re skipping town for good, here’s one more piece of gossip for the road.” Connie giggled. “You will never guess who was just caught in a very compromising position with a woman, someone else’s wife no less, in the church basement!” Capella’s jaw dropped.

“No way!?”

“Jim DeFroque is now in actual danger of being defrocked.  He’s made a bunch of cry baby fake apologies, but no one believes him.”

“How the mighty do fall.”  She grinned from ear to ear, she laid back on the grass.  “Maybe this place isn’t doomed.”

Mr. Grace had left the house, grumbling something about staying with a friend until everyone “came to their senses”, leaving his family free from his influence for a bit.  Carson was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to convince his mother to consider breaking her marriage.

“I don’t know, baby.” She sighed.  “This all seems very official and he only ever put hands on me once. Maybe he can change.”

“Mom, once is already too much.  He should never hit you, and even if he didn’t hit you, the way he’s been treating you besides that is more than enough grounds for divorce. I don’t think he’s ever gonna change, and I don’t think he wants to, either.”

Meanwhile, Capella was sitting on her now bare mattress upstairs, in Copia’s arms, trying to decompress from their exhausting day.

“Do you really think she’ll go through with it?”

“I hope so.  My siblings aren’t safe unless she does, and neither is she.  He’ll take his anger at me out on them, I know it.” 

“This is the home I nearly left you alone in.  I’ll always regret that.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing, babe.”

“But I wasn’t, and thank Satan for Terzo.  He told me off something fierce, finally screwed my head back onto my shoulders.  I know you’ll love him, he’s been desperate to meet the girl who finally pulled his fratellino out of his shell.”

“You never seemed shy to me.  A little awkward, maybe a little goofy.”  She kissed the corner of his grinning mouth. “But never shy.”

“I’m not, well, not really.  I’m a bit narcissistic, and a whore for the spotlight.  But, I’m not good with love.  It frightens me, you know?  Being vulnerable to someone.” She put a hand on his chest.

“Do I frighten you?”

“Maybe a little, to be honest, but that’s okay.”  He bent down to nuzzle her under the jaw.  “But it’s the exciting kind of fear.”

“Like a horror movie?”

“Exactly like that, tesoro.”

The door to the room creaked open a little, and the pair rushed to untangle themselves from each other and smooth out any suspicious looking wrinkles in their clothes.

“Sweetie?” Aaliyah looked into the room.  “Can I come in?”

“Go ahead, Mom.”  If she was unnerved to see her daughter alone in a room with a man, she didn’t have the energy to show it.  She seemed diminished from her exhaustion, the weight of nearly a quarter century of a miserable marriage visible in every inch of her.   Her hair, normally in a tight 60s-style updo supported by an army of bobby pins, was down and hanging loose around her shoulders, exposing the curly roots missed by her flat iron.  She sat down next to her daughter, putting her hand on her knee.

“I just came up here to let you know that I’m sorry.”  Never in a million years would Capella expect an apology from either of her parents, but did her best to conceal her shock.  “I wasn’t a very good mom to you.”

“Mom, it’s not your fault.”

“I let him control me, and I think I forgot who I was.” She pinched the edge of her gingham apron dress.  “This wasn’t who I was, not before him.  And it’s not who you are, either, is it?” Capella nodded, looking at the floor.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for trying to make you into that.  I’m sorry I almost made you get married.  I’m sorry for so many things, I’m mostly sorry that that man is your father.”  She held her hands, lacing her fingers between hers. “But I also want you to know that I am so proud of you.”

“You are?”

“I am.  Even with all the obstacles in your way, including the ones me and your father created, you found your way out.”  She smiled at Copia. “And you, sir. You’ve made my daughter happier than she’s been in her whole life.  I can’t thank you enough for that.  My husband says you’re a Satanist.”

“Uhh…” He blushed like a schoolboy, looking for the least offensive answer he could give her.

“I don’t really care what you are, so long as you treat her kindly.  I’d be glad to call you my son-in-law.”  Copia made an odd, sputtering noise.

“I mean, that’s an honor ma’am, but it’s a little early to…I’m not sure if that’s what she wants, and-”  Capella silenced him with a kiss to the cheek.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but if that’s what we want one day, I’m ok with it.”

Chapter Text

“Tesoro, wake up.  We’re here.”  Capella’s eyes fluttered open, and she yawned, stretching the best she could in the front seat of Copia’s car.  She must have fallen asleep on the drive from the airport.  

“We are?”  She looked out of the windshield, at an elegant mausoleum, with a stunning stained glass window that put every Protestant church she’d ever attended to complete shame.  “Is this your home?”

“Our home now, sweetness, for as long as you want it to be.”  He helped her out of the car, into the warm night air of Altadena, California. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“More beautiful now, with you in it.”

He guided her to the door, where, after ringing the bell, there was a Ghoul answering it.  He welcomed his Papa home with a toothy smile, and Capella got her first look at an unmasked member of her newfound species.

The Ghoul, who Copia introduced as Aether, was tall and solidly built, with short tusks, and a pair of horns that would make her billy goat jealous.  His tail, long and whiplike, with a spade the same shape as her own, wrapped around Copia’s waist when he embraced him.

Aether greeted Capella in a way she assumed Ghouls greeted each other, by sniffing her face rather intensely, before seemingly approving of her with a feline chuff.  She attempted to return the greeting with her best attempt at a Ghoulish vocalization, a chirp, which seemed to be passably friendly.

Aether led the pair to Copia’s room.  Capella giggled a little bit at his inspirational kitten poster.

“Be nice, it was a gift from my mother.”

“I think it’s adorable.”  Copia smirked as he helped her unpack her suitcase.

“Anyway, how are you feeling, principessa? Still sleepy?”  A yawn betrayed her, and she nodded. “I don’t want to assume that we’re sharing a bed, just because we’ve shared a bed in the biblical sense.”

“I’m okay with that.  I wanna be close to you. You make me feel safe.”  Copia sighed, hugging her tight.

“To be honest, I didn’t wanna sleep alone either.  I just didn’t wanna pressure you.”

“You’re funny.” She giggled, kissing his neck. “I’m okay with being your teddy bear, so long as you’re mine.”

“Thank Satan I remembered to finally build that bedframe.”

“Want me to help you break it in?” She purred, enjoying the odd little noise he made in response.  

“Already?  Eager to get to housewarming, aren’t we?”

“I’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for, and I’ve still got a few petals on my stem.  Wanna help me knock them off?”

“Gladly.”

Waking up first at someone else’s house is always awkward, especially when you wake up naked.  Capella sat upright on the bed, watching her boyfriend snore and drool all over the blanket, occasionally twitching.  It was adorable. She brushed his hair out of his face and kissed the tip of his nose, before standing up to go shower.

She stepped into the bathroom, and something told her that it had been hastily prepared for her presence, judging by the fresh towels, and the unopened pack of floral scented body wash sitting next to a half empty bottle of men’s 3-in-1 in the shower. 

Once she felt sufficiently clean, Capella slipped into some articles from Copia’s closet, a faded Van Halen t-shirt and a pair of tiny basketball shorts with a hot pink Ghost logo on the back, and imagining Copia wearing them made her heart flutter.  He certainly had the ass to pull them off.

Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered him mentioning to her that the kitchens were always open to everyone, and so long as she stayed out of the kitchen staff’s way, she was free to eat what she liked.  

The rising sun filtered in through the stained glass windows, painting the floors in a translucent rainbow.  It was looking to be a beautiful morning. She wondered if she would get a chance to explore Los Angeles soon.  She felt free as a bird, and her light heart ached to soar.  She realized her bare hooves were making an awful lot of noise on the marble floors, and she made an effort to try and step more softly.  She didn’t want to wake anyone up.

When she finally found the door labeled “Kitchens”, she opened it just a little at first, to see if anyone was working inside.  Realizing she was alone, she let herself in, and began to peruse what they had in stock.  There was flour, pale blue eggs laid by some well-bred backyard chickens, and a small mountain of sticks of hand-churned butter.   

I could make pancakes .

It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.  And putting the tradwife skills that had been drilled into her since birth for her own benefit felt satisfying.

She was quickly able to locate a mixing bowl, and as soon as she’d put in all the dry ingredients, a voice came from behind her that nearly made her drop an egg.

“And who might you be?”  She turned around, to see a tall, bald man, with a dour expression and a greying mustache.  He had the same eyes as Copia, was this one of his brothers?

“Oh, uh, hi.  I’m Capella.  You…you wouldn’t know me, I’m new.”

“Indeed you are.”  The man, seemingly in his pajamas, consisting of a threadbare white t-shirt and boxers, leered in close to look at her, and her tail tucked between her legs.  “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a half Ghoul.  Who might have summoned you into the world?”

“Leave her be, fratello.”  Another voice, softer and silkier, purred into the kitchen, belonging to a very short, achingly handsome man with dark hair, and those same eyes, wearing a monogrammed housecoat.  “The poor girl’s been through enough already.” The short man gave her a very familiar kiss on the hand. “Forgive my brother, signora, he’s an asshole.”  The bald one scoffed, rolling his eyes.  “You must be Copia’s little lady. He’s told me so much about you.” Capella blushed.  It seemed flirtatiousness ran in the family.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Terzo, Papa Terzo if you must.  And this stronzo right here is Secondo.  Welcome to the family.”  She timidly put one hoof behind the other.

“I’m honored, Papa Terzo. I just got here, and you’ve been so nice to me.”

“Please, it’s all you deserve and more.  We all thought our poor baby brother was going to die alone, we should be singing your praises from the rooftops.” She grinned down into the bowl of what she was trying to turn into batter.

“Do either of you want some pancakes?”

“You are too kind, signora.  We can at least help you with them, can’t we?”  He elbowed Secondo in the stomach, not really requesting he help her so much as demanding. But he rolled his eyes again, and agreed.

Capella watched them argue over whether they should use a stainless steel pan or a cast-iron skillet, and her chest felt warm.

She imagined the life she could have had, had she not gone with Connie to that concert.  She’d probably be on her second kid already by now, being berated by a slimeball over his coffee being cold while she was trying to dress an unruly toddler for school.  

Instead, she had two grown men fighting over who helped her make breakfast.

Thank Satan, for this little life I’ve chosen.