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The next day arrives with an ominous weight, clinging to the air like a shroud as I prepare for our "journey." Not that it will take long—a split second, to be precise as Mammon will transport us to The Below with a snap of his fingers.
I try to maintain my composure, but my mind whirls with questions and uncertainties.
"Are you ready, little one?" Mammon asks, coming to stand behind me as I gaze out of our bedroom window.
I take a deep breath and turn to face him. "As ready as I'll ever be."
He cups my face, caressing my cheek. "You have nothing to fear, Penelope. But it is important that you see me in my natural environment if this marriage is to work. I was created for a specific purpose, and if we are to have any kind of future, you need to accept who and what I am—a demon with all the darkness and flaws that come with it."
I place my hand over his. "I'm not afraid of your darkness, Mammon. It's open and honest. You haven't hidden who you are from me like my father. He's the real monster, the true darkness."
Mammon nods. "Very well. Let me show you Hell."
My heart skips a beat. Hell. The word resonates like a dark omen, conjuring images of fire and brimstone. I cling to Mammon like an anchor, my fear masked by a façade of determination. This is the new Penelope, the one not afraid to grab what she wants with both hands.
Mammon snaps his fingers, and my stomach tugs sharply as our surroundings melt away, shifting to an otherworldly realm. The air thickens with an unsettling energy, and I can't shake the feeling that we're crossing into forbidden territory. A chill sweeps through my bones, but I know Mammon won't let any harm come to me.
The very fabric of reality seems to warp around us, and it feels like I'm sucked through a portal into a realm beyond mortal comprehension.
Hell unfolds before me in all its infernal glory—twisted landscapes, ominous shadows, and an aura of malevolence that chills me to the core. A pang of apprehension has me tightening my hand in Mammon's, but alongside it blooms a strange fascination.
Mammon's presence is a comfort amidst the chaos. Despite the perilous surroundings, I'm inexplicably drawn to my enigmatic demon.
This journey marks a pivotal turn in my existence—a plunge into the unknown. What awaits me in this realm of shadows and secrets?
My stomach lurches as we arrive in Mammon's realm—a dark chamber adorned with eerie décor that seems to pulsate with an otherworldly glow. The walls are etched with intricate, ominous patterns, and the air is heavy with an unsettling stillness.
At the center of the chamber sits a magnificent throne crafted from obsidian and adorned with glistening gemstones.
Mammon gestures toward it with a solemn expression. "That is where I conduct my business," he explains, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and resignation. "Here in Hell, humans and The Others come to make their deals, seeking wealth, power, and desires they cannot fulfill in the mortal realm."
Mammon waves his hand, and a comfortable chair appears in the corner, along with a small table of refreshments. He beckons me toward it. "Make yourself comfortable. No one will be able to see or hear you, but you will be able to view everything clearly. This will be a long day, but if you want to leave anytime, let me know, and I will take you home."
Home.
Funny how right that sounds.
I watch in fascination as Mammon assumes his rightful place on the throne, a regal figure exuding an air of authority amidst the darkness. His presence commands attention, and I realize how deeply intertwined he is with the fabric of this infernal domain.
No sooner does my butt touch the chair than a procession of individuals enters one by one. Each person approaches the throne with a look of desperation and longing in their eyes, driven by a desire so profound that they are willing to bargain their very soul.
The first petitioner is a middle-aged man, his hands trembling as he kneels before Mammon. "I seek riches beyond measure," he declares with fervor. "Grant me wealth and prosperity, and in return, take my soul."
Mammon's gaze narrows as he assesses the man's plea, his expression inscrutable. "Are you sure this is what you want? You are prepared to relinquish your soul to Lucifer for eternity in exchange for material possessions?"
I'm surprised by Mammon's questions. Does he usually give these people the opportunity to change their minds? Isn't it his job to collect as many souls as possible for Lucifer, not have them second-guess their decision? Perhaps he's doing this because I'm here. To impress me?
No. Mammon is not a man—demon—who feels the need to impress anyone. If I've learned one thing about him over the last few weeks, it's that he knows who and what he is and doesn't seek approval from others. The purpose of today is that I know who he is by witnessing him in his environment.
"I'm sure," the man says, his eyes glittering with the promise of all the "things" he holds important.
With a subtle nod, Mammon gestures toward a parchment, silver scalpel, and quill that materializes out of thin air, bearing a contract written in a language I can't decipher. The man eagerly slices the blade of the scalpel across his palm, signing his name in his blood and sealing his fate in exchange for material wealth.
I watch with curiosity and dismay as the man departs, his countenance brimming with newfound anticipation, oblivious to the impending cost of his desires.
The next petitioner is a young woman, her eyes glimmering with a hunger for power. "I crave authority and influence," she proclaims boldly. "Grant me dominion over others, and I offer my soul in return."
Mammon's response is swift, his expression betraying no emotion as he drafts another contract. He doesn't question this woman, obviously seeing that her path won't be swayed. The woman signs without hesitation, her ambition overshadowing any sense of caution or remorse.
