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In the Circle of Wrath, one got used to a variety of noises. The howls of hellbeasts, the crackle of fire, the doleful wails of the damned. Millie had grown up with these sounds, had accepted them as a part of everyday life. She barely even reacted to them anymore.
So it was saying something when an unfamiliar sound managed to set her nerves on edge as she left the homestead that evening.
“La la la la la…”
One hand went to the dagger on her hip as she crouched low, ready to pounce. Papa taught her to always strike first, and that tactic had served her well in similar situations. But the sound didn’t get closer, didn’t get louder, only continued its lilting, mesmerizing melody.
She followed it to the base of a small cliff, one she used to spend a lot of time under as a young girl. By now she was far out of her way, and she was debating whether this endeavor was really worth her time—
“La la la la la…”
—Well, Ma did always say she was too curious.
She quietly crept up the rocky path, dagger still drawn, until she crested onto the precipice itself. In the hazy red light of dusk, she could only make out the silhouette from here, but that was enough to tell that it was another imp. They were sitting on the edge of the cliff, their back to her.
“La la la la la…”
She sheathed the dagger and crept out of the brush. “Mighty pretty sound you got there.”
The imp jumped and whirled to face her. She could actually make out their features now, and she found herself stifling a laugh because what self-respecting imp walked around Wrath with a guitar of all things?
“Who are you?” he demanded—which, granted, was pretty much the standard greeting in this part of Hell. And technically, she was encroaching on his territory, if you counted music as a way of marking territory. Then again, from what she’d seen so far he didn’t exactly cut a threatening figure. She could probably take him.
Pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of general courtesy, she smiled and offered a hand. “I’m Millie. You?”
He paused, then shook it tentatively. “Moxxie.”
“Much obliged, Moxxie.” Her gaze flicked down to his guitar. “You're not from around here, are you?"
"What gave it away?"
"Eh…" She struggled to find a polite way to say it. She failed, instead opting to point meaningfully at the instrument.
It was like a switch had been flipped. Moxxie's eyes hardened, his awkward demeanor disappearing as he jabbed a finger into Millie's chest. “You know what? Think what you want," he huffed. "Think what everyone always thinks. Yeah, I’m a thespian and I’m fucking proud of it! I will not apologize for art, dammit!”
“Whoa, whoa!” Millie threw her hands up in placation. Any other day she would’ve taken it as aggression and responded accordingly, but…Clearly this was a sore spot. And for all her talents, “thespian” wasn’t one, so who was she to judge?
Moxxie, for his part, seemed a bit embarrassed by his outburst. He took a couple of deep breaths before sagging. "Fine, you got me. I'm just taking some time away from…" He trailed off. "…just taking some time off, you know. Away from work, responsibilities…"
"Tryin' to find yourself?" Millie guessed. Moxxie nodded. "That's fun. But why music?"
He shrugged. “It’s not something that can be described in words, really. I guess it just makes me feel alive.”
Millie had felt alive once. As a born-and-bred imp of Wrath, she had free rein of the countryside and she used that opportunity to do whatever the hell she wanted. She knew thirty-one ways to skin a cat by her eighteenth birthday. She had a body count in the triple digits for fuck’s sake!
But somewhere along the line it had all become routine. Suddenly the idea of an imp thespian wasn’t quite so ridiculous.
So before he could stalk off, she darted forward to grab his tail. “Alive? That’s worth a lot.” She spun him around, leaning in as she stared deep into his eyes. “What else ya got?”
He froze. For a split second his eyes narrowed, as if he thought she was making fun of him—but the sheer earnestness on her face couldn’t be faked if she was trying. Hesitantly, he lifted a clawed hand and ran it across the strings.
Millie gasped as the music swirled around them, filling her with emotions she’d never experienced before. Murder was invigorating, but this? This was exhilarating.
She let it fill her, and without really realizing it she lifted her voice in song.
“Lover, tell me if you can, who’s gonna buy the wedding bands? Times being what they are, hard and getting harder all the time…”
The response was immediate. “Lover, when I sing my song, all the rivers will sing along. And they’re going to break their banks for us, and with their gold be generous. All a-flashin’ in the pan, all to fashion for your hand.” Moxxie was in his element now, all traces of hesitation gone as he wove his melody. “The river’s gonna give us the wedding bands.”
Millie was entranced—but like a cat toying with a mouse, her hunter’s instinct kept her playing hard to get. “Lover, tell me if you’re able, who’s gonna lay the wedding table?” she challenged. “Times being what they are, dark and getting darker all the time…”
And once again, the worthy opponent he was, Moxxie matched her. “Lover, when I sing my song, all the trees are gonna sing along. And they’re going to bend their branches down to lay their fruit upon the ground. The almond and the apple, and the sugar from the maple…the tree’s gonna lay the wedding table.”
The two must have been there for hours, or at least Millie felt that way as she let herself jump and dance to the music. Finally she flopped down on her back and sighed contentedly. This was the life—the view from the cliff, the music on the breeze, the moon overhead—
“Oh my gosh, what time is it?!” She shot up, bringing the song to an abrupt end as Moxxie startled. “I promised Pa I’d go out and bag something for dinner. Now it’s late and I have nothing!” She collapsed, burying her face in her arms in shame.
Pa didn’t take excuses. Not from her and not from anyone. Disappointment was one thing, but if he knew she’d been out here indulging in music? Music?!
“Hey.”
She looked up. Moxxie was at her shoulder, the guitar laid gently at their feet. He smiled at her—a tender smile, one that didn’t even show any teeth. Millie was just starting to wonder how the hell this guy survived Wrath this long when he reached into his coat and pulled out the most beautiful pistol she’d ever seen. Without ever breaking eye contact with her, he aimed up and fired.
Two seconds later, a turkey vulture hit the ground next to them with a satisfying thump .
“Problem solved,” he said.
And that cemented it. She pulled him close, their tails encircling them like a wreath. “Come home with me,” she breathed.
“Millie!” he laughed, but it soon gave way to a deep sigh as his face fell. Millie didn't need to ask why; she could feel it too. Reality was setting back in. She had to get back to the farm, and he…well, whatever he was trying to escape from, he'd have to face it sooner or later. And judging from his expression, he didn't want it to end either.
"I should go," Moxxie said, finally, as he clambered to his feet.
But…that didn't mean it had to end right that second, did it?
"At least help me with this?" Millie gestured to the vulture.
He whirled around with a huge smile. "Well…if you insist."
She shoved him back playfully as she pulled out her dagger and set to work preparing the bird. “Lover, tell me: when we’re wed, who’s gonna make the wedding bed? Times being what they are, hard and getting harder all the time.”
Moxxie joined her, happily plucking feathers as he sang. “Lover, when I sing my song, all the birds are gonna sing along. And they’ll come flying from all around to lay their feathers on the ground.” As if to illustrate his point, he tossed a handful of feathers at her, eliciting shrieks of delight. “And we’ll lie down in eiderdown, a pillow ‘neath our heads. The birds are gonna make the wedding bed!”
Millie plucked a fistful of feathers of her own and tossed them back at him. “And the tree’s gonna make the wedding table?” she teased.
He nodded. “And the river’s gonna give us the wedding bands.”
He leaned in. She did too.
And there, over the rotting carcass, covered in blood and other fluids, the two shared a passionate kiss.
Moxxie had certainly lived up to his word. Millie had never felt so alive.