Tragic Little Girl
By Dan Stein

         It had been decades since she’d used her real name. That had been stolen from her when she’d been molded into something less than human. She’s since adopted the name that her shaper had called her just as he’d dragged her into the living hell she called life. That name was Tragic Little Girl. That was all she knew anymore, tragedy.

         Physically, she appeared to be about twenty years old, but in reality she was much, much older. She had reddish-blonde hair trimmed to just below her shoulders and eyes that were an uncanny golden hue. Her skin was pale, almost pure white, which had prompted many people to compare her to a china doll. Her frame was petite but toned. She typically dressed in informal jeans and a t-shirt, but tonight-something of a special occasion-she was wearing a simple black dress adorned only with a white rose at the collar.

         As she exited the limousine that had transported her to the evening’s gala, she surveyed her surroundings. Irving’s mansion had changed greatly over the years. It had started as nothing but a shack, but had grown exponentially since. Where once there had been baroque trappings, now there stood a more modernized, faux-gothic theme. It’s just like Irving, she thought. He always did have a strange fascination for the darker trends of any period.

          “Good evening, miss,” the elderly servant who had been waiting outside the limo addressed her. He was a rather short, plump man with a sallow expression. She instantly loathed him, but that wasn’t a reaction uncommon for her upon meeting someone new. It was part of her curse. She saw past the masks people wore all too easily, perceiving their inner flaws and sins intuitively. She knew the servant had raped a young boy just last year. She knew he had then strangled him and buried the body in the woods behind the mansion, where it had yet to be discovered.

         It was like that with everyone she met. People were a disgusting, mainly rotten lot. It was rare that she met one that had retained any innocence at all. Most of them were nothing but liars, deceiving themselves into believing that they were inherently good, despite all evidence to the contrary.

          “Good evening,” she spoke, her voice a soft mezzo-soprano. She had had much practice in hiding the disgust she felt for people, so it came out as a sincere-if slightly distracted-greeting.

          “And whom am I announcing?” the servant asked.

          “Miss Eva Sterling,” she recited the name of her most recent assumed name. She had crafted the identity several years ago, using it to work her way into a business relationship with Irving’s law firm. She had finally found what she’d needed for revenge years before that, but it had taken her awhile to come up with a way to get close to her prey. The assumed identity and a few slight alterations to her physical appearance had been enough to fool Irving. Now, tonight her plans were finally coming to fruition. Tonight she’d be able to get close enough to him to extract retribution. Tonight, her tragedy would come to a close.

          “Please follow me, madam,” the servant said, turning to lead her through the arched doorway, whose heavy oak doors drew inward by unseen hands. Just like Irving, she thought. Always the one to try and scare everyone.

         She wondered if this party was intended to end in one of his infamous blood orgies. He’d held them steadily over the years, drawing in unsuspecting victims for his kindred. Then, allowing his brethren to ravage the guests in any sick form imaginable. In a way, she hoped it was. The kindred would find her a far more formidable victim than any average partygoer, and it had been awhile since she’d been able to really cut loose on those friendly to the cause of Sodom. No, she chided herself, you’re here for a reason. Keep your focus.

          “Might I present, Miss Eva Sterling,” the servant called as he led her into Irving’s grand hall. She surveyed the assembled mass, and instantly her suspicion was correct. Irving intended for this party to end as a massacre, a profane tribute to powers he truly knew little about. At least a third of the crowd she recognized as members of Sodom’s cult. One or two of them had been around as long as Irving, but most were more recent additions, having been initiated in the last fifty years or so. She had to repress an urge to show them the true power of the things they were in bed with. Instead, she beamed a false smile, radiating as much innocence as she could at the room. Filth, she thought.

         Her frame so small she was nearly lost in the throng, she strode through the chattering crowd straight towards the host of the gala. Irving was impossible to miss. Standing around six ten, he towered over most of the crowd. His face bore a bushy, black beard, and his matching hair was wild, much like his nearly red eyes. In contrast, below the neck he appeared like a perfect gentleman, fully regaled in a suit and tie. He sipped on wine that she knew had absolutely no effect on him. Time to make my introduction, she thought.

         She waded through the crowd offering false smiles and pointless greetings to fools who would soon meet their fates at the hands of their hosts. When she reached the small group of cultists clustered around Irving, she engaged a young man of about thirty, talking to him of his ignorant pursuit of monetary gain through some silly investment venture or other. She cared little for what he had to say, but it was necessary to wait a little longer for the illusion to work on Irving. She drank several glasses of wine while speaking with the idiot. For her to enact her revenge, Irving needed to think he had the upper hand; that she was nothing more than a half-drunken debutante. It was working. More and more often, she caught him glancing her way. Finally, after roughly half an hour, Irving approached his perceived prey. Excellent, she thought.

          “Pardon me, Miles,” Irving said to the man she’d been pretending to listen to. “I’ve just realized my manners have failed me. I’ve not yet introduced myself to this lovely young guest.” He smiled at the man with an almost feral look in his eyes that sent the dejected young fool off to bother someone else. “I’m sorry for that, my dear,” Irving continued. “Miles is a nice enough fellow, but terribly boring at times. I thought a treasure such as you might enjoy the more intellectual conversation of myself and my comrades.”

          “Such eloquence,” she said, deliberately putting a bit of a slur in her voice. “And who might you be, sir?”

          “Why, I’m the host of this little gala, Adrian Irving. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

         She paused, pretending to be impressed at his name and standing. Loathesome beast, she thought. Finally, she said, “Eva Sterling. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Irving. Every since my company started its partnership with yours I’ve been dying to meet you in person.”

          “Ah, Ms. Sterling, I assure you the pleasure is all mine,” Irving said, taking her hand and kissing it. He looked up at her with the same feral look he’d given the young Miles, but now it was tinged with undisguised lust. She had to repress a shudder at coming into contact with him.

         Irving had always been a sexual predator. She’d known that even before she’d gained her insight. The things he’d done to her before giving her over to his master…she repressed the thoughts before they could surface. The time will come soon, she thought, to let them out. To rage over how they’ve wronged you.

          “Tell me, Mr. Irving…” she began.

          “Please,” he said, “call me Adrian.” He smiled and began to lead her back to his comrades.

          “Adrian,” she continued, finding it hard not to spit the name that she had said so lovingly once. “I must say, I’m very impressed with your home so far. It’s quite striking.”

          “Thank you, Eva. You don’t mind me calling you Eva, do you?” She knew full well it wouldn’t have mattered what she said. Irving wasn’t a man that was used to being contradicted. Without waiting for her to answer he continued. “This place has belonged to my family for generations. It started as nothing more than a humble shack when my ancestors came to Virginia centuries ago.”

         She almost laughed at that. Ancestors indeed. It had been Irving himself on the ship that had come from England. The strange Russian passenger that no one had quite trusted. His original name had been Alexei Romanov. She’d discovered his true history over time. She knew about the period he’d spent with the dark cultists in Turkey, and that he’d been directly responsible for the disappearance of a small Virginian colony known as Roanoke. She knew all this and more, but betrayed none of it. Instead she settled for, “That’s simply amazing, Adrian. Such history. There just aren’t enough places like that on the west coast where I’m from.” The place I’m from is much worse, she thought.

         Ignoring her completely, Irving swept her into his inner circle of cultists. “Ladies and Gentlemen, might I present my lovely guest, Ms. Eva Sterling.”

         There was a general murmuring of greeting. Smiling faces bore down on her. In her more innocent days she would have taken those smiles at face value and felt comfortable. Now she could see the predations behind those smiles. Three of them were serial rapists. Another enjoyed a bit of human flesh just before going to bed every night. One kept his own sister chained in his basement, having cut off her arms and legs. He delighted in nothing more than masturbating onto her face at least three times a day. Another deliberately got herself pregnant just so she could have the fetuses aborted, using an odious enchantment to entrap the minute souls in a necklace she wore even now. They were the worst kind of scum, the kind that cared for nothing more than their own gratification regardless of who was victimized. She wanted to reveal herself then, to tear their feeble minds to shreds and dismember them slowly. But she was practiced at deception. She maintained the façade.

          “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, playing up the intoxication angle. She stumbled slightly as she stepped forward to shake one of the cultists offered hand, adding to the effect. He took her hand and steadied her, smiling at her. She looked into his eyes, and found him staring intently. She realized instantly what he was attempting to do. It was an ancient but effective form of hypnosis. It wouldn’t come close to working on her, but she knew what the expected response was. “Your eyes…” she said numbly, adopting a far away look in her own eyes. After a moment she fell forward, pretending to faint. It was all going according to plan.

          “She’s had just a bit too much to drink,” Adrian Irving spoke to the few concerned people in the crowd that had seen Ms. Sterling fall. “Don’t worry, I shall find a comfortable place for her to rest.” He grinned at them. Fools, he thought. Worthless fools, all of them. They were so easy to play with, but far too fragile. He and his brethren would have a great deal of fun with them later. But first there was the girl. The girl would make a fine preview to the big show.

          “She’s out, Adrian,” Kevin Collins, master hypnotist, said. “Shall we take her to the usual place?”

         No, Irving telepathically said to him. I’m in the mood for somewhere a bit more exotic. Take her to the Altar of Sodom. Aleistaire loves the young ones. A bit of debauchery and torture in Sodom’s consecrated place ought to start the night off right. He smiled at his comrades. Some of them were intimidated of him, and he knew it. It delighted him. Here they were, the worst of the worst and they were frightened of him. But then that’s why Aleistaire had chosen him as his high priest. Why he’d sent him to the New World in the first place.

         It was times like these that he reflected on the first proper sacrifice he’d made in this country, though it hadn’t been a country then. It had all been up for grabs those four-odd centuries ago. Roanoke had been nothing but an experiment really, to make sure he could open the doorway to Sodom properly in this land of Indian gods. The first true sacrifice had been shortly after that. It had been a girl much like young Ms. Sterling, fair and fire-haired. An Irish immigrant who had been so ignorant of the world. It had been so easy to lure her into the catacombs that now resided under his manse. And then to ravage and flay her body. All too easy. Just like Ms. Sterling.

         Irving wondered if he would remember Eva’s name in four hundred more years anymore than he remembered the Irish girl’s name from so long ago. Still, he would never forget how her body felt as he’d taken her virginity forcefully, or how she’d cried and screamed for him to stop as he’d violated her other orifices until she bled. She‘d screamed even louder as he’d chained her to the Altar of Sodom. She’d been losing so much blood by then. That was when he’d gotten his implements ready: hooks and peeling razors. As he’d been instructed, he’d removed her flesh in very specific patters, leaving strips in shapes that bore significance to Aleistaire and the other Gods of Sodom. He’d made sure to cauterize the major wounds to keep her alive. And he’d said all the right words of power beforehand so that shock could not set in. It was necessary to the ritual that the victim be cognizant of the horror inflicted on them. What a beautiful night that was, Irving thought. Then, Aleistaire had taken her to Sodom to do with as he wilt. Part of Irving always wondered what Aleistaire did with the ruined people Irving had given him. But that was not for him to know. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious. Perhaps someday his master would elucidate him.

         He walked with his brethren as he reminisced. Hmm…Miss Eva Sterling did so reminded him of the little Irish girl. So young and innocent. So beautiful, but so fractured and naïve. She was a fitting victim and a wonderful way to start the festivities. Perhaps tonight he would let the others join in on the sexual ravaging beforehand. He wondered how Aleistaire would react to a victim that had more than a dozen loads of ejaculate oozing from her holes. Holes both natural and manufactured. Perhaps he would expose her liver and come on it. Aleistaire would surely find that amusing.

          “Adrian?” A voice said, rousing Irving from his reverie. It was Nicolette Brandenburg, she of the fetuscatcher necklace. She was indicating the secret door that led to the altar of Sodom. Irving had been so caught up in his musings that he hadn’t noticed they’d reached it.

          “Ah yes,” he said, and uttered the words that would make the simple closet in his room open to a world in between ours and Sodom. It was a sort of Limbo that the cult could easily cross over to for sacrifices. A place they could open a full gate to Sodom from. Unfortunately, it was only a two way door from either side. The cultists could not cross into Sodom, and the creatures of Sodom could not come to Earth. The one exception were the sacrifices. Once properly consecrated, Aleistaire could take them back to Sodom with him.

         He entered the Limbo. Irving had been here many times, accessed it from many places. It never changed. As always, it was a gray haze of mists around an altar. The mist was so thick that if you weren’t careful and wandered too far from the light of the open door you would surely be lost forever. In fact, it was so thick that the only way Irving knew there was a ground was because he wasn’t free-falling. It had disturbed him at first, but eventually he’d grown to accept, even like, it. It was almost like floating, he reflected. He approached the altar with his followers.

         He’d been a much younger man the first time he’d come here from America, barely a hundred years old then. He’d been rushed, overeager to please his master. This time it would be much, much different. He’d learned to take his time and savor the sacrifices. And he’d found that the longer he took, the more Aleistaire was pleased with them.

         Tonight would be the grandest of them all. Tonight would be an orgy of debauch and dismay to top all others. Perhaps he would lure all the partygoers here. That was an idea. Perhaps he would ask Aleistaire to wait here after this lone sacrifice was finished and return with so very many more. The possibilities seemed to be simply springing from his imagination tonight. The last time he’d felt this creative was…well, it was with the Irish girl. Though he had rushed through it, he’d felt the same sense of inspiration as he did now. And why was he thinking about her so much tonight? She barely crossed his mind these days. Why now did she suddenly weigh on his thoughts? What was so special about tonight?

         Four hundred years exactly, he answered himself. It’s been four hundred years exactly since that night you ravaged her. And what had her name been? Cecilia, his mind provided surprisingly. Was that right? Had that been her name? Irving thought it was.

         He noticed that his fellows had finished tying the young Ms. Sterling to the altar. She was still completely unconscious. That would soon change. Soon she would be wide awake, aware of every predation being visited upon her. She did so remind him of the young Irish girl. Of Cecilia. It was only fitting after four hundred years… Yes, he thought, why not?

          “Ladies and gentlemen, before we get started I’d like to tell you a story that happened exactly four hundred years ago,” he said. “It was a very special night for me. A night that I opened the door here in the New World. The night I introduced Aleistaire to a whole new continent. But I couldn’t have done it alone. Oh no, I had a sacrifice most worthy that night. One so innocent and naïve that none could have ever wished her harm. That was why I knew she was perfect. Her life was so full of promise, so free of worry. That night I sacrificed not only her body, but her very essence of being. I took her life, and I took her reason, her innocence, and her beauty. And so, I would like to dedicate these coming festivities to her honor. May the name of that young lass be remembered and thanked for helping this happen. Let us remember, Cecilia!” He raised his wine glass.

         His comrades joined in, those of them who’d retained their drinks hoisting there glasses to the toast. And then, without warning, half of their number burst into flame. Before Irving could even react, six who had not been harmed had made it back through the gateway. He heard one of them, he believed it was Duncan Meyers, chanting the words of closing. How does he know those? Irving wondered, and then the doorway was gone. The only light that remained was from the dying flames of his already dead companions. Most had crumbled where they stood. Some had managed to make it a few feet before falling over.

         Irving noticed something odd about their positioning. They had fallen in the form of one of Sodom’s most powerful Sigil’s, lacking only the middling part which was carved on the sacrifice itself. Give their configuration, that part would appear right where the altar was now. Irving had a sudden and odd feeling when he realized the implication of that. He wasn’t entirely sure, since it had been so long since he’d felt it, but he thought it might be…dread.

         He watched as Eva Sterling slowly sat up on the altar, the chains falling from her like so much melted butter. The dress she’d been wearing crumbled to ashes as she rose. Her skin was torn and flayed now. And her face was now terrifyingly familiar in its scarred and broken form. “You’re not Eva,” Irving said incredulously. “You’re Cecilia.”

          “Do you know what that name means, Irving?” she said, smiling with a wickedness that made even one such as Irving shudder. “It means blind. It’s a name I feel no longer applies. Not since what you did to me. I saw things very clearly after that.”

          “It can’t be you! Aleistaire took you to Sodom! You’re dead!” Irving screamed. His mind was reeling. What trickery was this? How could a girl four hundred years dead be here in this place? How could he have invited her into his own home? He had seen his master take her, flayed and dying, into Sodom. And beings from Sodom couldn’t just cross into our world, unless they were very powerful indeed. Unless they were… “Oh my God,” Irving said, realizing what the being before him was. “You’re a nihilihin.”

         Cecilia’s smile widened and her eyes glinted in the firelight of the smoldering corpses. “Excellent deduction, Irving. I never could call you stupid. Many other nasty things, but never stupid.”

         Oh no, Irving thought. Not a nihilihin! Not here! The nihilihin were vile creatures. Irving had encountered a few, and sincerely had hoped never to meet one again. They were the twisted servants of Aleistaire and the lesser gods of Sodom. At one time they had all been human, that was why they could cross over into our world at will. But as a result of ancient magicks they were no longer anything near human, but twisted parodies of the sons of Adam. They held power like unto the gods of Sodom, and they were-without exception-cruel beyond measure. And here was one that he had defiled to appease those gods. How was this happening? Was Aleistaire forsaking him? “H-how?” he stammered.

          “Very well,” Cecilia said, crossing her legs demurely and folding her arms over her skinless breasts, “I’ll indulge you. When you gave me over to Aleistaire I fully expected that twisted piece of effluvia to end my life. I felt nothing but hate then, for you. It was a hate so powerful that even Aleistaire took notice. He decided to indulge himself. He used his magick to keep me alive. It was far more powerful than your little spells had been. For months he tried to torture the hate from me, just to see if he could. I was vivisected. I had every bone in my body broken. I was raped by every creature his sick imagination could conjure. And through it all I lived, never losing consciousness, and never losing my hate. In the end, Aleistaire felt I had proved something to him. He made me a nihilihin, and sent me to Earth to do his will.

          “For awhile, I served him, unsure of what to do. My hate was no longer directed only at you Irving. It was directed at every creature that crossed my path. I sacrificed many scapegoats in your honor, but I never forgot you. Unfortunately, you were off limits. Aleistaire never said that to me directly, but I knew his will was that you remain untouched.

          “Over the years, my hate changed,” Cecilia continued, rising from the altar and striding slowly towards Irving. “It became directed again, but this time it wasn’t at you. After all, you were just the catalyst for my pain. Aleistaire was and continues to be the source. I found I hated him even more than you. And then I began hearing rumors of a relic that could destroy him and his ilk. I scoured the world in search of it, until one day I found it.”

         Cecilia was face to face with Irving now. He could feel her breath on his skin. It was so hot it raised tiny blisters on the sensitive areas of his face. What is she going to do to me? he thought, a cowardly panic beginning to set in. “But there was a problem, Irving,” she said quietly, leaning in close and whispering in his ear. “Aleistaire had found out what I intended to do. He’d closed the path back to Sodom from me. I had what I needed for revenge. I had what I needed to be free again, but I couldn’t go where I needed to employ it.

          “That’s why I’ve come now, Irving. You will open the door to Sodom for me.”

          “I-I,” Irving stammered, tears starting to form in his eyes. Aleistaire would destroy him if he betrayed him. But, he thought, if I refuse she will surely kill me! I-I don’t want to die! I’m supposed to be immortal! That was our agreement! I can’t betray him! I will be undone.

          “You can betray him,” Cecilia said, as though she could read his thoughts. “You can because I can take a very, very long time in killing you, Irving. Aleistaire’s magicks flow through me, too. I can keep you alive and indulge every foul fantasy I’ve entertained about you over the last four hundred years. Or,” she paused, and appeared to be contemplating something. “Or, you can cooperate, I will destroy Aleistaire which will surely destroy me too. And you will stay alive with nothing to fear from either of us.”

         That makes sense, Irving thought through his panic. If she can really succeed, I will be able to make it out of this alive. I can still win. And perhaps I can get a measure of revenge on those cowards that left me here! Yes! Irving thought. I can still make this work. Even without Aleistaire Sodom will still exist and I can always find a new master in one of the lesser gods! “I-I will do as you say,” he said.

          “Excellent,” Cecilia said, smiling a little more genuinely now. “Then open the door. Now.”

          “As you wish,” Irving said, having regained his composure somewhat. He spoke the words of power that opened the gateway to Sodom. “There,” he spoke. “It’s done. Now go and trouble me no more.”

         Cecilia backed away from him and changed, her scars disappearing. She was now whole again, and beautiful. She stepped towards the gateway, exposing her back to Irving. He couldn’t help but admire her nude form. That really had been one amazing evening. “Thank you, Irving,” Cecilia said standing at the threshold of the portal. She turned her head to look at him. “I owe you for opening the way to the end of my torment. That’s why you still live. But I also owe you for everything else you’ve done to me. That’s why this limbo will be your punishment. You won’t be leaving here, Irving.”

         He had just a second to contemplate what her words meant before she showed him her true face, and his mind was lost in a wide-awake nightmare.

         The Tragic Little Girl passed through the gateway into the all too familiar landscape of Sodom. She was close to Aleistaire’s Complex. She could tell by the position of the two moons. They had a strange tendency to appear to become one the closer you drew to Aleistaire’s estate. The mountains grew redder and seemed to be more composed of flesh than stone at this distance. Sodom was a distorted place to begin with, often abandoning physical laws without warning, but it only grew worse as one approached the sources of the disturbances: the gods of Sodom’s dwelling places.

         Aleistaire’s pets, the Formorians, roamed freely here. They were twisted parodies of the creatures of Earth, often combining attributes of several creatures. Dogs with human faces protruding from their shanks, headless apes with cavernous vertical mouths gaping from the middle of their chests, and of course the everpresent Jigsaws. They were the worst, resembling full grown abortions, with musculature and bone structure thrown together seemingly at random. Any resident of Sodom would be terrified to get this close to Aleistaire’s menagerie. Any resident but a Nihilihin. Even the mighty Hrungnir could pose no threat to their power. The Tragic Little Girl strode through the throng of beasts without fear of molestation.

         She was experiencing a strange feeling. One she could vaguely remember was called anticipation. Destroying Irving’s mind had just been the proverbial appetizer. It had been satisfying, yes, but the main course would be Aleistaire’s utter destruction. It was something she’d been craving for hundreds of years. And soon, finally, it would come to pass.

         What she had told Irving had been more or less the truth. With Aleistaire’s destruction would come her own, and with that destruction a release from all the pain that had been inflicted on her. She would have her vengeance at last. She would destroy that vile monster that had done this to her. That had made her into a creature that could do nothing but hate.

         The Formorians parted in front of her, soundless as always. They were mute by design, an affectation Aleistaire had found amusing. Why let the scattered displaced humans of Sodom know that something was coming after them? Wasn’t it so much better to have them live in fear that just because it was quiet it didn't mean they were safe? She had once thought so. She had once followed Aleistaire completely. But he had made her to hate. It was only natural that her hate should turn against the very thing that made it.

         The details she hadn’t given Irving were exactly how she intended to destroy Aleistaire. She had found an ancient tome, written by a human that had somehow managed to escape Sodom unharmed, a man named Paolo Carterisio. He was the only escapee of Sodom she’d every heard of. He had been a low-level mage in the twelfth century who had managed to accidentally cross over from a small town in Italy into Sodom. Paolo had been something of a scholar and, judging by the way he’d described what he’d seen while in Sodom, a complete fool without the good sense to be afraid. His book had described an encounter he’d had with some of Sodom’s denizens, which had resulted in an incredible boost in his magickal power. The garments he’d been wearing at the time, including an ancient Gladius, had become infused with a strange blue light of undetermined origin, which had turned Formorians to ash and had even destroyed several Nihilihin. The lesser god Crat the Distended had barely escaped with his life. Eventually the wounds that had been inflicted on him in that battle had killed him.

         In Paolo’s book, whose title translated roughly into The Land of Dark and Boggarts in English, he’d detailed how he’d summoned and directed the blue light through the Gladius against the Formorians, and how they could not get close to him because of the power fused into his robe. He had also left subtle hints about where he’d hidden the relics away. She had only found one of the relics, but it had been the one she’d needed, the Gladius. She knew it was likely the power of the blue light would destroy her, but she was banking that she could decimate Aleistaire with it beforehand. She held the Gladius in her hand, wrapped in special clothes that kept its power from being detected. A simple, yet powerful, enchantment had kept it hidden during Irving’s party. It had been strapped to her back, invisible, the whole time. Soon she would employ its power to the fullest.

         As she drew closer to Aleistaire's enclave, she noticed an odd aura about the place. Where normally there was a strange pall about the place, it now seemed strangely upbeat. Almost jovial. She knew what that meant. It happened rarely, but it meant that Aleistaire was happy. Something must have occured that had delighted him. Good, she thought. It's only fitting that I destroy him when he's at his most happy. It just means he'll have farther to fall. She smiled at that thought and pressed on into the estate.

         In his throneroom, Aleistaire was indeed delighted. The day he’d waited eons for had finally come. His triumph over the realm of Earth was at hand. Soon, he'd be able to cross the threshold into it like he'd always wanted and unleash his Formorians across the globe. There would be blood and pain and suffering unimaginable. The rift between Sodom and the Earth was already large enough for Aleistaire to send a few Formorians through and spread the decaying change across the small town called Kellington Dale. The rift was ever widening as his creatures gained a foothold in that realm. Soon it would be wide enough for he himself to pass through. Soon, very soon.

         And now there was an unforseen bonus. His Tragic Little Girl, his Cecilia, had come home. He'd sensed her the moment she'd come back into his world, brought here by that bumbling twit Irving. He'd felt her intent, but it didn't much concern him. In fact, it only added to his joy. Here she would be, his prodigal child, to witness his triumph and be lost in her own despair at failing. It was a lovely piece of irony that Aleistaire couldn't help but relish.

         She was coming up the stairs to his throneroom now. He could sense her growing anticipation at confronting him. To be honest, he felt some anticipation himself. She had been one of his finest creations. And he was very proud of her. It was a shame she had felt that she had to turn on him, but he'd long since forgiven her. It had still been necessary to exile her, but he was actually very happy that he would get a chance to see her again. Aleistaire had missed her.

         The door to his throneroom burst inward, spreading the materials it had been composed of, shattered insect carcasses, across the floor. She was here. Finally.

         And she was even in her full glory, as he had made her. Her true face was revealed. It was a sight that drove humans mad, but to Aleistaire it was still one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Her eyes were golden and bore pupils in the shape of an hourglass. Where her nose would have been was nothing but a flat mass of scar tissue. Her mouth hung open, the lower jaw affixed to her sternum. Her seven tongues writhed out of it, black and hissing. Her fine golden hair made a corona around her, tiny barbs coming from the ends. He hadn't changed her body much, except to place a few extra vaginas on her in various places. Aleistaire smiled with a genuine affection at seeing her.

         "My dear, sweet little girl," he said. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you. It's been entirely too long, my Cecilia."

         "You have no right to call me that," she spat, her voice gravelly and distorted, a side effect of her true form. "You turned me into a monster!"

         "Oh my," Aleistaire said, still smiling. "Is that what I did? I was only releasing what was already there. I don't choose Nihilihin at random."

         "You're a liar, Aleistaire. You used me and twisted me. You made me into this thing that can only hate. And now I can finally end it, and you."

         "Well," he said, "Do try, my love, but I think you'll find that that little trinket you acquired will be quite useless in your hands."

         The Tragic Little Girl let out a primordial scream of rage and defiance, unfettering the sword she was carrying. She screamed some nonsense in Latin and pointed the Gladius at Aleistaire. It did absolutely nothing. Aleistaire's smile widened as he watched the realization of failure dawn on her face. She fell to her knees. He could feel the despair radiating off of her.

         Aleistaire laughed harder than he had in a good long while.

         The Tragic Little Girl just kneeled there while he laughed. Why hadn't it worked? What had gone wrong? How could she have come this far just to fail? This wasn't fair! She needed her revenge. She needed to be free of Aleistaire's curse. She needed to be whole again! "Why?" she mumbled, and a tear fell from her deformed eye.

         "Because...Tragic Little Girl," Aleistaire accentuated each word like it was a curse, "That type of magick has been dead for quite some time. I made sure of that before you were ever born. I knew you'd come across it, and I barred your way back to Sodom because it amused me to play along. I must say, I'm not disappointed. This has been a wonderful time."

         "You knew?" she asked, looking up at him and feeling nothing but rage and despair.

         "Oh yes. You can't fool your master, Cecilia. But you sure tried, didn't you?"

         He got up from his throne and walked over to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder in a manner that was almost comforting. She looked up and could swear there was pity in his light blue eyes. "You know what Cecilia means, don't you child?"

         She did, but she wasn't about to answer him. Wasn't about to play along with his games.

         "It means blind. That's what you've been. Blind. You did it to yourself, you know? You always chose to blame me or others for the misfortune in your life. But it was your own rage and fear that brought you to this. It always has been. But you could never see that. I saw that rage and I turned it into a strength for you, but you still couldn't see. You chose self-pity and hatred over accepting what you are. You did this to yourself, Cecilia. Never forget that."

         He drew his hand from her shoulder and turned around. "I'm going to Earth now. I'll be conquering it in short order. The day we always talked about is finally here. You remember that?"

         "Yes," she gasped between her sobs. She did remember. The nights that Aleistaire had told her of his plans. The nights he'd had sex with her until she was exhausted. The nights they'd shared, not really as lovers, beings such as them didn't really have that capacity, but as something close. Those had been the early days, when everything had been new, and exciting, and the hate hadn't ruled her completely. She had been a true Nihilihin then, relishing conquest and terror. But now what was she? She wasn't human. She wasn't truly Nihilhin. She was just...just ruined.

         "It's a shame you can't be with me. I always wanted you at my side," Aleistaire said. "I was always so very proud of you, Cecilia. But you've destroyed yourself, and I cannot help you for you cannot even help yourself. You won't be able to return to Earth. It was your humanity that allowed you to go there before, but you've killed that completely, child. I'm sorry. Perhaps I shall see you again. Perhaps you will have found yourself by then. Perhaps not. Goodbye, Cecilia."

         With that Aleistaire simply vanished, crossing over to the realm of Earth.

         The Tragic Little Girl sat in the empty throne room, exiled from everything she'd ever known. He'd done it to her again. And now it was so much worse. Because of Aleistaire her very humanity had been truly destroyed. The things he'd had the audacity to say to her. That she was to blame! How could you? she thought. "How could you?!!" she screamed, wishing she could have destroyed him. The room around her burst into flames, a byproduct of her rage.

         And there she sat, surrounded by flames, broken, hating, and wishing for another chance.