Mirabelle the Demon Lord

As the smoke clears, and the stench of blood and burned flesh sears itself into your mind, the Demon Lord, Maribelle, approaches you, laughing.

“Oh, dear you, did you arrange such a feast for me? I haven’t had such a good time in years!”

She lowers her blades, looking at the thousands of dead soldiers around them, looking pristine as ever. No mortal weapon could scratch her, no magic could stand against hers, and now she looked at him again, licking her lips.

“It doesn’t really matter whether you did or not, what matters is that I had a great time.”

She raises her sword, pointing it at him.

“How many times must we do this, you? How many more must die because you will not give me what I want? You could have ended this seven years ago, but no… you stubbornly refuse me.”

She smiled, licking some of the blood off her blade as she relaxes.

“So I ask you again this year, will you be my valentine?”

The question was a false one of course – she was mocking them all. She did not want him to be her valentine, she wanted him to agree to come with her, and to finally give her the child she so desperately craved.