Hell Of A Past
By: Blaze-Lupine
*Content Warning:*
This story is also pretty wholesome. Enjoy!
This work does contain light mature content themes.
CHAPTER ONE
Not A Good Fit
The apartment was dim, lit by the gentle orange glow of dusk bleeding in through gauzy curtains. Somewhere across the room, the hum of an old vinyl player carried soft synth-jazz, a gift from Mistral's eccentric archive of ``emotional resonance enhancers.'' It played something dreamy. Something that made time feel slower.
Loona was curled up on the oversized couch, wearing one of Blaze's old T-shirts that hung off her shoulder. Her tail draped lazily over the edge of a cushion, flicking every now and then like a sleepy metronome.
She wasn't alone.
Blaze was beside her, his arm around her waist, the pads of his fingers tracing little circles into her fur. His chin rested on her head. Her ears twitched at the tickle of his breath.
Across the room, nestled safely in a gently glowing cradle with sigils Mistral swore were for ``protection and healthy REM sleep,'' rested Laziel - their son. Grey fur. Pink in his hair. A bundle of their best and worst traits, quietly gurgling in a peaceful doze.
``He's actually asleep,'' Loona whispered, eyes narrowed in a stunned kind of reverence.
Blaze chuckled low. ``A miracle. Call the Vatican.''
Loona snorted, hiding her smile under her arm. She wasn't used to smiling this much. Not freely. But tonight... tonight was different.
It was peaceful.
Not just quiet - but real peace. The kind that doesn't twitch under the skin. The kind that wassn't waiting for the rug to be ripped out from underneath.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
Loona sat up slightly, arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes scanned the room - like she was making a mental inventory. Cradle. Blaze. Warmth. Safety.
Her claws tugged absently at the fraying seam of her shirt.
``How is this real...?'' she murmurs.
Blaze shifted, stretching with a groan before he sat up beside her, nudging her with his shoulder. ``Because you made it real. I just showed up and got lucky.''
She didn't smile at that. Not fully. Instead, her brow furrowed.
``It feels like a trick.''
Blaze's smile faltered. ``Like what does, Luna Tuna?''
``This. Him. Us. I mean, c'mon, look at me. I shouldn't be here. I'm not the kind of person who gets this kind of... ending. This shit doesn't just... happen.''
She said it so casually. So coldly, like she'd already braced for it all to go wrong. Like she was halfway out the door emotionally, just to soften the blow.
``What kinda person does get this ending?'' Blaze asked gently.
She opened her mouth, but no words come. She didn't know. She'd never known.
``You know what I see?'' he said, turning to face her fully. ``I see someone who survived the worst of it. Someone who bit back at a world that tried to chain her. And yeah, maybe it left some scars... but you made it through, Loon. You made it. And now? You're here.'' He touched her chest, right over her heart. ``With me. With him. Home.''
She swallowed. Looked away.
The cradle gave a soft chime - Laziel turned slightly in his sleep.
Loona let out a shaky breath. ``It's just... I've never been this happy before. It's terrifying.''
Later That Night...
The apartment was silent, save for the occasional clicks and chirps of distant traffic outside. The cradle glowed dim blue now, Laziel snuggled up in his enchanted blanket.
Loona rested beside Blaze in bed. He was already asleep, one arm draped across her stomach.
But she stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.
Her tail curled in toward her chest, tense.
The room was warm. Safe. Still.
So why couldn't she stop shaking?
She finally drifted off...
And the dream began.
No, not a dream.
A memory.
A nightmare.
***
Cold tile under bare paws.
A flickering red light overhead.
The distant echo of a cage door clanging shut.
She was small again. So small. Maybe five years old.
Alone. Forgotten. Hungry.
And there - someone was coming. A demon. A clipboard. A smile with no warmth.
Loona smiled. Her tail wagged.
"She's a pretty little thing," the demon muttered.
A hand reached out... and the memory faded with a blink.
It was hot. Always was, in this corner of Hell.
The concrete floor was cracked and dark, stained from years of use and worse. Walls of rusted metal fencing boxed off rows of cells - too small to call rooms, too open to feel safe. A fan clattered from above, barely stirring the thick, sulfuric air.
A child's voice hummed.
Not a song. Just a sound. A tune without words - something remembered from nowhere. As if sung to them before things were bad.
In the far back corner of the kennel, behind steel bars held with devil-forged locks, sat a tiny figure. Loona, five years old. Her fur was a patchy mess of white and ash-grey, curled in on herself like a folded napkin. Her tail hugged her knees.
Around her were others - young hellhound pups of all kinds. Some already mean-looking, older kids with scars and glare-shaped instincts. Others were blank-faced, staring at the walls. Nobody talked much. Nobody wanted to be noticed.
But Loona? She still hummed.
She'd drawn pictures on the wall with a stolen crayon - pictures of herself in a house. A roof. A bed. A smiling couple - blurry shapes of demons and herself in their arms. Stars shined brightly overhead, at least in her drawing. They always did.
One demon parent had wings. The other wore glasses.
Neither had a face. She didn't know what parents look like. She couldn't remember her own.
Her eyes were wide, too big for her face. There was no snarl. No bite yet. Just a quiet murmur:
``Maybe today...''
And it carried hope...
The bell at the front of the compound buzzes.
CLANG!
The gate swung open.
All the children froze. Every ear perked. A wave of stillness passed through the room.
Two adult demons walked in - one male, one female. Suits. Professional. The male had horns shaped like barbed wire and a sour expression. The female clicked her clipboard with long red claws.
Behind them walked a kennel matron, a larger anthro hellhound - stooped with age, cigar stuck between her fangs.
``Well, these are what's available this month,'' the matron grunted. ``You're looking for something quiet, right? No howlers? No biters?''
The clipboard lady didn't even look up. ``We want something obedient.''
They passed the cells. Eyes scanned. Children don't dare move.
Until they stopped at Loona.
She was pressed into the corner, arms around her knees, trying to be small. But when she saw the lady peer in through the bars... she wagged.
Just once. A little thump-thump of her tail on concrete.
``She's a pretty little thing,'' the demoness said.
Loona's ears twitched. She smiled - hope blooming like a sun in her chest.
``How old?'' the demon man asked.
``Five,'' the matron grunted. ``She don't talk much. Smart, though. Stays outta trouble.''
Loona slowly uncurled herself and stepped forward, cautiously, like approaching an animal trap.
The lady kneeled. They locked eyes.
Loona said it softly. ``I can draw.''
It's the only thing she had to offer.
The paperwork was signed in under ten minutes. No real questions asked. No background checks in this tier of Hell. It was how these agencies worked.
Loona's things fit in a plastic bag: a crumpled drawing, a cracked toy, and the crayon stub she'd hidden in her fur.
The car ride was silent. The demons didn't speak to her. They didn't even glance back.
Loona sat straight in the back seat, her hands clenched around her bag.
The world rolled past her in waves of smog and neon ruin.
Still, she smiled.
``Maybe this is it,'' she whispered to herself. ``Maybe I'm not gonna come back this time...''
***
The house was a cramped hell-condo in a soot-stained complex with neighbors that fought loud enough to shake the floorboards. Inside, the furniture was expensive, but cold. All sharp angles and polished obsidian. It smelled like stale wine and sulfur.
No toys. No books. No color.
``Your room's down the hall,'' the demon man said without looking at her.
The woman followed, opened a door.
It was a closet. A dog bed sat in the middle of the floor. No window. Just a bowl of water. One.
The woman held out a red collar with an ID tag. ``This is for safety. You wear it when you're inside. Understood?''
Loona's ears folded. She looked at the collar. ``But I'm... I'm not a dog,'' she said. Too quiet to argue.
The woman smiled - tight, toothless. ``You're not a person, either.''
She closed the door. The light died.
And little Loona, five years old, sat on a dog bed in the dark. Her tail didn't wag.
She didn't cry. She can't, not anymore.
Instead, she laid down slowly, eyes wide open, whispering to no one. ``Maybe next time.''
The days passed. Maybe two. Maybe twenty. Time melted in this house.
The floor was cold. Always. There was a vent in the wall that blasted scalding air when the infernal heaters kick on - but it never reached her little closet. The water bowl was refilled sometimes. The food is a dry clump of flavorless kibble dropped in a chipped dish, no better than what was used at the kennels.
And they don't talk to her.
At all. Not cruel. Not angry. Just... dismissive. Indifferent.
She learned the schedule quickly.
Morning: A knock on the door. She's expected to be already awake and outside the closet.
Day: She sits in the corner of the kitchen. Watches the demoness scroll on a glass tablet while the man clicks away on a laptop with runes glowing beneath his fingers.
Evening: They eat in silence. She is not at the table. A second bowl is placed on the floor near the wall. She eats alone.
Night: Back in the closet. Door closed. Light off. Not locked, but might as well be.
They never yell. They never hit her.
They simply don't see her.
One evening, she tried something different.
She approached the couch timidly, ears down, arms around her drawing pad. A new one. One of the demons left it out. She thought it might be okay to use.
She held up a drawing: a picture of the three of them. Her in the middle. Smiling. ``I made this for you...''
The woman barely glances at it. ``Don't take things that aren't yours.''
``I - I'm sorry, I thought - ''
``Just go back to your space.''
Loona's voice died in her throat. She placed the paper on the table and sank back. The crayon trembled in her paw.
That night, when she was let out to sit by the kitchen again, the picture was gone. Not on the fridge. Not on the table.
Just gone.
One day - just as the routines began to feel like her new normal - the man walked into the hallway with a brief sigh.
``They're coming to pick her up tomorrow.''
The woman didn't ask why.
Just sipped her drink and replied, ``Not a good fit.''
Loona heard this from her corner. She doesn't cry. She doesn't beg.
She just lowers her head, pressed her forehead to the floor - and let the warmth drain out of her limbs.
She doesn't say ``maybe next time.''
Not this time.
She doesn't say anything at all.
***
The same matron from before met them at the gate.
Loona said nothing as they walked her back in. She clutched her bag - less full now. The drawing was never returned.
The matron glanced down at her with a scowl. ``You blow it, girl?''
Loona shrank. ``They said I was too quiet.''
``Pfft. `Course they did. Demons want pets that bark when they say and shut up when they don't. You ain?t housebroken yet.''
Loona didn't respond. She just stepped into her old cell. Same scratched wall. Same smell.
She sat down. The crayon is still there. Somehow. Worn to a nub.
She doesn't touch it. She lays down.
And this time?
She turned her back to the bars.
She scratched the wall.
Each line is a tally. A count of time. Or maybe losses.
CHAPTER TWO
Smile For Them
The wall has grooves now.
Crude little scratch-marks, dug in one by one with claw and stubborn memory. They were clustered in uneven rows across the far wall of Loona's cell. Every column was five - four upright, the fifth crossing them out.
She didn't really know how long it'd been.
Time wasn't measured in days here. It's measured in returns. In tries.
Two full rows.
She stared at the third row now, one claw resting on the concrete.
Tick. Another line.
She didn't hum anymore.
The others in the kennel didn't talk. Not to her. Not to anyone. Some of them were gone now - fostered or forgotten. Others replaced them. The cycle continued.
The kennel matron, that old, lopsided hellhound with the limp and the unlit cigar always stuck in her teeth, clomped through the hall.
``Alright, hellmutt, you've got another visitor.''
Loona didn't react.
Not right away.
She just lowerd her paw from the wall. She tugged her tattered hoodie over her ears. And stood.
Her legs were longer now. Fur a little thicker. But her eyes? Still big. Still searching.
The couple this time was different. They were smiling.
A lot. Too much.
The Gilders - Krix and Ava. White robes. Tall horns. Smelled like cinnamon and bleach.
Ava bent down, cooing softly. ``Oh sweetie, look at you. Aren't you just a darling little puffball!''
Loona's ears pinned back, uncertain. But she tried to smile. She thought she remembered how.
``Can you say your name for us?'' Ava asks.
Loona nodded. ``...Loona.''
A pause.
Krix scribbled something on his clipboard, eye twitching. ``Bit of a growl in that. We?ll round that out.''
The Gilder's home was too clean.
Everything was white. Bleached bone. Stark lighting that never dimmed. Their house was two stories high with enchanted candles on every shelf and a staircase shaped like a serpent's spine.
There was a room waiting for her. Not a closet. Not a cage. An actual room.vThere was a bed. A dresser. A plush rug. There was even a little vanity mirror.
Loona didn't know what to do with it.
She stared at herself in the mirror that night. Poked at her own cheeks.
Practiced smiling.
``You can do this,'' she whispered. ``Just... be good.''
The first few days went okay.
The Gilders were strict, but sweet. Their version of ``sweet.''
They corrected everything.
Posture.
The way she ate.
Her laugh.
Her tail movement.
``No twitching, Loona. It's aggressive.''
``Don't show your fangs when you smile. It's unbecoming.''
``Sit properly. Legs closed. Tail tucked.''
They made her wear dresses. Tiny lacy things that scratched at her fur.
They took her out in public, but only to high-end demon society events. Loona had to walk behind them, not beside.
Always two steps back. Always quiet.
``She's our little rescue,'' Ava said with a bright smile, sipping a bubbling glass of soulwine. ``We believe in giving back. It's trendy now, right?''
Loona stood in silence, fingers clenched the frilly hem of her dress.
She felt like a prop.
It only got worse.
They hired a grooming tutor. A fork-tongued succubus who trimmed her fur, filed her claws, and tought her to sit still with a book on her head for balance.
``If you move, you start over.''
Loona was seven now. Her old hoodie was gone. Tossed out.
So was her crayon. So were her drawings.
Her room was filled with porcelain dolls and books she wasn't allowed to write in.
Once, she spook up. ``Can I have my hoodie back? It was from the last place...''
Ava smiled thinly. ``We don't hold onto garbage, dear.''
Loona brook a glass one night. Not on purpose.
Her claws slipped. She was doing dishes. It shattered in the sink.
Krix walked in, silent. He picked up a collar from the table. A training one.
``If you can't act civilized,'' he said, ``we'll remind you what you were before we found you.''
***
A week later, Loona sat on a bench outside the Gilders' estate. Her dress was neatly pressed. Her tail doesn't twitch anymore.
A black van rolled up. The kennel matron got out.
No words were exchanged.
Loona climbed in.
Ava gave her one last smile. ``You tried, sweetie. But you're just not ready for real life.''
The door slammed.
The matron lit her cigar. ``Back again, huh.''
Loona just stared ahead. Her paws folded in her lap. Neatly. Obediently.
Back at the kennel in the familiar cell, the scratch wall still waited for her.
She knelt and added another line.
Tick.
She no longer sleeps on the mat anymore. She sleeps under it.
Hidden. Small. Out of sight.
She whispered one last thing to herself that night.
Not maybe next time.
Not I'll do better.
Just: ``Don't trust smiles.''
CHAPTER THREE
Aggression Issues
The scratch wall had doubled.
Loona was nine now.
The far right corner of her cell had almost no clean concrete left. She started writing names next to them. Some of them she'd erased. Others she couldn't spell. Some she just marked with symbols.
A tail. A crooked smile. A ribbon.
She no longer drew houses anymore.
Her pictures now showed herself sitting alone. Or the kennel. Sometimes she drew herself with no mouth. Or with big, jagged teeth.
She stopped singing. Stopped humming. Stopped hoping.
It was another red-lit day in the kennel. The buzzer echoed. Her ears twitched, but she didn't stand this time. She just watched from the mat, her arms tucked around her legs.
The matron walked over, flicking a claw across the bars. ``Get up. You've got a new sponsor.''
Loona didn't ask questions anymore. She just moved. She had nothing to take. She just followed the motions.
The new ``home'' was smaller. One story. Back alley-style. Smokestacks in the distance.
The yard was dead grass and cracked tile, bordered by a barbed fence. Inside? Dim. Stuffy. Everything smelled like old whiskey and dirty towels.
A single male demon - some kind of canine - greeted her at the door.
His smile wasn't wide. It's low. Crooked. Too many teeth. He barely looked at her.
``Loona, huh? Cute name. Just call me Dad.''
Her ears flattened. Her stomach turned.
He gives her the rules quickly:
Don't talk unless asked.
Clean up after him.
Stay out of the way when company's over.
Don?t touch his stuff.
Her room was a laundry room. One towel on the floor, a broken lamp.
The next morning, she cleaned broken bottles off the floor. His ``friends'' were passed out on the couch.
She said nothing.
Because that's what you do.
You say nothing.
She knew it wouldn't last anyway.
A few nights in, he sat beside her on the couch, too close. She was coloring with a dull pencil she'd found outside.
She stopped.
She stiffened.
He put a paw on her leg. ``You're special, you know? Not everyone gets a place. You should be grateful.''
Her claws dug into her sketchpad, her eyes staring at his hand.
``You're lucky I picked you.'' He rubbed her as he pulled away, as if testing her reaction.
She went quiet for the next two days.
Then... it happened.
His hand didn't stop at her leg.
And that was when something snapped inside of her.
Loona didn't cry. She didn't scream.
She broke the moment his hand neared her inner thigh.
Her mouth moved before she even realized it. Full fanged. Hard. Right into his wrist.
He howled, blood spraying across the dirty tile. He threw her across the room. Her back slammed into a bookshelf that collapsed. She scrambled to her feet, panting, growling - a raw sound she?d never made before.
It isn't instinct.
It's defense.
He grabbed a bottle, raised it. ``You little freak!'' His voice trembled - not with pain.
With fear.
She saw it. And for one horrifying moment... she felt powerful.
Loona dodged the bottle, her claws digging into the wall as she bound off it and around a nearby chair. She had speed on her side, and it wasn't long until she was on him again.
The demonic hellhound screamed as she tackled him in the chest, her fingers gouging his skin.
It all happened so quickly.
Silence after a gurgling scream.
Loona stood, her breathing heavy, her mind slowly returning to her. Blood dripped from her mouth, from her claws, down her legs. The scent of copper filled the air as the blood pooled on the floor at her paws where the crimson puddle spread from the twitching body on the floor.
Slowly, her pupils returned to normal, and the frightened child looked at her trembling hands. Then she looked at the twitching body on the floor.
It stopped.
As if mechanical, she staggered to the bathroom. She cleaned her fur. Removed the blood.
She left that night.
No provocation.
The matron raises an eyebrow when she sees Loona walk in the next morning, her expression blank.
``Again?''
Loona doesn't respond, but she's let back in.
Nothing happens. In hell, the death of a nobody doesn't warrant any investigations. Who would care anyway?
A report is still filed.
Dangerous.
Aggression issues.
Those words sticks.
``You're running out of options, girl.''
Loona didn't reply. She held her arm - bruised from where he shoved her. Her lip is cracked. But her eyes?
Harder now.
Colder.
They didn't scan the other cells anymore.
She didn't want to talk to anyone.
She didn?t even sit on the mat. She laid on the concrete. Back to the wall. Eyes wide open.
That night, she added a new scratch to the wall.
And next to it?
She didn't draw a house.
She drew teeth.
Big ones. Her own... finally bared.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Best Friend
Loona was ten now.
Taller. Stronger. The violent incident still showed in the scar on her wrist. She never talked about it, but sometimes when she was nervous, her claws trace the edge of it.
A murderer by age nine...
She didn't draw anymore - not really. Just scratches. Symbols. Sharp lines that went nowhere. She kept her back to the bars and her teeth ready behind her lips.
Some of the others avoided her now.
She's the biter.
The broken one.
But the matron had her orders: try again.
So she got placed. Again. In the House on Gristle Street.
It was a crooked little home halfway between two busted neon liquor stores. Not much, but compared to the places Loona had been? It was... quiet. And clean. That felt weird. Not the sterile clean like the first couple... but normal.
The new foster demon couple was... detached, but not hostile. They followed the rules. Fed her. Provided a real bed. There was even a bookshelf in her room. She was still not allowed to lock the door, but it didn't slam shut either.
But they weren't the ones that mattered.
The one that did?
Kessa.
Their biological daughter.
Kessa.
Kessa was maybe sixeen. A demon girl with short spiked hair, a studded choker, and a voice that never shut up. She wore fishnets and oversized boots and had a bat tattoo on her shoulder that definitely wasn't legal.
She met Loona on day one, peeked into her room, and grinned.
``Holy shit, they actually stuck me with someone cool for once.''
Loona didn't respond. Just narrowed her eyes. Her body was tense.
``You bite?''
Loona didn't flinch.
Kessa smiled wider. ``Fuck yeah.''
The daughter didn't ask Loona to be anyone else. She gave her space. Talked to her like a person. Left music at her door.
Eventually, Loona started hanging in Kessa's room. She learned how to apply eyeliner. How to paint her claws. Kessa let her pick her own music for once.
They laughed. They talked.
They howled together at midnight from the rooftop just to piss off the neighbors.
And Loona, for the first time in years, felt... normal.
Kessa even tought her to fight better. To throw her weight when bigger demons tried to get too close. ``No one's gonna cage you again, got it? Not unless you let `em.''
Loona held onto that like a lifeline.
She started drawing again. Not houses this time.
But people. Them.
Loona and Kessa on the rooftop. Loona with earrings and a jacket. Kessa holding a baseball bat like a queen.
She even drew them both smiling.
For months, nearly a year, Loona felt like this could be something she'd never had.
A home.
***
It happened when the family left for vacation and left her at another kennel until they came back.
They never did.
Loona broke out, ran like her life depended on it.
The house was quiet when she got there.
Too quiet.
Her stomach sank when she broke in and roamed around.
She stepped into the hallway.
Kessa's room?
Empty.
Posters gone. Mattress stripped. Shelves bare.
She ran to the living room. The furniture was gone. The family was nowhere to be found.
She trembled. Chest rising. Shaking.
She found it on the floor as if it were left in a hurry. A quick scribble she recognized as Kessa's writing. All it said was ``I'm sorry.''
Then she screamed.
Loona broke down. Screamed harder.
Then tore the house apart.
She shredded the walls. Kicked holes. She punched the mirror in her old room until her knuckles bled. She found the drawing she made - her and Kessa laughing - and ripped it in half.
Tears fell - but she didn't feel them.
She threw the scraps in the trash.
And then curled on the floor. Nails digging into the carpet. Breath shaking. Teeth bared. Sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe.
She was picked up two days later.
More labels were given in her records. She's ``too emotional.'' ``Unstable.'' ``Clingy.''
The matron didn't even talk on the way back.
Loona walked ahead, silent, eyes hollow.
She stepped into her old cell and stood in the middle of the floor.
The scratches were still there.
She stared at them for a long time.
Then added a new one.
And carved a bat above it.
She didn't speak to anyone for a full week.
No sound. No eye contact.
She didn't rage this time.
She just faded.
Because if even the good ones leave...
Then maybe no one ever stays.
Not even the pup drawing stories on the walls.
Still hoping... in secret... for stars in her room.
CHAPTER FIVE
Unadoptable
Loona was thirteen now.
Her cell was different now.
Not because it changed.
Because she changed.
She didn't scratch the wall anymore. She carved.
Jagged lines. Symbols. Sometimes just her own name over and over, pressed deep into the concrete until her claws bled.
Her drawings were long gone. What little she had left? She burned it.
Used a stolen match. Watched the paper curl into ash, the faces melt, the colors blacken.
``Dreams are lies,'' she whispered as they vanished.
She didn't speak anymore.
Not because she can't.
Because no one deserved her voice.
Staff talk at her. Never with her. They didn't expect responses. That made it easier.
The others in the cells?
They leave her alone.
She's the girl who bit a sponsor.
The one who broke a dresser, screamed for days, punched a therapist.
The one with a scar across her palm - earned the night she killed an adopter.
One of the new caretakers was a therapist.
Young. Soft-voiced. Smiled like he thought he was a savior. He tried small talk.
She stared at the floor.
He offerd toys. Paper. Markers.
She didn't move.
Then - he put a hand on her shoulder.
Fast. Unannounced.
Crack.
Her claws slashed across the table as she lurched back, teeth bared. The desk went flying.
The therapist fell back, pale. Shaking.
Loona panted. Shoulders tight. Her eyes wide and wild.
``Don't. Touch. Me.''
They dragged her back to the cell.
Her file was updated.
``Severe trauma response. Unstable. Unadoptable.''
She got into fights now.
Sometimes she started them. Other times, she just refused to back down.
Bigger hellhounds? Demons with twice her size?
She took the hits. Bleeding. Bruised.
But grinning.
Because pain meant you're real.
Because bruises meant she could still fight.
Because someone trying to hurt her at least acknowledged she existed.
At night, she laid on the floor, arms wrapped around herself. Her old hoodie is long gone. But she still imagined it there. The smell. The comfort.
She still heard Kessa's laugh in her dreams.
Sometimes, she even saw that crayon picture - the rooftop. The bat tattoo. A smile. A room with stars glowing on the ceiling.
And then it burned. It hurt to remember.
One night, she found a nail. Rusted. Loose from the vent. She hid it under her mat. Later, when the lights were off, she pressed it against her arm. Not deep. Not enough to scar.
Just enough to feel.
Just enough to remind herself she's still here.
She overheard staff once.
``New family coming through. Looking for someone sweet. Quiet.''
The hope almost flickered again. She sat a little straighter that day.
But they walk past her cell. Don't even glance in. They stopped at a girl two doors down. That girl waved at her after.
Loona turned away.
She didn't cry.
She didn't yell.
She just carved a word into the wall beside her sleeping mat.
``Liar.''
She didn't think of fairy tales anymore.
She thought of cages. Of teeth. Of how the only thing you can rely on is yourself. Of how softness got you discarded.
And how love was just a leash waiting to choke you.
The little girl she once was - the one who wagged her tail, who hummed songs, who believed in storybook endings and starry nights - ?
She was gone now.
Loona couldn't' even remember what her voice sounded like back then.
Just that it was useless.
***
So the years passed. Three more at the kennel. She was sixteen now.
The kennel was different now too.
Not the place. Just the tier.
The hopeful puppies and rehab attempts? Those were in the lower wings. Where demons still pretended to care.
Now?
Loona's in Unit C-9.
The cages were thicker. The locks louder. The air was sharp with ammonia, blood, and desperation. These weren't kids trying to be adopted.
These were failures.
The ones with ``violent history'' tags. The ones who fought back.
Loona's new cell was foreign. Reinforced with cursed iron bars. Chains for cuffs line the back wall - not for show. For use.
She had two blankets. One stolen. One hers.
She kept them hidden and fought to keep them. More than once she'd woken up to find one being tugged away, and someone with sharp teeth breathing over her.
She didn't always win. But they remembered her now.
They didn't try anymore.
She had a toothbrush. A dull one. The handle had been filed down into a shiv.
A chipped charm she found behind the food slot. It used to be a child's necklace. Now? She kept it in her boot. The guards didn?t notice.
Or maybe they did and just didn?t care.
Everything she owned was hidden. Clutched. Fought for.
Because in Unit C-9, you don't get to own anything unless you're willing to bleed for it.
Adoption? A Joke.
They still walked people through sometimes.
Demons with credits and clean clothes. Smiling like they're shopping.
They never look past the first row.
If they reached Unit C-9, it was either an accident or a dare.
And when they stopped in front of Loona's cell?
She just stared. Unblinking. Chin tilted down. Like she's measuring how fast she could get her hands around their throat if the bars weren't there to stop her.
``Oh - no, no. Not that one,'' the matron says, quickly steering them away. ``She won't amount to much.''
The words didn't even sting anymore. Loona's heard them too many times.
Instead, her eyes just tracked the visitor as they leave. ``Yeah,'' she mutters. ``Keep walking.''
The new matron didn't smoke cigars like the old one.
This one chewed tobacco - literal molten hash - while she paced the halls with a riding crop. She didn't bother to learn names. Just called them by their cell number.
``C-9, on your feet.''
``C-9, keep your damn food in your mouth.''
``C-9, strike again and you'll be chained a week.''
Loona never answered. She just followed the rules enough to avoid solitary.
But never enough to be "redeemable."
The fights happened almost daily.
Loona picked some. Others picked her.
She didn't always win - but she never backed down. She made sure she sent her message.
One fight left a scar across her collarbone. Another cost her a tooth in the back. But after each fight, each bruise, each black eye?
She felt something.
Maybe not pride. But control.
``No one gets to touch me again.''
It was her mantra now.
Inside her mind? Hope?
Gone.
Belief?
Dead.
Love?
Never real.
But somewhere in that frayed, half-starved corner of her heart... there was still something. A piece of that five-year-old pup who wanted to be held. Who wagged her tail at strangers. Who believed in fairy tales and starry bedroom ceiling lights.
That version of Loona?
She didn't cry anymore.
She just watched from deep inside -
Caged inside the cage.
Loona?
She was just trying to make it to eighteen. After that, she'll be thrown out anyway.
And by then?
She planned to have nothing left to throw away.
CHAPTER SIX
Goodbye
Loona was seventeen now.
She sat in the corner of her cell. Back against the wall. One knee drawn up. One leg stretched out. The concrete is cold, but familiar. The iron bars cast long shadows across her face as the flickering red ceiling light buzzed overhead.
The other cells were quiet tonight. Too quiet.
Soon, she'll eighteen.
No more system. No more cages. No more matron. No more food slots. No more anything.
She'll be kicked out. Dumped onto the streets of Hell with nothing but her fists and the chipped charm still hidden in her boot.
She should have felt free. Instead... she felt nothing.
She leaned her head back against the wall, exhaled through her nose. Then, for the first time in years...
She closed her eyes. And she dreamed.
Silence.
The hallway was long. Endless. Flickering with an orange glow, like sunset bleeding through stained glass. Loona walked it barefoot. Fur matted. Knuckles scarred. One ear torn. She's tall, sharp-eyed, hardened. Jaw locked tight.
At the far end of the hall -
A door.
She knows that door.
It's the one from her first cell block. From when she was five.
Her stomach twisted. But she moved toward it. The closer she got, the louder something became -
A hum.
A little tune.
A voice without words.
Her voice.
From before.
She opened the door.
And there, on the floor, curled up on the same old mat, holding a broken crayon and a drawing that's been erased and redrawn too many times -
Is her.
The pup. Five years old. Big eyes. Thinner arms. Ears too big for her head. Fur unkempt but soft.
The little Loona looked up.
Smiled.
``Did we make it?''
Seventeen-year-old Loona didn't move. Her throat tightened.
The younger version sat up, tail thumping. ``I knew we would. You look so strong now. Did someone pick us? Is it like the stories?''
The older Loona looks away. Says nothing.
``Did we get a room with stars on the ceiling? Did they hug us goodnight? Do they say they love us?''
Each question was a knife. Older Loona dropped her eyes. Her fists trembled. ``...No,'' she finally whispered.
Young Loona blinked. ``But... we waited. We were good. We believed.''
Older Loona's voice cracked, but she forced it down. ``I know.''
``What... what happened?''
Older Loona knelt down. She reached forward - almost touched her younger self's cheek.
But stopped. ``You didn't deserve this,'' she whispered. ``None of it.''
The pup sniffled. ``Then why?''
Older Loona didn't have an answer. Tears burned behind her eyes. But they didn't fall. She couldn't let them.
Not even here.
``It's not your fault.''
Young Loona looked up, eyes wide with something between fear and understanding. ``Are you going away?''
Older Loona nodded, slowly. ``I have to. We don't get to be you anymore. You're too soft. And soft gets hurt.''
The pup clutched her drawing. ``I just wanted someone to love us...''
Older Loona finally looked into her own eyes. And that's when it hits her. She did love her. She loved the part of herself that dreamed.
But now?
Now, she has to let her go.
She stood.
Turned.
And walked away.
Behind her, the child's voice trembled one last time. ``Please don't leave me...''
Loona hesitated.
Just once.
``...I'm sorry.''
And she kept walking.
The light behind her faded, and so did that hopeful little pup.
And when she opened her eyes? She was back in her cell.
Alone.
The hum in her chest was gone.
She didn't feel empty.
She felt finished.
The matron walked past in the morning. Tossed a file on the desk.
``Last day for C-9,'' she muttered in a gruff voice. ``Won't amount to much.''
Loona was still sitting on the floor. But this time, her eyes were different.
Not sad. Not scared.
Just set.
Like steel.
``Yeah,'' she muttered. ``You too.''
Tomorrow, the cage door will open.
And for once, no part of her hoped someone's there to take her home.
Because home? Home didn?t exist.
Not for hellhounds like her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I Want That One!
Seventeen Years Old - the last month
The kennel lights buzzed like dying flies overhead. It was another day. Same stale air. Same rusted bars. Same stench of blood, piss, and hopelessness.
Loona was in her cell - kneeling on her mat, checking the straps in her boot where she kept her toothbrush shiv tucked.
That's when the growling started.
``Hey, bitch. You hear me?''
The voice is wet. Cocky. Belongs to a stocky hellhound, shorter than her but thick, with a nailed bat slung over one shoulder like a trophy.
New meat. Trying to prove himself.
Loona didn't even glance up from the phone she had - the one gift given to anyone about to be kicked out. For emergencies they said. ``Get lost.''
He stepped closer. ``Don't like your tone.''
``And I don't like your fucking breath,'' she snapped.
The matron's supposed to stop this stuff. But lately?
They let the fights happen. Let the ``problem cases'' thin themselves out.
The hound grinned and tapped the bat against the bars. ``Think I'll take your mat, bitch.''
That's when Loona moved.
Fast.
Years of rage, instinct, training exploded through her limbs. She grabbed him by the shirt, and slammed him into the bars hard enough that the clang echoes down the hall. Her claws pressed into his throat.
``Try.''
Blood dripped where her grip cut in. He gasped, stunned.
She snarled. Not yelling. Not screaming. Just a low, murderous sound before she threw him into the bars with a heavy CLANG!
And then -
``Holy shit, she's fucking awesome!''
Loona blinked.
Froze.
She turned, fangs still bared - expecting to see a guard.
Instead?
She saw the matron.
And beside her -
An imp.
Short. Red skin. Pale white marks over his face. Horns. Stupid grin. A clipboard held upside down.
He waved. ``Hi! Sorry to interrupt! Love the spine-snapping thing - very cool - uh, yeah, I'll take that one.''
The matron's lip curled. ``You're kidding.''
``Nope!'' the imp said brightly, bouncing on his heels. ``That one's fucking perfect. Angry. Doesn't take shit from anyone.''
``She's violent. She's mute half the time. That's Loona. She's - ''
`` - awesome. And I want her. Now, are you gonna give me the damn papers or not?''
Loona's eyes went wide. She stared at the imp. At the matron. At the clipboard.
No.
No no no no.
Her chest tightened.
Not again.
``No,'' she rasped.
She backed up. ``Don't do this. Don't pretend.''
She pressed herself into the corner of the cell on her mattress. Arms wrapped around her knees. Chin down. Just like when she was five. This was just another trick. Another fake chance. Another leash waiting to choke her.
She wouldn't survive another one.
``Hey,'' the imp says gently. ``You got a name?''
``I already told you she's - ''
The imp rolled his eyes with a groan. ``I know that, you fat bitch! No, really, you're actually a fat bitch. I'm trying to get her to open up.''
Loona didn't answer. She trembled now. Shoulders tight. Fur bristled.
``...Loona, right?''
She flinched.
The matron scoffed. ``You sure you want this one? You've seen her file, right?''
``Lady, I am her fucking file.'' The imp grinned and walked closer to the bars. ``I'm Blitzo. Ignore the `O'. I'm a damn disaster. A walking lawsuit. And I'm starting a business where people get to kill for profit, legally... sorta. But it turns out, I suck at paperwork. And hiring. And literally everything. So I figured...'' He gestured at her with both arms. ``Why not find someone else who's just as broken as me?''
Loona slowly raised her eyes.
Their gazes met.
He smiled. Not with pity. Not with condescension. Just with certainty. ``You don't owe me anything. But if you want to get out of this shithole? I'll give you a room. Some food. A job. Maybe... try out the whole dad thing.'' He tapped the bars lightly. ``And a door that stays open.''
Silence.
Loona didn't move.
Not for a long time.
Then...
She stood..
Shoulders squared. Chin high. She walked to the bars. Right up to him. He's still shorter. She towered over him. ``...You gonna leash me?''
Blitzo snorted. ``You bite me, and I'll bite back.''
Loona narrowed her eyes.
And for the first time in years -
She smiled.
She had her phone.
One bag.
A bus ticket.
And a file marked ``C-9: Closed.''
She didn't say goodbye.
The matron didn't watch her go.
Loona didn't care.
Because at the bottom of the steps?
That idiot imp waited.
He waved like they're old friends.
She rolled her eyes. But her tail?
Just once.
Just for a second.
It wagged.
Because somehow... this felt different.
That is how she began.
Not with healing.
Not with love.
But with someone who saw her at her lowest - and didn't look away.
Blitzo didn't save her.
He just opened the door.
And Loona?
Loona walked through it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Don't Leave Me
The room was dark.
A cool breeze drifted in from the cracked window. The soft hum of the baby monitor glowed faintly beside the nightstand.
Everything was quiet.
Peaceful.
Until it wasn't.
Loona jolted upright with a gasp - a sound torn from the very center of her chest. Her claws dug into the bedsheets, eyes wide, chest heaving.
She was drenched in sweat.
Matted fur clung to her back, her breathing wild and uneven.
`` - Loon?''
Blaze stirred beside her. Still half-asleep. One eye squinted open. He sensed something's wrong even before he fully knew why.
She didn't hear him. Her body was somewhere else - still trapped in that kennel. Still smelling the metal and fire and failure.
``Loona,'' Blaze said again, voice calm now. Steady. Reaching. He gently touched her shoulder. ``Hey, it's okay. I'm here, you're - ''
SNAP!
In a blur of motion, Loona whirled -
- and her jaws clamped down hard on his forearm.
The world froze.
She felt the skin tear. The blood run warm over her tongue. She felt his pulse. His bone. She heard him grunt, pain hissing through clenched teeth.
But he didn't yank away.
He didn't scream.
He didn't shove her off.
Her eyes refocused - reality slammed back in like a freight train.
She let go with a choking sound and recoiled so violently she nearly fell off the bed. Her claws grabbed the frame, back hunched, breath caught in her throat. ``No - nonono, Blaze - fuck! I didn't - I wasn't - !'' She looked up. Blood dripped from her muzzle. Her eyes were wide. Wild. The same look she had the first time she ever bit someone. The same night she first killed someone. ``I didn't mean to! I didn't - !''
Blaze sat still. Breathing heavy while blood ran down his arm.
But his eyes? They're only looked at her. And not with fear.
With understanding.
He slowly lifted his injured arm. Hissed once. ``Okay, ow, that's a solid bite. Definitely a Loona original.''
Loona flinched. ``Don't joke.''
``I'm not. I'm impressed. You still got it.''
``I hurt you.''
``Yeah, but in your defense, I startled a trained hellhound fresh out of a PTSD spiral. That?s kinda on me.''
She stared at him. ``Why aren't you angry?''
He shrugged. ``I mean, I will be if you don't let me patch this up. This is definitely getting infected.''
Loona let out a broken sound.
Almost a laugh.
Almost a sob.
``You're such a fucking idiot.''
Blaze smiled. ``Yeah. But I'm your idiot. And I'm not going anywhere.''
They ended up in the living room.
She looked down at her claws. Still trembling. The nightmare's claws hadn't let go of her yet. ``I saw her,'' she whispered.
``Who?''
``Me. The little me. Back when I still thought someone might pick me. Back when I believed in... stupid stories.'' She drew her knees to her chest, curling tight. ``I left her there, Blaze. I had to. I couldn't protect her anymore...''
A beat of silence.
Then Blaze shifted beside her. He gently wrapped his injured arm around her shoulders. Blood seeped into her fur.
She didn't pull away.
``You didn't leave her,'' he said softly. ``You became her protector. You survived for her. And now look where she is.'' He gestured toward the baby monitor. Toward the crib glowing faintly down the hall. ``She's got a mate who loves her. A son who smiles when she walks in the room. A home with a stupid couch that smells like microwave pizza. She's not in that cell anymore. She's here. With me.''
Loona leaned against him. Eyes glassy. And then, finally... she broke.
No words.
Just tears.
Silent.
Raw.
She sobbed into his chest until her shoulders ached, until the trembling slowed, until she felt safe again.
Until she felt real.
Blaze never moved.
He just held her.
Bleeding.
Breathing.
Still there.
Eventually, her voice comes out, barely a whisper. ``...Don't leave.''
Blaze pressed a kiss to her forehead. ``Not even if you bite me again.''
She huffed a wet, broken laugh against his fur. ``Dumbass.''
***
The light slipped in through the blinds - pale gold and hazy, cutting across the bedroom floor in quiet lines.
The apartment smelled like leftover blood, baby wipes, and someone's attempt at reheating coffee at 3 AM... Blaze's fault.
Loona sat on the couch, legs crossed, a small first aid kit in her lap. Blaze leaned forward between her knees, arm extended.
She was silent as she cleaned the wound she left in him.
No sarcasm. No snarl. Just careful hands.
Her claws tremble.
Not from rage.
From shame.
``I don't want you to say it's fine,'' she muttered, dabbing antiseptic against the jagged bite. ``Don't say I didn't mean it. Don't say it's okay. Just... don't lie to make me feel better.''
Blaze didn't move. He just watched her work. ``Okay,'' he said simply. ``...It hurt like hell.''
Her lip twitched. ``Good.''
``Kinda hot, not gonna lie.''
``Blaze - ''
``Kidding. Mostly.''
She snorted. It was soft.
But it was real.
She taped the bandage in silence, then stared at it a moment too long. Then -
``Do you want to know?''
Blaze blinked. ``Know what?''
She met his eyes. She doesn't look away. ``What it was really like. Before you. Before the office. Before everything.'' A pause. ``You don't have to carry it,'' she added quickly. ``I've lived with it. I'll keep living with it.''
Blaze's voice was calm. Gentle. No push. No pressure. ``You don't have to carry it alone, either.''
She told him.
All of it.
In slow, disjointed fragments - like jagged glass she pulled from her own throat.
The closet room.
The collar.
The woman who smiled but never looked at her.
The hands that touched.
The time she murdered someone.
The girl who was kind, then vanished.
The therapist she clawed.
The feeling of a rusted nail against her arm - just to make sure she still existed.
The scratch wall.
The last dream of the child she used to be...
And how she said goodbye to her.
Blaze didn't interrupt.
Didn't pity.
Didn't recoil.
When she was done, her voice was hoarse. Her shoulders low. ``You... still want me?''
He didn't even hesitate. ``Always.''
CHAPTER NINE
A Room With Stars
Later that morning, the sun was higher. The apartment buzzed with soft life again.
In the nursery, Laziel cooed quietly from his crib, his little tail flicked back and forth.
Loona stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. She hadn't said a word for a while.
Blaze leaned beside the doorframe.
Loona finally spoke. ``You know... when I first saw him, I panicked. All I could think was: what if he looks at me the way they did?''
Blaze tilted his head. ``How's he look at you now?''
She stepped in, gently picked the pup up, and cradled him against her chest.
Laziel yawned, grabbed a handful of her fur, and snuggled in.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just trust.
She breathed in slowly. ``Like I'm something safe.'' A pause. Her eyes shimmered with joy. ``Like I'm someone worth loving.''
That night, she curled into Blaze on the couch. Her head on his chest. One arm slung lazily across his waist.
The TV played something low in the background. They weren't watching it.
She spoke without looking at him. ``You know I'd never hurt him, right?''
Blaze stroked her ears gently. ``I know.''
``Even if I have to fight every instinct in my body. Even if I have to chain that part of me down so deep it never sees the light again. I'll never be what they were to me.''
Blaze kissed the top of her head. ``You already aren't.''
She exhaled. Then, slowly -
She pulled his arm closer. Brought it to her lips. And placed a kiss just beside the bandage. ``I'm sorry I bit you.''
``I'm not,'' Blaze teased.
Her eyes narrowed. ``Say that again, I'll bite you twice.''
``...I'm starting to think that's a reward.''
She punched him in the ribs.
They both laughed. This time, it?s easier.
That night, as Loona tucked Laziel in and pulled his little blanket up to his chest, she paused. Without hesitation... her tail wagged.
Because for the first time in her life, she realized she's not surviving.
She's living.
***
Morning came as it always did over the I.M.P office. The office was its usual wreck. Coffee stains. Bullet holes. The lingering scent of sulfur and whatever perfume Stolas wore last week.
Moxxie was flipping through paperwork like it owed him money. Millie was humming while she sharpened blades. Blitz was yelling from the other room about ``WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FAVORITE CROSSBOW?!''
And Loona?
Loona stepped in - holding Laziel.
Everything stopped for a second.
Even the Roomba.
``Here on your day of, hun?'' Millie chirps. She can't resist running right up to affectionately pamper Laziel.
``We're not paying over time,'' Moxxie deadpanned.
``He's so tiny!'' Millie squealed, already inching toward him. ``Lookit his little paws!''
``Touch him and I'll replace your hands with meat grinders,'' Loona growled.
``That's the Loona we know and fear,'' Moxxie nodded.
``Hi sweetie!!'' Blitz called from his office. ``Come say hi to your dear ol' dad before I start emotionally spiraling again!''
Loona rolled her eyes... but her grip tightened on Laziel. She stepped toward the center of the room. ``Hey. Uh... so, I... need to say something.''
Blitz froze in the doorway, crossbow in hand. He tilted his head. ``You're not quitting, are you?''
``No.''
``You sure?''
``Yes.''
Blitz smirked. ``You didn't kill someone off record again, did you? `Cause I told you, three strikes and we pretend we don't know you while I secretly praise you.''
``Blitz. Shut the fuck up.''
He shut the fuck up.
Loona shifted Laziel into one arm. Her ears were low. Tail stiff. ``So... I've been dealing with some shit. Like... old shit. Kennel shit.''
Everyone went quiet.
Even the coffee machine stopped making its weird bubbling sound.
Loona didn't meet their eyes. ``I wasn't just angry growing up. I wasn't just mean to be mean. I was a fucking wreck. I'd been passed around, ignored, locked up, used, and tossed away more times than I can count. I didn't trust anyone. Not because I wanted to be strong - because I didn't know what else to do. And then... you.'' She looked at Blitz.
His grin was gone now. His expression?
Soft.
Still.
Listening.
``You showed up like an idiot on fire, waved at the scariest girl in the building, and said `I want that one.' You didn't flinch. You didn't run. You just... stayed.'' A pause. Her voice wavered, just once. ``I've treated all of you like shit. Especially you, Blitz. And I'm... not good at saying this, but...'' Her jaw tightens. ``I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. None of you did. I was scared. I didn't know how to let people in.''
Millie's hand was over her heart.
Moxxie's eyes were watery.
Blitz?
His lip trembles.
``Oh my fucking SATAN,'' he choked, blinking furiously. ``Loona. You're - you're growing character! I KNEW YOU HAD A CHARACTER ARC IN YOU, YOU LITTLE EMOTIONAL GREMLIN!!''
Loona glared. ``Do not make this fucking weird.''
``Too late! I'm emotionally raw and physically moist.''
``Dad.''
``Daughter.''
They stared.
Then hugged.
Not a long one. Not a dramatic one.
But a real one.
Blitz even sniffled into her side, whispering: ``You bit me once, you know. Never said sorry for that.''
``I'll do it again if you keep talking.''
Laziel let out a little yip from her arms.
Everyone looked.
He gurgled, blinking sleepily, then tugged at Loona's fur.
She softened immediately. Nuzzled his nose.
Millie nearly died from how cute it is. ``You're gonna be a great mom,'' she said warmly.
``Eh,'' Loona shrugged. ``Too late to return him. Might as well commit.''
``I taught her that attitude,'' Blitz beamed proudly.
Moxxie sighed.
As they all go back to work, Loona stood by the window, Laziel on her shoulder, watching the sky burn faint red across the skyline.
Blitz walked up beside her. Quiet now. ``You meant it, huh?'' he asked.
``Yeah.''
``I'm proud of you, Loony.''
She didn't answer. Just leaned slightly into his side.
He let her.
``You're still an asshole,'' she said.
``Wouldn't want it any other way.''
***
It started like a mistake.
Blaze wasn't snooping, okay? He was cleaning... mostly. Or at least that's how he'd phrase it. Well, he was trying to clean. Which meant moving Loona's pile of notebooks off the coffee table because she swore if Laziel slobbered on them one more time she'd file formal charges.
One slipped open when he set it down. He didn't mean to look.
But then -
He saw it.
A sketch.
Just pencil on paper.
No colors.
But full of emotion.
The first drawing was of a little girl. Big ears. Sad eyes. Sitting on a mat in a tiny room. She was holding a picture in her lap - one with her, smiling between two blank figures.
The second?
Loona now. Sitting on a rooftop. Blaze was beside her, leaning back, arms crossed behind his head. Laziel between them in a little wolf onesie, looking at the stars.
And the third...
It broke him.
It was a bedroom. Small. Soft. A crib. Toys.
And above it -
Stars.
Painted on the ceiling.
Some glowing. Some paper. Some just drawn in crayon.
And underneath, in tiny scratchy handwriting: "For the one who still believed."
Blaze stared at it for a long time. Then he wiped his eye. ``Okay,'' he breathed. ``Okay, we can do that.''
Later that n1ight...
The lights in the apartment were dim.
Loona stepped out of the shower, toweling off her head, fur damp and wild. She paused in the hallway when she saw a soft glow pulsing from Laziel's room.
Blue. Then gold. Then a swirl of constellations across the walls.
``What the - ?''
She walked in, half-expecting another dumb toy explosion.
Instead?
Her breath caught.
The room had changed.
Above Laziel's crib, there was a perfect star projector casting slow-moving galaxies across the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars had been placed carefully - hand-stuck, a little crooked, some upside down.
There were even a few large LED ones, shaped like comets and crescent moons, attached near the corners. One hummed softly, shaped like a wolf howling into a night sky.
And right in the center, written in careful little letters on a plaque above the crib:
``For the pup who will always chase dreams.''
Loona didn't move.
Not at first.
Blaze appeared in the doorway, sheepish. He held the now-closed sketchbook behind his back like a schoolboy caught stealing snacks. ``Sooo... I might've accidentally opened your book while moving it...''
``You went through my shit?''
``I mean, technically yes - but emotionally no. Does that make sense?''
``No.'' She walked up to him, arms crossed. ``What else did you see?''
``The one with me in it. I looked hot.''
``You're unbelievable.''
``And yet here we are. Married-ish. Baby. Shower schedule. Honestly I think I'm doing great.''
She wanted to stay annoyed. She should have stayed annoyed. But she looked at the ceiling again.
And the stars.
And then at him.
And her mouth twitched. Just slightly. ``You're the dumbest thing that's ever happened to me.''
``And also the best.''
A pause. Then softer -
``...Yeah.''
He stepped beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
They stood there for a while, watching Laziel sleep beneath a sky he'll never have to wish for. Because his parents built it for him.
Because she built it for him - by surviving.
``I didn't get this,'' she murmurred. ``When I was little.''
``I know,'' Blaze whispered.
``But he will.''
Later that night, when the lights were low and Laziel snored like a squeaky toy on Loona's chest, Blaze rolled over in bed and wrapped an arm around her again.
Loona curled into him, silent.
Then? Very quietly.
``Thank you.''
He grinned in the dark. ``For what?''
Loona pressed even tighter against him. ``...For giving her back the stars.''
***
It was quiet again.
Not cold.
Not burning.
Just... quiet.
Loona walked a long hallway of fog and shadow. Familiar, now. Her claws tapped the floor with each step, echoing through the emptiness like a heartbeat.
She knew where she was going.
She didn't flinch this time.
The old door was there, just like before - wooden, worn, etched with the scars of her memory.
She opened it.
And found her.
The little pup sat in the same corner.
Small. Curled up. Arms hugging her legs. Drawing pad clutched tight.
She looked up - startled.
Then hopeful. Then scared. ``You came back...''
Loona knelt. She looked the same as she does now - taller, scarred, eyes sharper, heart slower - but in this space, her walls didn't rise.
``Yeah,'' she said softly. ``Took me a while.''
The pup didn't move. ``I thought you didn't want me.''
Loona's throat tightened. She blinked fast. Once. Twice. ``I didn't want you to hurt anymore. So I tried to protect you the only way I could. By pretending you weren't there. By surviving without you.''
Her five year old self clutched the drawing paid, then smiled. ``Did we make it?''
Loona nodded. ``Yeah. We did.''
The pup's eyes lit up. Her tail started to wag. ``Did someone pick us?''
Loona chuckled. Her voice is softer than she's ever heard it in this space. ``Yeah. Some dumbass imp walked in and said he wanted the scariest bitch in the room. And I guess we qualified.''
The pup laughed. It's a small sound. But it echoes. ``Do we have a room now?''
``A whole apartment.''
``Does it have stars on the ceiling?''
``No,'' Loona said with a smile. ``But it has nightlights. And a baby monitor. And someone who keeps stealing the good side of the bed.''
``Do they say they love us?''
Loona nodded. ``Every damn day.''
The pup grew quiet. She looked down at her drawing. ``I missed you.''
``I never left,'' Loona replied. ``I just... needed time to become who we were meant to be.'' She reached out. And this time?
She touched her.
Paw to paw.
Warm.
Real.
``You were strong,'' Loona said. ``Even when the world wasn't kind. Even when it hurt to believe. You kept me alive. So I could be here.''
The pup's eyes shimmered. ``Are we happy now?''
Loona closed her eyes.
She thought of Blaze.
She thought of Laziel.
She thought of that laugh she let out at the office. Of the moment she kissed a scar and it stopped hurting. Yeah. We are.'' She opened her arms. ``Come here.''
The little Loona hesitated...
Then leapt forward.
And for the first time - since the closet, since the leash, since the betrayals and the bite and the silence -
They held each other.
Whole.
Tears fell down Loona's cheeks. She didn't wipe them. She let them come.
Because they were real.
Because she wasn't ashamed anymore.
Because this was what healing felt like.
The pup spoke again, voice muffled against her chest. ``Will we be okay?''
Loona squeezed her tighter. ``We already are.''
Loona woke up on the couch. The morning sun filtered in. Laziel was curled on her chest, snoring softly.
Blaze was asleep on the floor beside her, arm thrown over a box of diapers like a fallen warrior.
She let her claws run gently through her son's fur. Her voice came, barely a whisper. ``We made it, little one.'' She looked out the window. Then down at herself. Then, gently -
She smiled.
And for the first time in her life...
She feels completely whole.
***
The paper was worn but clean. Folded carefully. Tucked inside a battered sketchbook beneath Loona's side of the bed.
The handwriting was sharper than you?d expect. Controlled. Fierce. But there was heart in every stroke.
A soft smudge of graphite rested at the bottom edge.
A sketch.
To my son,
I don't know when you'll read this. Maybe it'll be when I'm long gone. Maybe you'll just be snooping through my stuff. (If so - get your damn claws off my things.) But if you're reading this...
It means I trust you enough to see me.
Not the tough act. Not the growl. Not the attitude. Me. The real me.
There was a time I didn't think I'd live long enough to have a future, let alone raise one. I was born in cages. Raised by absence. Taught by pain.
Told that love was for others, not me. That I was broken, feral, unworthy. That survival meant biting first and trusting never.
And I believed them. For a long time, I believed them.
But then...
Someone opened a door. And I walked through it. And somehow, stumbling and cursing the whole way, I found a place that didn't feel like a cell.
I found a home. I found him. (Your dad - don't let it go to his head.) And I found you.
And I wish I could tell you that healed me overnight. But healing doesn't work like that. It's not a spell. Or a single hug. Or a clean scar.
It's nights where I still flinch in my sleep. Days where I look at you and wonder if I'm enough. Moments where the past still claws at the door.
But now?
Now I know I can fight it. Because I have you. Because I have love. Real love. Not leashes. Not rules. Not silence.
Just love.
So if you ever feel like you're not enough -
If the world ever tries to tell you that you don't belong -
Bite it. Fight for your place. And remember...
There was a little girl who waited in the dark, praying someone would see her. And now she has a family. Now she's whole.
And she's proud of you. More than you'll ever know.
- Mom (aka The Big Bad Hellhound)
At the bottom of the page was a drawing - done in rough, loving lines. The paper was smudged with soft greys and shaded tones.
It showed a rooftop. The skyline of Hell in the background.
Blaze sat cross-legged. Laziel, tiny, perched between his paws, tail wagging. Loona stood nearby, arms crossed... but smiling. Behind them, faint and almost spectral in the fading light...
The five-year-old version of Loona.
She sits. Watching.
And finally -
Smiling, too.
~The End~
The call came late at night...
Hell was never quiet - except here.
The hills outside Imp City stretched like dark waves beneath a rust-red sky, their edges glowing faintly with the slow burn of molten seams beneath the stone. Wind whispered over the ground, carrying the distant echo of neon nightlife far below, until even that faded to nothing.
And through that silence, Loona walked.
Boots crunching gravel. Cigarette hanging loose between her teeth. Jacket half-zipped, tail flicking behind her in a rhythm that matched her steps.
She'd been here before - this place that felt like it belonged between breaths. The air always tasted like old smoke and rain that never fell.
``Why the hell did she wanna meet out here?'' she muttered, flicking ash from her cigarette.
A flicker of golden light bloomed ahead.
There, leaning against the half-crumbled remains of a signpost - its lettering long scorched unreadable - stood Bee-lzebub.
Her four arms were crossed loosely, jacket glimmering faint with her honey-colored aura, one set of wings shimmering translucent in the dark. The usual grin wasn't there tonight. She looked... smaller. Still radiant, but dimmer than Loona remembered.
Loona stopped a few feet away. The cigarette's ember was the only spark between them.
``You're late,'' Bee said, voice softer than usual.
``You're glowing. Figured I'd give you time to dim down,'' Loona replied.
A snort. Almost a laugh. Then silence again.
They stood like that for a moment - two creatures who'd both worn masks too long. One who burned too bright to hide her pain, the other who'd learned never to show it.
Bee glanced away first, scratching the back of her neck. One of her wings fluttered, uncertain. ``So... uh... how's the kid? He, uh, startin' to howl yet? Little Laziel will be a fucking beast when he gets older, that's for sure.''
``You didn't drag me halfway across Hell at midnight to talk about my baby, Bee,'' Loona said flatly.
Bee winced. ``Yeah, I - guess that sounded pretty damn bad. Look, I just... thought maybe it'd be easier out here. No noise. No fucking eyes or ears.''
``You're stalling.''
Bee's smile faltered. ``Maybe I am.''
A pause. The wind picked up again, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and honey.
Loona exhaled smoke into the air, her gaze narrowing. ``You don't do nervous, Bee. What's this really about?''
Bee's upper hands fidgeted with something in her jacket pocket - an envelope, edges creased, faintly glowing with an infernal seal. She didn't take it out. She just stared at it like it weighed a ton. ``I... found something,'' Bee said finally, voice careful. ``About you.''
``If it's another tabloid, I swear - ''
``It's not.''
Loona blinked.
Bee looked up, eyes flickering gold under the dim light. ``I wasn't sure if I should show you,'' Bee murmured. ``Or if you'd wanna know. I've carried this for a while and...''
Loona's cigarette burned low, smoke curling between them like a drawn-out question. ``Know what?'' she asked quietly.
Bee opened her mouth -
Then stopped. Her throat tightened. ``Not here,'' she said.
Loona frowned, stepping closer. ``Bee - ''
``Please,'' Bee whispered. ``Not here.''
And for once, Loona heard something she'd never heard from the Queen of Gluttony before.
Fear.
The two walked down the dim, cracked road that cut through the hills - one path, two sets of footsteps echoing in the stillness.
Loona's cigarette glowed faint orange, trailing smoke that curled like ghosts in the air. Bee walked a few paces behind her at first, the soles of her feet scraping faintly on the stone, her aura pulsing low and uneven.
For once, neither of them said anything sarcastic.
The silence was heavy, but not hostile. It just... existed. Like both were waiting for the other to break it first.
Finally, Bee did. ``You ever think about where you came from?''
Loona exhaled a thin stream of smoke. ``I try not to. What sort of shit parents just dump their kid like that?''
Bee nodded, as if she'd expected that. Her wings folded close. Her voice wasn't its usual lazy purr. It was raw - too humane for a demon of her rank. ``Yeah. I fucking figured. But, uh... sometimes the past doesn't stay buried, no matter how deep you shove it.''
``You dragging me out here for philosophy night?''
Bee gave a weak laugh. ``Wish it was that simple, baby.''
They walked on. The wind whistled through the distant canyons, faintly whirling up ashes that never cooled.
Bee glanced at Loona - the hellhound's sharp profile bathed in dull crimson light. ``You've been doing good, Loona. Like, really fucking good. The mom thing, the holding-your-shit-together thing... it's big.''
``You're stalling. Still.''
``Maybe.''
Loona stopped walking. ``Bee.''
Bee froze. Her lower hands twisted in front of her jacket. She looked down, then finally reached into her inner pocket.
When her fingers came back out, she was holding an envelope. Thick parchment. Edges sealed with golden wax that had been cracked open and resealed more than once. The emblem burned faintly - old sigil of the Celestial Archives, crossed with Infernal Judicature markings.
Loona's cigarette hung from her lips, forgotten. ``What's that?''
Bee stared at it like it might bite her. ``Something that's... been sitting in my vault for a long, long time. And it's been fucking eating me from the inside.''
``You look like you're about to confess to a crime.''
``Funny thing,'' Bee muttered. ``You're not far off.'' She sighed, brushing a hand through her hair, all four arms fidgeting in some small motion - a tapping thumb, a shifting wrist, a nervous flick of one wingtip. ``This isn't easy, Loona. Hell, it's not supposed to be easy. I've done some bad things in my time - hell, we all have. But this one... this one's heavy. Bigger than lover boy's trial even.''
Loona frowned, her ears flicking back. ``Bee, what are you talking about?''
Bee lifted the envelope. ``These are records. Official. The kind that don't get made public. I wasn't sure if I should bring them to you. I've kept them hidden for almost thirty years. Maybe I shouldn't have. But... after seeing you now - with Blaze, with your kid - I think... maybe it's time you had a choice.''
Loona stared at it. The faint celestial glow from the seal painted the underside of her muzzle in gold. ``A choice about what?''
Bee's eyes softened, and for the first time since Loona had met her, the Queen of Gluttony looked fragile. ``Your past. The real one.'' Her voice shook. ``You don't have to read it. You can burn it, toss it, whatever. You've built something fucking beautiful - you don't need to tear it open if you're not ready.'' Bee swallowed hard. ``But if you do want to know...'' She pressed the envelope into Loona's hand. ``...you deserve the truth. All of it. Every last fucking bit.''
Loona looked down at the sealed scroll. It was heavier than it should have been. Like the whole world had been folded into it. When she looked back up, Bee's eyes were glassy - tears catching the faint neon light.
For once, Loona didn't speak. Didn't growl. Didn't demand answers. She just nodded.
And Bee turned away, wiping her eyes with one shaking hand. ``I'll... see you soon, Loona,'' Bee said softly. ``Whatever you decide, I'll be around. Always.''
Loona stood there long after Bee's wings disappeared into the haze.
The sealed record felt warm against her palm. She didn't open it. Not yet.
The stars above Hell were dim, but still burning.
The wind had gone still.
Hell's horizon glowed faintly red, pulsing like the slow heartbeat of a dying ember. The air hung heavy with the scent of smoke and something sweeter - the lingering trace of Bee's honeyed aura fading into the dark.
Loona stood alone on the cracked road, the envelope still warm in her hand.
She stared at it. Her claws pressed into the parchment without meaning to, the faint crackle of the wax seal breaking the only sound for miles.
It shouldn't have felt this heavy. It was just paper.
Words. Names.
But her chest ached like someone had wrapped chains around it and pulled tight.
Mom. Dad.
Two words she'd spent her whole life pretending she didn't care about. Now they were right here - somewhere in her hands.
Slowly, carefully, she peeled the seal open.
Why won't my hands stop shaking?
The parchment inside shimmered faintly - Infernal script interwoven with Celestial markings, an impossible fusion of light and shadow that almost hurt to look at.
Her eyes caught the first lines:
Subject: Loona - Infant, Female, Hybrid Classification
Origin: Tier 3 - Seraphim/Hellhound Union
Mother: Celine Valenra, Choir of Dawning Light
Father: Ronan of the Black Pyre
The names hit her like a blow.
Not because they meant anything - but because for the first time, they could have. ``Celine...'' she whispered.
It sounded wrong coming out of her mouth. Too pure. Too soft.
She swallowed hard and kept reading.
Status: [REDACTED]
Disposition: [REDACTED]
Her breath hitched.
She didn't need to see the rest.
Didn't want to.
Her claws trembled as she snapped the file shut again, nearly tearing the paper. She pressed it against her chest, eyes squeezed shut, heartbeat hammering so loud it echoed in her ears.
They're gone.
She knew it - even without reading. She could feel it.
But somehow, it didn't break her. It just... settled. Like the final piece of a puzzle she never asked to finish.
She looked up at the sky - the starry, crimson stretch above Hell's expanse - and let out a shaky breath.
``I've already got a family,'' she muttered. Her voice cracked. But it was steady enough to hold meaning. She thought of Blitzo, the idiot who showed up in her worst moment and called her his kid before she even believed she was worth claiming.
She thought of Blaze, who took her broken edges and made them beautiful. Who gave her back her stars.
She thought of Laziel, her son - the little heartbeat that changed everything.
And even those chaotic weirdos back at the apartment - Mangle, Mal0, Blaze's damn mother - all of them loud, messy, and hers.
That was family.
Not blood. Not names on paper. Not angels or demons or the politics of Heaven and Hell.
Just them.
Loona slid the parchment back into the envelope, folding it carefully. Then, with one last deep breath, she slipped it into her jacket pocket.
Not burned. Not destroyed.
Just kept.
Because maybe she wasn't ready to forget.
But she was done letting it define her.
She turned back toward the distant glow of the city - where Blaze waited, where Laziel was probably gnawing on another shoe, and where her strange, imperfect, wonderful life went on.
The wind picked up again, brushing through her fur like a sigh.
Loona flicked the butt of her cigarette into the dark and smirked. ``You had your story,'' she whispered to the night. ``Now I've got mine.''
And with that, she walked away - stars waiting for her at home.
