The Girl Who Coloured the Devil's WingsMature

You know what they said, years ago. Or maybe you don't. Maybe you don't want to know. It was centuries ago, a legend buried in the cliff faces and the woods. You have no need for these words nowadays- words seem to have lost their value. In the modern day of media, everything is downplayed. It's all a fable, you can't prove it.

You can't prove the Devil, does that mean he does not exist? Does that mean you'd take the risk?


Annaliese sat at the desk, drawing aimlessly over her notes. Paradise Lost. The winged figure stood, ready to swoop down upon ready prey with colourless wings and steely armour. The printer had fought against the picture's ominous glare and had left a green ink line marring the magnificent wings. They were disfigured. Annie frowned, and began absent-mindedly blocking this hideous error, scared of displeasing the great creature glooming over her textbook.

"Annaliese, don't colour in the Devil's wings!" Miss Peace snapped. It was highly ironic that she was called Miss Peace, because she was so very good at stirring commotion. She seemed on a quest to be eternally dissapointed in the students she taught. Annaliese liked to think that she was a lovely person when not teaching, and shone with radiance and sang and laughed and had a long line of suitors whom she could never choose between. Annaliese also liked to think that she was really a dragon, and performed her transformation as soon as the bell rang four, flying back to her glittering cave with her large blood red hooked wings, all the time worrying that her treasure would have been stolen. She hoped it was the latter the most. It would be enchanting to know a dragon. "And stop your day dreaming! Goodness knows how much your parents pay for your education..." Definitely a dragon. They were always cautious of money.

Annaliese looked back at the picture, which was staring her malignantly in the eye. She hadn't realised it was the Devil, she assumed it was some winged apprentice for a greater force. Feeling defiant, she returned her pen to the wings, and watched the pen marks carefully. If she could sit in the dragon's lair and survive on a daily basis, surely this would not make much of a difference.

Oh how she was wrong.

The End

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