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I swallowed, not knowing how to find the words to admit why I hated that fucking nickname so much.

The day he’d given it to me, the first time I’d laid eyes on Beelzebub, he’d caught me singing to myself. It had only been the faintest hum, thinking I was alone in the courtyard Willow loved so much. I loved how her flowers had strayed toward me as if they, too, couldn’t resist the magic of my song.

I couldn’t have imagined there was a demon watching, listening to me sing, and falling prey to my spell.

Every time he called me that, every time he referenced the magic in my veins, it was only another reminder.

He was caught under my spell, whether I liked it or not. And no matter what I did, one thing remained certain.

I couldn’t free him; I’d stripped away his free will as harshly as Itan had taken mine.

Beelzebub might not have felt any outright suffering from my violation, and he likely never would. Still, if I could onlynotsing to him and not touch him, then one day, the spell would wear off on its own. Then, he would be able to move on with his life.

Leaving me in fucking peace, finally.

…