Hi there Mr. Lockpicking Lawyer. I am a member of the Angelic Defenders of Heaven. We would like to ask you a few questions, thank you!

PROMPT: Ever since you've been born, you've been followed by thirteen shadows

Rules:

1. You cannot use any synonym for dark or 'dark' itself.
2. 'And' is forbidden.
3. Keep things interesting.

"Let me go, and I will not destroy you," Morgana stated calmly. Her black hair flowed down her shoulders, rippling across her pure white gown in waves. She was a short young woman, but her eyes made up for that.

Two orbs of pure darkness stared at me with annoyance, though I could tell she was shaking in her ropes. The ropes, normally infused with expensive hyssop ash, were barren and mundane.

And yet they served the purpose perfectly, I thought, snorting. There was no need for hyssop ash when it came to powerless witches. The only purpose the girl before me served was as a battery for what was likely to be the best kingdom-stealing plot in the world.

"As if you could," I smiled, sipping my wine and turning back to spit in her face (not literally, of course. I'm a gentleman! Most of the time). "It took me a few arms and legs to learn of your family secret-" I said, relishing the shock in her eyes, "- but I did."

"And what secret is that?" she muttered, staring up at the ceiling as she awaited my reply.

"You have no powers!" I sang, jumping up and down like a young boy waiting for presents upon the dawn of Yule. "When Merlin's consort and fellow witch gave birth to you, she was so horrified by the magical powers of your ancestors that she placed a curse on you!" I shouted, delighting in every second of it.

I danced and danced, circling her tied-up form as I finally let out all my emotions. Then, as the adrenaline and pride of being the Emperor of Shadows finally began to wear off, I saw it. Her quivering form. The tears trickled down her cheeks.

I'd done it! I'd broken a member of the Imperial Family! Oh, the history books would write poems about me! It was more than I could deal with, I thought. I was proven wrong, however, when she laughed.

I felt my heart sink into my chest. I wanted to disappear, to vanish off the face of the earth forever. I'd always protested learning the invisibility spell as a child, but at that moment I wished I could just vanish forever.

"What are you-"

The ropes glowed for a second. Then the chair exploded, somehow leaving her unharmed and leaving me with a bleeding gash that very narrowly missed my groin. My eyes widened as she continued hurling pieces of furniture at me.

Outside our little bedroom in the tower, the sky began to turn black. Lightning and thunder roared in a demonic chorus. Blood rain fell from the sky and stained the earth around the building a ruddy hue.

"How are you-"

I dodged another piece of furniture, my mind frantically rifling through solutions. There was no hyssop in sight, no witch hazel, or any other quick-bind solutions for this (not that it would even work when it came to witches of this strength). I knew it was a stupid idea! My assistant should never have suggested it! (yes, that assistant that's due to arrive in a few weeks)

I screamed, mentally plotting a list of torments I'd have to give to everybody as soon as I got back home as I evaded the grandfather clock hidden away in the corner of the stone chamber.

All this while, she laughed. Doubling over so hard I feared she was going to pierce her lungs with her ribs, she laughed. I'd had plenty of humiliations in my lifetime. I'd been beaten, spat at, and bruised more times than I could count.

But being laughed at...when I wasn't trying to be funny...when I'd massacred the entire Imperial Family except for their youngest daughter and became King...that was a new low.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, the Daughter of Night stood and faced me. The furniture stopped moving. The rain vanished as if it had never existed. The only reason I thought it hadn't been an illusion was that I could still smell the blood.

"What was the exact wording of the curse, my dear husband?" she asked. I was in shock. I couldn't speak. She must've realized this because then she very helpfully sent a bolt of lightning crashing into my forehead.

A couple more electrocutions later and I was back to normal. The electrocutions had been so utterly helpful, in fact (note my sarcasm), that I had managed to somehow dredge up every bit of knowledge I had about the curse.

I tried forming a coherent sentence, believe me, I did. I also failed, much to the amusement of my arsonist wife.

"When Merlin wedded his wife and witch-" I started, yelping as a stream of flames nearly set my robes on fire, "-his wife was so horrified by the magical prowess of her children that she-" a high-pitched scream erupted from the tower (most certainly the princess's creation), "-bound their magic!"

I felt my brain beginning to melt. Morgana yawned, nodding at the blood in my eyes for a minute before preparing to leave.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Any child born of Merlin's bloodline will own tremendous power. However, from the moment they first breathe air, they will be incapable of accessing their power. As long as they shall live, this curse shall-" I felt my mind beginning to give way as I realized what'd happened. As long as they shall live.

"You're a ghoul!"

Many soldiers who had been on duty that day reported several ear-splitting shrieks erupting from the castle walls. Among them, the chief being: "I slept with a zombie?!", accompanied by several more screams that remind them of a young child complaining of rats and spiders in their beds.

Please note that this is merely an urban legend (no matter what my hideous-sorry, beautiful and intelligent, and loving young bride will say). Nobody screamed that day. Most certainly not like a little girl.

"What?" she shouted, her magic already working to release me of her brain-rotting curse. "No, you fool! I'm pregnant!"

My brain stopped working for a minute. Okay, maybe two.

"...How does that relate to anything that just happened?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"'From the moment they first breathe air, they will be incapable of accessing their power', my dear wonderfully foolish groom. Their power. The power that belongs to them and them alone."

She smiled, tapping her head as she continued.

"I draw on power belonging not to me, but my child. And with a little help-" she said, pulling out a vial of what looked like blood but probably wasn't, "- I will continue to do it for the rest of my eternal life."

I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Of course, I won't have to use the potion forever. Just long enough for me to gain enough power to reverse the curse by myself, maybe in a month or two, and that should be it. Then-" she rubbed her hand over her stomach, "-my child will be born, and together we shall rule the world."

"And what place do I have in this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whimper. She glanced at me as if I was a mere afterthought in her grand scheme.

"You can be a Halloween decoration, I suppose," she mused. "I couldn't enact my plan without having the rest of my family murdered, of course. There would be suspicion, and I'm not interested in drama like that."

"That's why I sent you the message in your head. I knew you were the only one stupid enough to actually try this out. You played your role perfectly, Aleister. Thank you very much. Now, why don't you go off to bed?" she said.

And here I am today. A statue of stone, incapable of movement unless I am unseen. My children (they're twins, yes) never come to visit. Sometimes she'll sit down to write journals. Normally they're ideas for spells, or new schemes designed to end world hunger.

I have no doubt the world is thriving thanks to her. I can see it in their smiles. Children play on the grounds of the castle, not knowing that once upon a time it would've been suicide to even look at the grass for too long.

Now I must go. I have a meeting with a museum exhibit. Wish me luck my dear journal!

~Signed, The Statue.

I sighed, my back aching in protest as I got up, my leather black wings stretching themselves as much as they could before I plopped back down. Talons curving around the telephone, I wondered why I'd signed up for this job.

"Hello, welcome to Hell's Soul Complaints department. How may I help you?" I chirped. It isn't easy, you know? 666 times per day people storm into my office, hurling insults and demanding I check the registry. How could they be in Hell? They were so pure and so utterly good.

Well, they weren't. Sorry buddy, but registries don't lie...most of the time. I'm pretty sure some guy filed a lawsuit a few years back over being sent to Hell in place of his twin brother, who shared the exact same genetics, mental state, and soul taste.

The demon in charge of that little debacle got a huge, public spewing-out by Michael or something, but what do those goody two-wings know?

Oh, right, back to the story.

I realized the person on the other end hadn't said anything yet, which annoyed me. I wondered if it was some kind of prank-call, then I realized I'd set the telephone on mute by accident (don't ask me how. I do not know).

It'd felt good while it lasted.

"Uh, hello?" the voice on the phone said, apparently for the third time. My heart sank when I heard that voice. So lost, alone, and utterly broken. Like a whole orchestra of dissonant chords, it broke me faster than anything could. I felt the tears beginning to build, but I steeled my nerves.

"Karen, I'm well aware of your situation, believe me. I know it's been a few years, but I promise you, we're still searching for Parry the Parrot. Don't worry, okay? The angels are still on the lookout for him in heaven."

Yes, I rehearsed for this. I knew she'd come back for me one day. I knew it.

"Um-"

I kept talking.

"We know you're upset. Many people come here wondering where their animals are. They are often lost, scared, and confused when they first arrive, and as such angels often take pity on them. He's still soaring out there in heaven somewhere, but I promise you, we will return him to hell by your side."

"Hey-" the voice began, but I interrupted her again.

"There, there," I said in a soothing voice, "there's no need to cry. Your pet will suffer with you once more, I swear on the river Styx. We will find him Karen-"

"Okay, who's Karen?!" the voice shouted, clearly annoyed. I realized my mistake.

"I-"

I have never wanted to disappear before. Sounds boring. But right then, I would've given anything for the treacherous caverns of hell to swallow me whole. Even if the brimstone air conditioners aren't as hot as normal.

"My name's Wanda," the voice said, "and I'm calling you from Paradise. There's been a mix-up, I think."

My brows furrowed. A mix-up?

"Uh, yeah, sorry but those really don't happen-"

"You literally just said a parrot had a mix-up with heaven-"

"And you believed me?" I asked. An awkward silence hung in the air for a good few seconds after I said that. Oh, and yeah, just so you know, animals don't go to hell. When they die, they go straight to Paradise. Yeah, sad, I know. Poor Karen.

"Fair enough," the voice relented. "But I need to go to Hell, okay? I was a witch and stuff, so why am I here?"

I exhaled calmly. Just a curious soul. Nothing bad. They just wanted answers. I respected that.

"Well, that was a sin before the Angelic Wars, but not anymore. Don't worry, this isn't some sneak preview of Paradise you'll get before being dragged down to Hell. If you're up there, that's permanent. So don't worry your little head. Just get in the hot tub and enjoy how your afterlife turned out! I hear the scones are pretty good too."

I prepared to hang up.

"No! I-I need to go to Hell, please," the voice pleaded, an urgency in its tone. I stared at the phone in shock. Now, I've gotten weird calls before. Normally it's drunk prank calls from heaven, or a necromancer trying to make contact (I swear, there is literally no point in having an oracle around. It was supposed to be able to take any calls from the earth, but apparently, it's just an office decoration. I'm pretty sure most of us have forgotten it exists).

But a soul in Paradise asking to be rerouted to Hell isn't something any demon can really brag about.

"I'm sorry...what?" was the first thing I said after that.

"I need to go to Hell. It's personal. Please," the voice begged once more. "Just for a few seconds."

"No."

"W-what?"

"I can't send you to Hell darling. I'm a low-rank demon being paid minimum wage. I haven't even seen Heaven, let alone possessed the power to open a portal all the way up there. Sorry, but-"

"What's your name?" the voice demanded. I blinked.

"Um."

"Um? Okay, Um," the voice sneered, "you won't send me to Hell? I'll bring Hell to you, just you wait-"

I hung up after that.

The daughter of the Goddess of Life, who guards the lost immortality spells.

"For the last time, in the day I'm a centaur, at night I'm a vampire, at the full moon I'm a werewolf, when I'm in the water I'm a merman, during the hottest day I'm a dragon and in the coldest night, I'm a yeti. That good enough for you?" he rambled, before kicking back (or whatever is the horse equivalent of it) on the floor.

I nodded, before picking out a random vial. The cauldron before me simmered with magical fumes as vapors of different colors flew from its shadowy surface. Beneath the iron container, a blood-red flame worked tirelessly to heat the liquid.

"So how did this happen, anyway?" I asked, one eye guarded on the spell contained within the cauldron as I turned to my roommate. I stifled a growl, watching as his hooves sprawled across my pristine spell-books. The nerve!

He groaned annoyingly. "Accident. Magical Chemistry."

I nodded, still trying not to see red as I added a bit of gorgon's blood extracted from the right side. Turns out Percy Jackson, while being an interesting read, was not so accurate when it came to monstrous anatomy. Beginners' mistake, I guess.

"Almost done," I called sweetly, my hands still clenched tight on the ladle as he snored gently. I swear, people never appreciate you. Be it when you're making poison or soup, they'll always fall asleep just as you're done. How unappreciative.

I rolled my eyes.

"Soup's ready!"

Two minutes later, he was rolling around on the floor, clutching at his throat as he wolfed (sorry, horsed) down the remains of a meal meant for two. How predictable. I smiled as he foamed at the mouth.

"Sorry sweetheart. But the neighbors were asking questions, and I really don't feel like having another ghost in the house. One will be enough as it is."

He didn't reply. Oh well. I kicked back and relaxed as the self-cleaning spells did their job once more...

This is ridiculous. Literally. All my life I'd studied magic, transforming the mundane to the magical. Waking up at dawn and not sleeping till dusk, fashioning wands of the oldest, twisting trees in the forest. Painstakingly double-checking every line and angle in the sacred circles until I fainted from pure exhaustion.

And now, here I am, forced by the government to uproot everything I thought I knew. Magic...was REAL. Ridiculously Easy Alternative Learning. How am I supposed to deal with this? Magic is not something you could teach in a classroom. It has to be learned, as all the masters did, through trial and error. No matter how many limbs you lost or had to regrow. Because it is all worth it in the end.

And the concept of MANA? Mentally Advanced Natural Advancement...is just plain stupid. We do this for spiritual advancement, not natural...whatever! How dare they attempt to destroy our traditions? How dare they suggest that magic could be anything other than what I read out of dusty old books?

It is clear that humans have lost all respect.

That is all I will say on the subject.

Thank you.

"Only two?"

I smiled, staring deep into his eyes, one hand trailing his biceps. Blue eyes widened as he blushed, obviously trying hard to keep calm. I chuckled. How often did a handsome man get close to him like this? The lamp really seemed like a lonely place.

"Yes," he growled, managing to shake off the first attempt. No matter.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Is an extra really too much to ask for?"

His hair was black, his skin pale. Too much time in that lamp, I thought. No matter.

"No-I mean, yes, it is," he gasped as I traced a line down his abdomen. I smiled. I had chanced upon a key spot. I continued my descent, occasionally looking up to see him staring in disbelief.

"And why is that? Why is it that you can't give me a few more?" I asked innocently. Nearby, my partner seemed to almost roar in laughter. His eyes twinkled in amusement. I tried not to barf as the genie stared with even wider eyes than before. So naïve.

"I-I..."

I cut him off, turning my back on him.

"Wait!" he begged. Well, maybe not begged per se, but close enough.

"What?" I said.

"...There may be a way for you to get more wishes," he muttered.

"And what's that?" I said, looking expectedly at the supernatural before me. It was only a second later that I noticed the knife sticking through my chest. I screamed, hastily removing the sword from my body. It was too late.

As I stumbled to the floor, I saw spots in my vision. Only two voices echoed through my mind.

"Sacrifice," the genie muttered.

AUTHOR NOTE: Not my best work. I was bored. What did you think?

Wanda Maximoff...An SCP?! How did that happen?

My name is Alice. Why am I not dead? I should be dead.

It has been five years since it happened. Five years since my powers came to fruition. Dreams turned to dust. Families turned to strangers. Everywhere I looked, only fear and revulsion stared back.

The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. And as soon as that diverged too much from their idea of a perfect world, they locked me in here. Stripped me of everything I had. My clothes, my name, everything.

Once, people gasped when they saw me. The daughter of Esmerelda Bloodstone. The daughter of the woman who saved us all. Who gave up her life to save countless more. Now they scream. Because I'm not supposed to exist.

I stare at the door. It's locked, as always. There's a little slot meant to push food in, and a plate underneath it. It's made of plastic, of course. Then again, there really isn't much point. The drugs disable my power. Destroy my focus.

Had my mother not abandoned me, I would've learned to break through mental blocks like these. I would've known that my powers are greater than anything the world has seen before. I would've known that once I lost control, there was no going back.

But she did it anyway. And she's not coming back.

Reality manipulation, they call it. The ability to bend space and time to every whim and fancy. As far as they know, I'm the first and last of my kind.

But they're wrong.

They're so wrong.

They're so horribly wrong.

They don't know.

And that's the worst part. They don't know what's coming. And I can't tell them. I stare out through the window, the tears beginning to roll down my cheeks. I can see it now. Death. It comes for me.

Comes for us all.

It begins so small. A tiny pinprick of darkness. But it expands. Screams echo through the air. Men pray to gods that fled long ago. Creation and destruction are concepts warped and twisted beyond relief. My flesh twists with it.

My blood turns to ice. My body burns from the inside. And yet, I am not scared.

Maybe I'll see mom again after all.

Maybe...