"Primula, have you made your decision yet?"
"I don't really think that that's any of your business, djävulen."
"Of course it is. You're my daughter, after all. All I want is what's best for you."
Snorting in disbelief, Primula turned to face the glowing mirror, pausing in dressing herself in her daily uniform.
"You and I both know that that's a lie, djävulen. You're nothing but another demon to me - and I don't claim my heritage in any way, shape, or form. I'm nothing like you, and I never will be. You only want me for my powers," she stated bluntly, her intense red eyes narrowing. "Why do you appear to me, anyway? I don't believe for a single second that it was to check in on me, so state your business and go."
The demon in the mirror chuckled, his matching red eyes full of the mischief that only a devil could hold inside himself. He turned slightly, the curling black horns that emerged from his head gleaming in the firelight behind him.
"You know precisely why I've appeared to you, älskade dotter. You've wasted enough time on these frivolous endeavors that you claim to be 'duties'. It's high time that you return home and take your place beneath me on the thrones," the demon bellowed, the mirror shaking slightly.
Primula, however, looked far from impressed by his theatrics, simply lifting her brush to glide it gently through her pretty pink locks.
"You aren't frightening to me, far, and I have my rights as a demon to do whatever I please. You're theatrics aren't going to convince me to return to the underworld, and you have no authority over me. You haven't for the last three hundred years, and you aren't about to gain any now," she said simply, fixating a dull look on the demon in the mirror.
Said demon let out a strangled sound of frustration, once more shaking the mirror.
"One way or another, you're going to return to the underworld. I may not be able to force you to, but I will find a way to bring you back," he snarled. With a large burst of flames, the mirror returned to normal, leaving Primula to stare at herself. Rolling her eyes slightly, she turned away and donned her black stockings and red short boots, snagged the small black, worn leather book that sat on her desk, held closed by a dark, pink ribbon, and placed her ever-present broadsword at her hip, sheathed and shrunken with a sprinkle of a mix of crushed herbs combined with a whispered spell. With a flip of her skirt and a flash of golden light, she slipped underneath the doorway, appearing on the other side in the form of a glowing golden-hued phoenix. Once in the hallway, she flipped in the air, easily reappearing in her human form.
Tilting her head back, Primula sniffed the air slightly. In an instant she caught the whiff of the man that she had sworn her life to. He wasn't far, by any means - the rooms belonging to those that were assigned solely to protect the royal offspring of Victoria and James Vidali were placed as closely to the princes and princesses as possible without making it so that they were constantly walking over one another.
The scent of the beautiful canine that was constantly at the man's side, at least for the past year, flitted into her nostrils, leaving her with a small smile on her lips. Running her fingers across them, she quickly smoothed it away and returned to her normal, placid expression. The dog was definitely a beautiful and loyal creature, and they had been worshiped as the purest form of a companion by the demon race since the dawn of time - hence the myths revolving around hell-hounds. Well, they weren't really myths, seeing as hell-hounds have existed just as long as dogs have been worshiped for.
Tucking the book into her waistband, Rimu took off down the hallway, taking the turns swiftly and yet not running in the slightest.
It didn't take her long to reach the dining hall, and she was instantly greeted with the delicious smells that belonged to the royal kitchen. Pausing outside the doorway to inhale deeply, Rimu practically sighed with the pleasure of the scents. Before her presence could be sensed by the inhabitants of the hall, she slid inside with only soft sound of the air to announce her presence.
In an instant she was behind and to the side of Dante's chair, leaning forward only enough so that her head was beside his, a few inches separating their hair from touching.
"Good morning, Master Dante," she said softly, her voice gentle and tinged slightly with an accent that seemed Swedish. "I trust that you slept well?"