Living with my demons {Erit & Pony}

Misses Elizabeth Del Ray's school for wayward girls, built in the early 1800's as a summer home for a US senator, now used as a school for young witches. Housing on average 15-25 girls at one time, ages from 13 up to 25. All the students attending the school are natural witches born with an affinity for conjuration, potion brewing, and many different unique abilities. Every young woman is different, some come into their powers with puberty others it takes a great tragedy to shock their powers into being.

One such girl is Cressida Ross, at the age of fifteen she and her mother were in a horrific fifteen car pile up. She, miraculously, was the only survivor. Doctors say she should have died, instead she spent three months in a coma while her mind and body healed. When she woke up strange things started happening, she would wish for things and they would happen. In summer school she wished for rain, to end the two week long heat wave, and every sprinkler in the school went off, flooding the entire building.

One night, crying herself to sleep, she wished for the pain to go away, waking up the next morning all memories of the crash and the months after were gone. Her father was distraught, but was contacted by a woman from a school for girls like Cressi in Michigan, who said she could help her remember in a gentle way. Not knowing what to do he agreed and brought her to the school. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, leaving his sixteen year old daughter in the hands of strangers, but he didn't know what else to do.

They started right away on trying to get her to remember, using magic to slowly pick away at the wall that she had built. But, once they broke through, it was far from gentle, every moment from the accident replayed. A horrible blizzard raged as Cressids and her mother drove home from a day of shopping, it had moved in so fast the no one was prepared. What was only supposed to be a light snow store turned into the worst blizzard they had seen in years. There was nothing but a wall of white in front of them. Cressi watched in horror as a pile of cars came into view in slow motion, her mother stomping on the brakes trying to avoid the inevitable crash, only forcing the car to spin out of control.

They hit the pile up backwards and her mother let out a sigh of relief they they were okay, but through the wall of snow a large SUV came barreling toward their small car. Her mother let out a cry and grabbed for Cressida, who braced for the impact, getting knocked out cold. Mia woke up after another car smashed into the ever growing pile and looked around the car, it was completely obliterated, crumpled like a tin can. Looking her her mother she screamed at the site of blood streaming down her face, and the strafing wheel in her chest. Fear, anger, pain, and intense anguish flooded her all at once. A heat grew in her stomach, exploded from her body, it felt like an earthquake shook her car just before she passed out. The last thing she saw before the elder witches broke the spell was her father sitting at the foot of her hospital bed as she woke up from her coma.

That was three and a half years ago, she was still at the school, studying witch craft and learning how to control her powers. A lot of the students in her classes were a lot younger then she was, they had come into their powers at a young age, but her teachers were impressed at how fast she was learning. Her father had moved to Michigan to be closer and she got to see him on the weekends. Which was the only thing she really looked forward to after being stuck in the same big house all week, though her roommate had made things during the week pretty barable.

Two years her junior, Rachel Johnson, was in her last year of studies, with only a few more tests to complete. As Cressida stood in from of her mirror examining her reflection, Rachel sat on the floor behind her preparing a spell for her latest test, a summoning. Pulling her dark red hair up into s messy ponytail she turned to kneel on the floor next to her friend. The two were so opposite in appearance, Rachel was tall, skinny, blond and tan. While Cress was short, and curvy with pale skin covered in freckles. Even now sitting on the floor Rachel was inches taller than Cressida, she wasn't paying attention to her friend who now sat next to her.

Cress watched her, in deep concentration muttering a spell as she drew a pentagram in goats blood on the floor, in the corners of the circle outside of the star she wrote runes and symbols that some people would say we're satanic. Taking a candle, that had been soaked in blood, she lit it, touching the edge of the pantagram then jumped back. But nothing happened, "um, isn't that supposed to burst into flames of hell fire or something?"

With a sigh Rachel slumped down "yeah, I dint know what I did wrong." Turning ti her grimoire studying the drawing on the floor, Cress noticed a few symbols were off, standing up she went into the bathroom she grabbed a hand towel and got it wet. Going back to sit next to her roommate she removed a few of the symbols and with her finger she, carefully, wrote the correct symbols, chanting the same spell Rachel had. Taking the candle she lit it again and lowered it to the pentagram, Rachel turned from her book and yelled at Cressida to stop, a millisecond too late. The pentagram burst into flames, as blue hellfire tickled the ceiling the girls scrambled backward.

As the fire subsided and the silhouette of a tall man began to solidify, Rachel looked to Cressida and said "congratulations, you just conjured up your very own demon."

A fun fact: there is no concept of time in Hell. A second could seem like an hour, or an hour could seem like no time at all, it all came down to one's perception. So it was that when a demon was summoned to the mortal plane, it was impossible to know unless you were told, for even if they were summoned away for the rest of time they would never seem to leave Hell, not even breaking their stride. A most perplexing phenomenon that many theologians wished to study and yet vehemently avoided any chance to do so. It was, perhaps, similar in Heaven, but Azreal knew only one thing about that place; the one time he'd met an angel, even he, a demon of all the Seven, had wistfully desired a chance for that paradise. He'd quickly made himself forget about that, though, and gone back to wasting his endlessly nonexistent time torturing souls. It was a downside to being one of the more powerful demons; he was very, very rarely summoned, as in he only wound up getting brief trysts out of the inferno every few eons or so.

He had been conversing with Asmodeus on how to best torment a lustful soul when this one happened. After the fact, he dropped that line of conversation and decided to tell him about the new most interesting period of his existence, about his experiences on Earth serving as the Familiar to a certain Cressida Ross, an experience he would never forget even after the apocalypse and subsequent rebirthing of the world saw him being allowed a chance to be a human and earn his way into Heaven.

He felt a familiar yet forgotten tug, not on any one place on his body, but more incomprehensibly abstract. Then Asmodeus, the brimstone, everything vanished, and he found himself floating through a funnel of his own fire. Great, he thought, I hope this one's a pretty young witch who'll keep me out a while. Getting sick of old crones summoning me to curse someone and then sending me back. He kept a neutral expression as he felt solid ground materialize beneath his boots, and as the fires faded to reveal him unscathed in his jeans and long sleeved shirt under a tee-shirt, his midnight black eyes scanned the room for his summoner, a hand sweeping back his long, spiky, blood-red hair. He'd found that to be a popular fashion in this world, and liked how it looked on himself, so he kept it. Much better than his normal demonic form, which couldn't even be perceived by mortals.

As his eyes found the pair of young witchlettes practically cowering from him, he smiled slightly, stepping out of the summoning circle just to show off; few but the strongest demons could outright defy the will of their summoner enough to even speak without command, let alone leave the circle unbidden, thus why few ever summoned those particular demons. He crooked a finger at the one he identified as his summoner, and asked, "You. Apprentice girl. What's your name?"