Puella Diaboli
Legacy Name: Puella Diaboli

This forgotten place. An old church. Why are you here? You can't really recall. It's cool, frosty almost. A sound-- you closed the door of your car, parked on the gravel road.

Breath. Your breath in the air swirls like the clouds above your head. Late afternoon. The sun will set soon. You should go home, but maybe, just take a walk first. You are here now. The grass is dry, frozen, it crunches like glass below your boots. A trek past the cathedral, it's shadow is cast over you, and your eyes wander up. Tall, beautiful. It's stained glass still standing. Casting colour with the dying sun. And there, as your vision follows down, out across the back field, small shapes. Stones? ...

Crunch-- You are closer. Time is getting away, but you just want to see. There's a fence, twisted, iron. It's tangled with brambles, but you can get by, the gate is long toppled. The grass here is longer, almost to your knees. Wind blows, you shiver. It's cold, isn't it? Maybe just a little ways more.

The graves are scattered, crooked, and old. Many names are worn off. Dates? Hard to read. Long grass, weathered stone, dry brambles. you try to move some but-- Thorns hurt, don't they? Carry on, there's something more down there, to the center. It's attractive to the eye, you want to see it closer. Down a hill, only a slight incline, and it comes into view. Wings? Yes, pointed to the sky. You stop close, eyes drawing up. So what is it?

A statue.

The virgin she-devil, her eyes smolder with lust as though she were alive. A hellish stare for a statue, unnerving. Yet she was delicate, her curves perfected under the artists chisel and tool. Her stone body streaked with many years story of weather. Maintenance had waned, yet still she looked so vital, so warm, her lips almost seeming as soft as a true woman's. You almost reach up to touch them. A temptress, even like this.

She sits poised next to her beast, a lion. Tied together for eternity with carved chain. you note her posture; seductive, oozing a false shyness. Were she alive she could have seduced any man or woman with a bat of her lashes, a curl of her finger. Imagination runs wild...

She would lure them to her body, half exposed, their hands needing to feel those thighs. Warm... Her robe would pull just enough to reveal a peak, a taste, bait. Legs parting, draw them closer, until her would-be lover was so close...

Her beast, so forgotten under her smoky stare, if only caution had overpowered passion, would strike. Tooth and claw would rend throat and flesh, spilling blood at her feet. She would shy from the mess, ever a lady, hands tangled in the black mane of the beast as it feasted, and she would only smile with those lips of....

Stone. Yes, she was only stone. Harmless stone. A strange statue in a strange place. You note how close you had gotten, your hand reached out. When...? Getting dark now, better head back. Where did the time go?

You think about her on the way home. Headlights lighting the way, the road clear. Dark, country driving. Yet you aren't focused. It's like you are on autopilot, eyes glazed. you can't get her face out of your memory. Only a statue. You need to remind yourself of this. Open the window, you need some air.

It rushes in, cold, you only cracked it. Goosebumps fleck your arms under your coat. Your hair tosses in the night wind, you hear crickets, the rush of your own tires, wind in the grass, the beat of wings-- Wings?

You slow. No, only the wind. You decide to close the window. Turn on the radio, you need some music. You reach over, click the knob, orange light flashes on, and a country tune drones over the speakers. Signals off, you fuss with the buttons. Classical? Not a fan, but it's not full of static. You sigh, looking up to the road--

A she-devil stands in your headlights, a beast at her side.

Swerve! You complete a sharp U, stopping just in time. No impact. Shaking, hands clammy; look up, nothing but dust in the headlights. Your stomach flips. You rub your eyes, hands trembling. Don't go back there. Reverse, you turn around. You shouldn't. Something is driving you. It's only a few miles, you need to see.

The full moon casts a light across the forgotten church grounds, the barren cemetery, washing in a silver glow, it's tombs casting eerie stretching shadows. You left your car door open, your gut twists, you run across the grass, towards those shadows, past the bramble choked gates. Back to her.

Except she is gone. A stone slab sits where her carved body once lay. Stone chips, shadow, the remains of something. That statue, her statue--!
You don't feel good, an eerie sickness crawls up your spine. You turn, running through the grass, back to your car. Drive.

It's not possible...

You are speeding.

I must get home!

Spooked. You are driving too fast-- The road, the ice...

It's cold.

Art by Tank

Puella Diaboli. "Devil Girl" as she is called. Though many names have formed for her; Virgo autem Diaboli (Devil's Virgin), or, Stone Maiden. A beautiful temptress, a gargoyle, a demon in disguise. Her origins a mystery, they say she must have crawled from Hell itself. A creation of the Devil, used to lure those who are tempted by sin into the pits.

She masks herself under the ruse of a forgotten statue, usually of beautiful women, always with a beast chained at her side. Her true form, a hideous creature of the night, preys on the wandering hearts of those in need of love, those who easily fall to temptation.

Awakening by the light of the first full moon, she roams in search of those whose hearts had been captured by her ruse of beauty, and mystery. After their sacrifice to her own desires, she soaks her stone skin in the warmth, staining herself for the evening a deep, devilish red. By morning, she takes on a new form, in a new place, waiting for the next heart to fall prey to her poisonous lust.