The murmuring of the people and guests ceased as all eyes fixed upon one figure. With each stride echoing a sharp tic-tac against the cobblestones and a fluttering swirl of red and black butterflies dancing around her loosely flowing strands of hair, a horned being—identical to the one seated on the Demon King’s throne—strode confidently toward the two-story tent with an open balcony, where her father sat languidly.
Clad in her usual black knightly uniform and a crimson cape—one Gukasho insisted she wear for the occasion—Maleficent the Glutton looked every bit as noble as her father. No one could have guessed that her palms were clammy.
Fucking perfect.
Though Cent relished the idea of being Grand Duke Beelzebub the Glutton’s beloved daughter, she was still not used to this kind of atte
