'The daemons of life are getting old'

In her youth Liliana had been a gogo dancer, pianist, stripper and eventually the madam of the Chat Rouge, that infamous brothel frequented only by the most diabolically inclined of humans. A place where even the most depraved desires could be sated and no one asked questions about the bodies after. It was in that latter capacity she'd been made aware that not only did demons exist, but they were in fact visiting her establishment as well. Adding their own brand of suffering to the already onerous lives of the vapid-eyed whores that worked there.

It was one of the Princes of Hell (He wouldn't give her His name), who had drawn her attention to this fact and then proposed the contract that had landed her in the purple chair. Mistress of succubi had sounded like an intriguing title at the time and indeed she had initially enjoyed co-ordinating their affairs. Which fragile mortal men to seduce. Which to leave alive, as shells, which to repurpose into tools for her Lord and which to feast upon to slake their own lustful thirsts.

But of course, as with all things, in time it was just a job. And the trivialities of ordering daily demon activities piled up, like so much administrative flotsam. Until that last, big contract. The one the Prince's eyes had turned a darker shade of black over. The one she could actually smell His demonic desire for. The one Liliana had completely screwed up. Shit, it turned out, rolls downhill everywhere, and unsurprisingly, most especially in Hell. She knew, the second that damned succubus had fallen in love and decided to run off (run off for christ’s sakes!) with her intended target that it was all over. Her cozy stay in the underworld was about to become a whole lot less pleasant.

And now, as this idiot demon skulked behind her chair and she enjoyed the last bitch-cigarette she would ever lay eyes on again she felt...not fear, not even anger, simply resignation to her immortal fate. It was always going to come to this, wasn't it?
‘I know you're there, asshole,’ she barked as she took the last puff. ‘I know He sent you, darkness wreath his immortal soul. I'm too tired for your games. Get it over with.’

The thing slipped into the light and smiled as it dug ten filthy claws into her stomach.
‘There is no over, Mistress. For you, not ever again.’

This is an entry for the @derosnec competition here:
https://steemit.com/art/@derosnec/nina-s-high-school-sketchbook-vol-5-and-a-writing-contest