Kelsey Kitzke and Leah Overstreet
God Bless the Queen?
By Leah Overstreet
Please? Just for a little longer?
I know, I know, this isn’t the first time I’ve asked you to hold off on sending her. Renovating the entire ninth circle takes more preparation than you might think!! Each time the deadline has rolled around, I’ve just needed a bit more time. Fires aren’t hot enough, blades aren’t sharp enough, Cerberus is too well fed. It needs to be perfect. She has had a torture chamber with her name on it since her first genocide.
Delaying her last breath all this time has meant that she’s had more time to ruin more lives. Each week that passed came along with newly conquered lands, new slurs from her mouth, and new cultures destroyed. It’s truly impressive work. And so I need to make my evils all the more unbearable to be worthy of her glorious transgressions. It’s taken a while.
Now, morale is low. The demons have lost their spark and I must admit, even I have moved on. Our lusts have taken on a new direction. I’ve been getting visitors who want more from me than just pain—they’ve come in ready to make a heaven of hell. The muscled bodies that had once only been useful in the torture chamber suddenly looked so different in under the gleam of hellfire …
So yes, we might have gotten a little distracted, and Belphegor did get a little worked up after a particularly blood orgy, trashing the place. The Elizabethan wing is in shambles.
Maybe I’ve “given up.” Maybe I’ve “lost my touch.” Or maybe I’m just tired of throwing myself into something that I knew she would never truly appreciate. Her majesty doesn’t get it. Our relationship has always been so one-sided: Me, obsessed with being good enough for her, and her, delusionally thinking she’d get into heaven (imagine!!). She’s never wanted me. Not like how I want her. So what I really think it is is that I’ve realized there’s a life beyond Lizzie. That maybe it could be good for me. That it’s healthy.
That being said, I must finish what I’ve started. Please, bring her back to purgatory for a bit while I sort some things out. Right now, she’s just sort of wandering around getting into trouble. She’s bossing everyone around and feeding Cerberus treats. She’s trying to put ME out of a job. AND IT’S WORKING. To no one’s surprise she is twice the devil I am and she’s damn good at it. Please, God, I can’t afford to be unemployed right now. I just need more time to gather the tools to eternally damn Liz before she gets a promotion from Queen of Bad Teeth and Love Island to Queen of The Underworld.
Can’t you help an old friend out?
By Kelsey Kitzke
Listen. I know the last time we talked I said that I could keep her a little longer, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry (the humans keep complaining about “inequality,” “injustice,” and the prospect of the “total annihilation of humanity,” which, like, who did that? Was it you?). The point is, I really need you to take some initiative here. I want to help you out, but the bitch was inching her way up to 97 years on this earth and I’m tired. Saving people hasn’t been my forte since Noah got in over his head with the petting-zoo-cruise idea. The plagues are always much more my thing. I like the attention! You know how it is …
I’ve been hearing it nonstop for the past seventy years. God, save the Queen! God, save the Queen! For God’s sake—for My sake—I needed it to stop. I know you wanted to make it special for your first time together, but she started to think that she was running shit around here. She put a collar around cupid and led him around like a corgi. She kept ringing little bells. I told her, Lizzy, no! Those bells control the stars. How is Ashley going to know if things will work out between her and Tyler if the planets aren’t in order? She also kept staring at my son with an expression of mild horror before asking where he’s originally from. I tried to explain to her that when I proposed the divine right of kings, I only meant the divine right of kings to wear a cute crown once in a while. I said ‘A queen should slay,’ as in ‘slay an extravagant outfit on a plushy chair,’ not ‘slay entire civilizations’ … She didn’t seem to get it. So I sent her down to you. Now she’s your headache.
Now I’ve got to deal with all the fucked up shit done in my name. Despite my recent reputation, I’m responsible for rainbows, puppies, and the sound of a child’s laughter on a bright spring day. The truth is, I do many good things that get overshadowed by my association with her. What has she done, besides a litany of scandals? And doesn’t that sound like a perfect thing for you to deal with?
Come on. You’re the queen of this kind of shit—remember when Thatcher died? Those were good times, right? You’re going to do a great job. I believe in you. Have some faith in yourself.
Your humble savior,