Flight of Frost and Aurora

Chapter 62

Summer had always been a season of joy and celebration—a time of passion, love, growth, and abundance. For Lucifer, it held a special place in his heart. It was in summer that he met his first wife, Lilith. He could still remember the exact moment he saw her for the first time.

Lilith galloped through the sun-drenched meadow atop her beloved horse, Raphael, chasing birds and rabbits, soaring over bushes and tree stumps with wild delight. Her long blonde hair streamed behind her, catching the golden light of summer and dancing in the warm breeze. She looked like a force of nature—fearless, radiant, free.

When she finally reined in Raphael at a quiet brook to let him drink, one of her suitors appeared, his face tight with disapproval. He scolded her for her boldness, accusing her of riding that "beast" like a man.

Without hesitation, Lilith struck him across the face.

"I could never marry a man who calls Raphael a beast," she said coldly. "He has more grace—and more manners—than you ever will."

It was in that moment that Cupid's arrow struck Lucifer's heart. Never before had he seen a woman so breathtakingly beautiful, so fiercely passionate, so unyieldingly formidable—and so unwaveringly faithful and true. He knew then—he would either marry her, or marry no one. But how could he ever hope to win the heart of such an extraordinary woman? He was only an apprentice, slight of frame and shorter than most men in the village. Compared to the bold suitors who pursued her, he felt almost invisible.

Unsure how to begin, he reasoned that winning the favor of her horse might be the first step. So, with trembling hands, he picked a ripe Papirovka apple from a low branch and made his way toward her, his heart pounding like a war drum. Stopping a few paces away, he cleared his throat and asked softly, eyes flicking to the powerful steed,

"Would your horse like something to eat with his water?"
"Thank you," she said, smiling slightly. "How did you know apples were his favorite?"

"Well... apples are my favorite too, so I... I guess I assumed it's not that strange for others to like them," Lucifer replied, stumbling over his words.

He reached out with the apple in his palm, and Raphael stepped forward, accepting it eagerly. The horse crunched it in a few swift bites, then gave Lucifer's fingers a gentle lick.

Lilith raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Hmm... interesting. Normally, Raphael only lets me or my father feed him by hand. He bites anyone else who tries."

"Oh... really?" Lucifer's voice cracked slightly.

"Yes. So that must mean you're at least decent. Raphael's an excellent judge of character—fast, clever, and beautiful."

"Yes, you are," Lucifer breathed, almost in a trance. Then his eyes widened. "I mean—he is! He's a magnificent creature! Not that you're not! I mean—you're not a creature, you're a woman—I mean, obviously you're a woman, just not a creature-woman—oh no—"

Lilith laughed, a warm and genuine sound that took him by surprise. She had already noticed his shy posture and nervous energy, but now she saw more. In his eyes, she caught a glimmer of something deeper—intelligence, sincerity, and a gentleness that stood in sharp contrast to the arrogance of her usual suitors. And she found it...refreshing.

Soon, wedding bells rang, and by the following summer, Lilith announced she was with child. On the day of the first snowfall that winter, she gave birth to their daughter, little Charlotte—and for the next eight years, Lucifer was the happiest man in the world. But happiness, as he would learn, is as fleeting as summer light.

Lilith fell ill and passed away far too young. And now, ten years later—again in summer—Lucifer found himself consumed by a deeper grief, one too vast for words. Charlotte had disappeared without a trace. Vanished. And the man Lucifer believed responsible had walked free, untouched by justice. The loss hollowed him out. He no longer had the strength to carry out his duties as a judge, no will to speak with kind neighbors or old friends. He could not eat, could not sleep. He would simply sit outside for hours, staring blankly at the sky.