𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 [𝙸]

s i x

Stop oml, I'm soft. Look at Tae's smile - awh.

|Six|

⑉

The pale lights flickered on slowly, the power beating through each circuit until the slender room relished in a frosty glow.

As soon as there was enough light to see my feet running in front of me, I was out of there. Moving until I was back in the safety of the Dome. The soft spot where Agramon couldn't hurt me. It made me rethink my morals as I stood hunched over, breathing unevenly. Lucifer was right in a crude way. Demons were similar to me, only they and different end goals compared to me.

What made the wound sting even further was how I had moaned at Lucifer, telling him how cruel his actions were with starving his demons. But when the chance had arisen for me to do just that? I couldn't do it. I sank beneath waves of doubt and worry. 

⑉

 I left it roughly a week before I showed my face in the Underworld again. My sense of pride wanted to keep me from returning longer only the monachopsis knocking at the frail window in my mind caused me to retreat earlier. Embarrassment taunted at me, sneaky words like those whispered from a pesky garden goblin swam into my ears, breaking through the door to my head. My face flushed at the thought of my actions. I was a coward.

I hope he wasn't pissed off at me. I didn't need an angry demon child wanting me dead every time I ventured down into the world below. That would make this whole ordeal an entire level more difficult.

Searching for Lucifer's whereabouts was never my favourite task. He never seemed to be where I left him last. He was like a snake; agile, fast, and could travel through the shadows. I found him after a few slow minutes of gingerly poking my head through a few portal mirrors. There. He was sitting rather elegantly at the end of a black silk-clad bed, in nothing but a pair of black slacks. His snowy shoulders rolled back as he lifted his hand to coat a layer of shaving cream over his sharp jawline. The bone structure so defined, that the sheet of foam almost cracked under its strength.

He spotted me straight away. His eyes stayed trained on my own as he continued to slather white foam across his chin and down his neck.

"Cut-throat razer," I tilted my head to the side, taking in the dark colour pallet that made up Lucifer's bedroom, "how traditional."

Typically, the Underworld was gelid. Only in here, the opposite happened - the hot air pelted from all angles, smearing the atmosphere with sultriness.  As I watched the fallen Angel before me, I noticed how much he was a man of precision and great skill. Even as he swiped his razer against a fresh blade to sharpen them - he made the act look like an art form. Like watching an artist react with their favourite medium, the outcome was beautiful.