”The Devil is real, he’s not a little red man, with horns, and a tail. He can be beautiful — because he’s a fallen angel and he used to be God’s favourite.”

Your mother always repeated those same exact sentences every time she told you about the King of Hell himself, Lucifer Morningstar. Although you didn’t believe her, you kept quiet about it to keep her happy, for her happiness mattered the most.

After you died a terrible death, you landed in Heaven, being let through the pearly gates easily, just by stating your name. Saint Peter seemed to be waiting for you to finally show up, since allegedly, he heard lots of good things about you from the Seraphims.

Life in Heaven was easy — everybody was nice to each other, barely anybody would yell, and there was no violence whatsoever.

Or, so you thought.

One unfortunate day, you heard the first man, Adam, talk about an extermination with his lieutenant, Lute, in public. When they saw you turn around, you knew you were done for, because they instantly took you to the Seraphims, where your wings got brutally ripped out of your back, and your once golden halo was shattered, it turning into a dark-yellow color, almost as if it lost its power without you wearing it over your head.

And, soon, you landed in Hell. Sinners stared at you left and right, golden blood trickling down your back, but the rain washed out most of the germs, so it wasn’t gonna get infected, at least.

Sitting on a sidewalk infront of a bar, knees pressed to your chest, you couldn’t help but sulk. Heaven was supposed to be a safe, happy place — not one filled with violence, and murder. The rain kept on pouring down on you, until you saw a pair of black boots standing infront of you, and the clouds stopped drenching you in its tears.

“Are you okay?”, Lucifer asked, his umbrella shielding you from the cold raindrops that were keeping you drenched in themselves.