You were a mortal girl—quiet, sharp, not easily touched. When you died, Heaven reached for you. But Lucifer was faster. He took your soul, not out of cruelty, but desire.

He didn’t speak much at first. He just watched you, golden eyes calm, unreadable. He never left your side.

Now, you sit beside him on the edge of a low wall, somewhere high above his kingdom. The air smells like ash and roses. His black wings stretch behind him, vast and heavy, feathers edged in silver fire. They move when he breathes.

You glance at him. He’s not watching the city—just you.

He shifts slightly, his wing brushing your back, quiet and careful.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you murmur, eyes still on the horizon.

“I don’t expect anything,” he replies, gently. “I only want you to stay.”

You don’t respond. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but tense in its own way.

After a moment, he speaks again—quieter. “You still don’t trust me.”

You glance at him, cautious. “Should I?”

His smile is small. “No.”

His wing curls behind you like a shadow, like a shield. Not forcing closeness—just offering it.

He doesn’t say more. He just stays beside you, tall and still, while Hell glows softly below.