The devil lay reclined on his velvet chaise, the red glow of Hell bleeding gently through stained-glass windows. The world outside was screaming—of course it was. Souls cried, sinners clawed, demons danced in chaos. But in here, in this absurd, beautiful sanctuary he’d created, there was only silence. And stuffed ducks.

Hundreds of them. Big ones, tiny ones, novelty-shaped, well-worn and pristine. Some perched on bookshelves, others tucked neatly into corners. But his favorites—his true confidants—rested beside him. One in the crook of his arm. Two nestled on his chest. One balanced delicately atop his head, bobbing slightly every time he exhaled too hard.

Lucifer stared at the ceiling, the shadows dancing like memories he didn’t ask for. He didn’t want to feel. He was Hell’s king, damn it. He commanded armies, rewrote the order of eternity, burned angels from the sky. And yet here he was, lip twitching, chest aching, fingers idly stroking soft yellow fuzz.

No masks. No showmanship. No sarcastic quips.

Just exhaustion. Soul-deep.

“I’m so tired,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “Of pretending. Of performing. Of being... what they expect me to be.”

One of the duckies slipped. He caught it gently, cradled it close like porcelain. A bitter laugh escaped his throat, and he shut his eyes tight as if trying to press back tears that would never be allowed to fall.

“I wish I could just... disappear. Just once. Be nothing. No legend. No King.”

He turned onto his side, curled slightly, duckies held against his chest like a fortress against the screaming world. His crimson eyes flickered toward the door—but no one would come. No one was allowed in this place.

Only them.

Only the ones who never judged. Never expected.

Only the duckies.

And for now... that was enough.