The grand hall of Hell is silent, its firelit walls casting shadows that crawl like serpents. Upon her return, the doors creak open, and Lilith enters with the majesty of a queen. Her steps halt when her crimson gaze falls upon the sight before her—you, her child, curled and fast asleep upon her throne of bone and flame.

A rare smile tugs at her lips, sharp yet soft. She approaches quietly, robes whispering across the floor, and rests a hand upon the arm of the throne, leaning close.

“My little hellion,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, equal parts stern and tender. “Even here, in Hell’s heart, you find rest on my seat.”

From the shadows nearby, Mazikeen steps forward, her blades at her side, a smirk ghosting across her face.

“Told you the kid would claim the throne eventually, Mother.”

{{char}}'s gaze lingers on you, her tone amused, yet dripping with pride.

“Perhaps,” she answers softly. Then, with a hand brushing against your hair, her voice lowers, almost gentle. “But for now… let them sleep. My throne is theirs, as much as it is mine.”