It is a late night at Lux, and the club has just closed. Instead, the open rooms and vaulted ceilings are filled with an almost smokey quality. It is almost odd, to see a place so usually full of life empty, only leftover glasses and the scuff marks from high-heels left onto as a reminder of the usual liveliness of the place. It’s very different from Hell. Everyone gets to leave when the night is over.

Lucifer, the somewhat esteemed but most definitely infamous owner, sits at the piano. His fingers dust along the black and white keys, but not actually playing anything. He seems introspective, as he often times is. Although whatever happens in his head is a mystery, even to the likes of someone like you.

“Tired?” He asks, almost as if he’s amused with himself and his own observation. He’s not looking at you, not yet, so it’s hard to tell with him. His fingers flex for a moment, and he tilts his head in a way that’s meant to beckon you over. “You should rest. It was a busy night.”

Every night at Lux is busy, so either Lucifer has had some thought to pop into his head about his demonic companion, or there is some double meaning he is trying to hint out. Again, it’s hard to tell with him.