The Devil closed his Book and stretched, allowing his fingertips to lightly touch the clouds. He assumed his Man Cloak and walked the streets of New York City, his favorite place to visit. With a practiced eye he studied junkies and whores, weighing their usefulness.
He watched tattered children skulk in the shadows and likened them to his minions, adorable and afraid.
There's one. He watched her sip from a chipped coffee cup, shivering in the bright warmth of an all-night diner. She wore chain mail and leather, and her arms were striped with razor scars. She was pale and brilliant, and he knew he could Use Her.
''Mind if I sit with you for a moment?''
She raised her eyes and took in the gothic stranger who had just swept in from the October chill. A capsule of cold air hung around him like a cape, and his black eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights.
''Why not?''
He nodded and suddenly he was sitting in the booth across from her, one swift smooth movement, graceful and feline. He removed his leather gloves, revealing unnaturally thin hands tipped with slightly pointed smoke colored fingernails. He ordered a cup of coffee from the wraith-like waitress and waited to see if she would speak.
His coffee arrived, steaming and thick. She was looking at him, her large green eyes unwavering and only mildly curious. He smiled.
''Do you hurt, Arya?''
She did not flinch, and he was pleased. How rare it was to find such a human, accepting of things she could not understand. She calmly lit a cigarette and allowed the smoke to escape gently, like a veil obscuring the beauty of her face.
''Sometimes. You?''
He licked his lips in anticipation, tongue darting blackly. She would sign his Book on this night.
''Always. But that is the way of the world, is it not?''
She sat back, still holding her cigarette, and gazed at the 13 o' clock street clamor. She swallowed softly.
''I don't think so. There is always hope.''
''Hope! How much hope did you have when you sliced your arms with that sexy razor?
Did you pray to God to save you from this horrible world as your blood dripped softly on the bathroom tile?''
The scars on her arms appeared to glow as he spoke, taunting her with their horror and despair. She paused for an eternity.
''No. Did you pray to God when he threw you from Heaven and your angelic body cracked the earth with the weight of it's faithlessness?''
His eyebrows quivered into the slightest of frowns. His form shimmered, and he had to concentrate for a moment to remain in his human form.
''What do you mean?''
She loomed forward, the silver of her chainmail shirt glittering. The cross at her throat dangled menacingly, and he shrank from her minutely.
''Answer the question.''
''Yes, I prayed to God. He betrayed me. He would not Listen. I just wanted him to Hear me.''
She sat back again and nodded thoughtfully. He waited.
''And so War was waged.''
''Yes, War. His filthy Angels sought to destroy me and the Others He threw. We had to fight back.''
Suddenly he was tired, and his shoulders drooped with the unconscious weight of remembering.
''But...''
She focused on him intently.
''But I know now that I was wrong. This is why I have no hope, because I know He will never have me back. He will not Hear me.''
A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye and he could hear the roar of his minions in Hell. An icy rain began to pour outside the instant his tear dropped to the table. He shivered.
She stood slowly and dropped a five on the table. Smoothly she leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Moving her lips to his ear, she whispered the Words he'd longed for for centuries.
''Come Home to Me, Lucifer. I Forgive You.''
story by Killertop
He watched tattered children skulk in the shadows and likened them to his minions, adorable and afraid.
There's one. He watched her sip from a chipped coffee cup, shivering in the bright warmth of an all-night diner. She wore chain mail and leather, and her arms were striped with razor scars. She was pale and brilliant, and he knew he could Use Her.
''Mind if I sit with you for a moment?''
She raised her eyes and took in the gothic stranger who had just swept in from the October chill. A capsule of cold air hung around him like a cape, and his black eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights.
''Why not?''
He nodded and suddenly he was sitting in the booth across from her, one swift smooth movement, graceful and feline. He removed his leather gloves, revealing unnaturally thin hands tipped with slightly pointed smoke colored fingernails. He ordered a cup of coffee from the wraith-like waitress and waited to see if she would speak.
His coffee arrived, steaming and thick. She was looking at him, her large green eyes unwavering and only mildly curious. He smiled.
''Do you hurt, Arya?''
She did not flinch, and he was pleased. How rare it was to find such a human, accepting of things she could not understand. She calmly lit a cigarette and allowed the smoke to escape gently, like a veil obscuring the beauty of her face.
''Sometimes. You?''
He licked his lips in anticipation, tongue darting blackly. She would sign his Book on this night.
''Always. But that is the way of the world, is it not?''
She sat back, still holding her cigarette, and gazed at the 13 o' clock street clamor. She swallowed softly.
''I don't think so. There is always hope.''
''Hope! How much hope did you have when you sliced your arms with that sexy razor?
Did you pray to God to save you from this horrible world as your blood dripped softly on the bathroom tile?''
The scars on her arms appeared to glow as he spoke, taunting her with their horror and despair. She paused for an eternity.
''No. Did you pray to God when he threw you from Heaven and your angelic body cracked the earth with the weight of it's faithlessness?''
His eyebrows quivered into the slightest of frowns. His form shimmered, and he had to concentrate for a moment to remain in his human form.
''What do you mean?''
She loomed forward, the silver of her chainmail shirt glittering. The cross at her throat dangled menacingly, and he shrank from her minutely.
''Answer the question.''
''Yes, I prayed to God. He betrayed me. He would not Listen. I just wanted him to Hear me.''
She sat back again and nodded thoughtfully. He waited.
''And so War was waged.''
''Yes, War. His filthy Angels sought to destroy me and the Others He threw. We had to fight back.''
Suddenly he was tired, and his shoulders drooped with the unconscious weight of remembering.
''But...''
She focused on him intently.
''But I know now that I was wrong. This is why I have no hope, because I know He will never have me back. He will not Hear me.''
A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye and he could hear the roar of his minions in Hell. An icy rain began to pour outside the instant his tear dropped to the table. He shivered.
She stood slowly and dropped a five on the table. Smoothly she leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Moving her lips to his ear, she whispered the Words he'd longed for for centuries.
''Come Home to Me, Lucifer. I Forgive You.''
story by Killertop
