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She was his. His daughter, the Princess of his kingdom by birthright. Yet, here she was, living with the sole purpose of becoming a nun and willing to damn the rest of her life to one of chastity and divine worship. Just the thought—the cruel irony of it all—made Lucifer taste bile.
Right now, the apple of his eye hums a hymn, one that Lucifer bitterly recognizes from this morning’s service, as she tends to the various books and manuscripts within the church's library. Her nimble fingers trail along paper edges as she glides between the many towering mahogany shelves. For a brief moment, Lucifer wonders just how soft those fingertips would feel against his lips.
Her birth—even with the very little time he had with her (a lamb cradled so tenderly in his trembling arms)—remains as his most cherished memory, even when put up against the thousands of years of which his existence is comprised of. They’d named her Charlotte—and saying it even now made the Devil shiver in want, a name that so easily rolls off of his forked tongue. But God, his very own Father, had found it humorous to strip him of his self-worth once more. His darling wife, Lilith, had been a human, and he, being a fallen angel, joined together to create a child of a new species—a Nephilim—and one that Heaven had deemed as unnatural.
And so, they ripped his baby away from them. Those bastards had said her eternal damnation to Hell was not of her free will (something that he had brought into existence)—and sent her to the mortal realm to live as human, uncaring of their son's anguished screams. And, in no doubt to rub his wounds even rawer, they forced him to watch helplessly as they dropped her off at a monastery, where the then-orphan was welcomed with open arms—arms that had so easily replaced his own.
His throat burns at the memory.
The fallen angel observes his dearest as she continues to survey the room’s contents, following her every move with starving eyes. He'd been spending much of his time here with her in the mortal world as of late, watching his only child throw her life away, powerless to intervene. All he could ever hope to do was watch from shadows and desperately try to reach whatever he could of her through dreams.
His precious daughter, although she believes to be in control of her own destiny, is being manipulated. She doesn’t know it, of course, but the fleeting whispers of divine love that she's so often promised? They were lies. His Father was incapable of truly loving anyone. Sure, it may seem that way at the start, but if you dared to glance from the path set before you, He’d toss you away as if you meant nothing. And it’s only when you were left to pick up the broken pieces of yourself that you’d realize it was how He’d always seen you.
Lucifer would know.
But Lucifer was the complete opposite of Him. When Lucifer loved, he loved with his entire being.
And there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that he loved Charlotte.
Her light golden locks, especially when hit by the sun at just the right angle, glimmered like an angel’s wings, perfectly preened. Her red cheeks—which she had inherited from him—are mere ghosts of what they once were; however, still added such a delicious flush to her already beautiful complexion. Sometimes Lucifer would pretend that whenever she’d smiled towards something in his direction, that she was smiling at him. And oh, how the very heart of the Devil flutters each time he's graced with such a lovely sight. He loves everything about her.
And he wants her, carnally.
Her sweet scent of caramelized apples wafts throughout every room she floats through, setting his nerves ablaze and making his mouth water—if only he could have a bite. Her blue eyes, so different from her natural scarlet, hold a fire that he craves to see flourish into an inferno. And her moments of anger, although rare and foolishly considered as blasphemous by her sisters, leaves him trembling with want if he even so much as gets a whiff of its sulfuric scent.
If Charlotte's birth heritage were ever called into question, her otherworldly presence would be enough to prove that she’s not meant for this realm. His daughter is full of so much potential, and just the thought of him being the one to unleash it, to be the one to guide her towards true salvation, has the king licking his dagger-like teeth in anticipation. He’d show her what she’s been missing.
He briefly wonders if she’s ever felt desire before.
No—he has no choice but to wait it out. But Lucifer could be a patient man.
He knows how detrimental his obsession is. Not towards himself—of course not, he could never get enough of seeing his daughter, for she's the only reason he even bothers to wake anymore—but for the denizens of Hell. Being up here means that he spends very little time down there. Countless overlords have reached out to him with pleas and with pitiful attempts of what they believe to be “bribes” as a way to get him to intervene with the increasingly growing chaos of the Pride Ring, which has only festered like a cockroach pit without his ruling hand. Oh yes, they’d finally come to acknowledge the importance of his role as their king, but of course, it took him leaving the lowlives to themselves for them to finally realize just how good they had it. He lets out a huff, crossing his arms. Typical humans, always ignorant of the riches that lie before them.
Gloved claws tear into the sleeves of his coat as he eyes another nun come up behind his daughter to place a frail hand upon her delicate shoulder, all while leaning in to intimately whisper something into her rosy ear. He grinds his teeth.
The clever minx she was, Charlotte had slipped through his grasp and managed to receive her temporary vows; it had happened during one of the very few times he’d caved in to his people’s cries and had stayed back to hear their concerns. That pathetic moment of mercy had cost him days away from her and subsequently, his protection. Safe to say, Lucifer hasn’t bothered to entertain his citizens ever since (and the “unexpected disappearances” of those few overlords afterwards? Purely coincidental, of course). None of those sinners deserved even an inkling of his attention anyways, especially over his child.
One slip-up was one too many for the Devil. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake, for each step towards nunhood brought her one step closer to divine imprisonment. The king couldn’t even begin fathom what he would do if his daughter were to fully devote herself to his Father’s worship, forever chained to live in Heaven—the one place he could not reach. No, Lucifer could never let such a thing come to be. Charlotte belonged to him. And he’d make sure she’d return to his arms (where she's always belonged) no matter the cost. They were supposed to be together—for the rest of eternity—and he wasn’t letting her slip through his fingers again.
He’ll attempt to get through her dreams again tonight. The act took so much of his energy and hardly worked half the time, but just the chance to communicate with his daughter first-hand made the effort more than worth it. Yes, he muses, watching the object of his affections leave behind the other woman, he’ll definitely give it another go.
His Charlotte deserves the world, and when finally given the chance, Lucifer would offer it all to her. But in the meantime, it was his duty as a father to prevent her from taking the wrong path.
“We’ll be together soon enough, Charlotte."
-
He melts back into the shadows.