When she wakes up, her body’s stiff and cold and it’s the first time she wishes that she were dead. There’s not a part of her body that’s not hurting, and she doesn’t think she even has enough strength to open her eyes, let alone sit up. Breathing is even difficult. It burns her lungs, as if she’d just run a very long way, even though she’s sure that she hasn’t moved in days, weeks, maybe. She’s doesn’t even know how long she’s been asleep.

It’s not until she feels someone lift her head up that she startles fully awake. And when she opens her eyes, she wants to scream. Because she’s looking up into the face of a woman whose eyes are scratched out, whose lips are sewn together. Her hair is shock-white and her fingernails are long and filed into points and the colour of blood.

If she thought she had enough strength, she’d roll away. But the woman does nothing except bring a glass to her lips. Nadia resists at first, but when the cool wetness hits her lips, it’s an automatic reaction to open her mouth and drink deeply. It tastes of nothing but water, and even if it is poisoned, she can’t find it in her to care. At least it would end her suffering. At least it would bring her peace. At least she’d be free.

When the glass is empty, the woman takes it away, and Nadia whines. It helped some, at least. Her throat doesn’t feel as dry and raw and sore. Next, the woman’s pressing a wet cloth to her forehead, and she’s cleaning off her face. Nadia begins to wonder how she does so without eyes, but she decides not to question it. She’s seen stranger things.

It’s not until the woman traces an X over her face, and she tastes something coppery and metallic that she realizes something wrong. It doesn’t take her long to realize what’s happening, and she twists her head around to the concrete block that, when she fell asleep, held nothing but a withered corpse. Declan’s standing there now, and there’s a body on the block. Pale and lifeless and hallow; Viviana looks wrong.

She meet Declan’s eye, panicked, and he takes a step closer to her. “Don’t worry, Nadia. If anything, you should feel honored. For thousands of years after this, people will talk about how your brave sacrifice allowed Lucifer to be reborn. You’ll go down in history as evil’s equivalent of a saint. I’ll make you seem like a hero, if you do me the smallest of favours and don’t put up a fuss. Let Reeve do her work and behave.”

"This— this isn’t a brave sac— sacrifice!" She stutters, squirming to try and get away from the woman with no eyes that Declan referred to as Reeve. "This is murder!"

"It doesn’t have to be. It all depends on you, like I said. I can make them remember you as brave and beautiful and fearlessly dedicated to the cause, Or I can make them remember you as the woman who tried to stop the Father from rising. It’s your choice. And, no matter what you chose, you’re still going to die. There’s nothing you can do about that."

She wants to move, wants to say something, scream at him, but it’s as if her whole body is frozen. She hears Declan laugh, a menacing sound that would make her cringe if she could move. “Oh, and the water you just drank? There was a paralytic in it. Spider demon venom. Reeve foretold some… issues you would try and create.”

He crouches down beside her just as she feels a knife glide across the top of her head. “Let me explain to you how this is going to work. Reeve is going to open up each one of your seven Chakras, and, from them, she’s going to extract pieces of your soul that are purely Viviana. She’s already opened up each of Viviana’s Chakras so that she can put her soul back in her body. After that, she’ll heal her, and we’ll leave you to bleed to death. That is, if you’re not already dead from the removal process.”

The last thing she sees before her world goes dark is Viviana’s—the real Viviana’s—eyes opening. And the last thing that goes through her mind is how she hopes Gabriel finds her. 

When he appears in front of her, in her cage, she screams. Not out of fear, but because once she sees his face, all the memories of him come rushing back. At first they’re bitter-sweet; she remembers the smooth touch of calloused hands against soft porcelain skin, she remembers whispered words and the I love you that, at once, she eagerly returned, she remembers Dominique’s talk of how he made her uncomfortable.

She remembers his betrayal, remembers how she was nothing more than a pawn in his game to take over the Heavens and Earth and Hell. And she remembers pushing the sword through his neck and cutting of his head, remembers the feeling of his blood on her face, on her hands. She remembers the smell of his burning body.

It’s overwhelming to fell it all at once, and she finds herself dragging her body backwards— away from him, as if that could stop her from remembering all the things she wished she never remembered, she wished that she never even lived through in the first place. But he’s still there, and it’s all still fresh in her mind, and when she looks up at him, it’s with caution and uncertainty and anger and nothing short of pure fear. 

"—I thought I killed you." She can’t help the shake in her voice when she speaks, and her mind flicks back to her last conversation with Declan. He’s right, she thinks. She’s nothing like Viviana, nothing like the woman in her memories. She’s not fearless and graceful and strong. She’s scared and pathetic and weak. Nadia’s nothing more than a holder for all of the unearthly woman’s memories; she’s not actually her, never will be. 

Rixon grins from ear too ear. “You did. And here I am, in all of my death and glory.” When she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except look up at him with large, brown eyes, he leans against a wall with a sigh. “I’m a ghost, Nadia.” He pauses, as if he expects her to say something. She doesn’t, so he continues with a dry tone. “What am I doing here, you ask? Well, I’m here to help you, of course. What else?”

She scoffs. “I don’t want your help. Plus, why would you help me? I did kill you, I did tell you how repulsive I thought you were. You’re probably just playing me, like you always did.” She doesn’t want to fold, but she can feel herself breaking. She’s so desperate for help, desperate to stay alive and get out of this cage that she’d do just about anything.

"I never played you. I loved you, that was never a lie. And I was trying to get a better life for us, for everyone you loved." He pauses, again, and she remembers how much he adored dramatic pauses. “But, then you killed me and death, believe it or not, has helped me see the error of my ways. Which is a shame, kind of. Seven hundred years of hard work, and for what? You’d probably have been better off if I’d left you alone.”

"I won’t argue with that," she replies dryly.

What I’m trying to say is that you can trust me, Nadia. I do want to help you. I know you don’t want to die, and I don’t blame you. Death is boring, life is exciting. And you— you’re so young and full of life. You probably want to do all the things Viviana couldn’t. Get married, have children, grow old and be happy. And you deserve that.”

Her lip curls, and she almost snarls at him, but it sounds wrong in her human throat. “I have no reason to believe you, and you’re the last person on this earth I’d trust. So, go. Leave. I don’t want to ever see your face again. You’re nothing but a menace, and you deserve to be dead. So just go away and die already. And leave me alone so I can do the same.”

"—I was so hoping you’d say that." When she blinks at him, surprised, he’s grinning devilishly. "Declan was right; you’re nothing more than a cheap version of Viviana. Which means I’ve no interest in you. So, I’ll leave you alone to die, Nadia. And I’ll be back when she breathes again, when you breathe no longer. She’s the one I really want. Happy death."

And, just as he appeared, he’s gone. She doesn’t cry this time, despite the fact that she feels like it. Maybe she’s out of tears, she thinks. That’s entirely possible. All she does is bury her face in her knees and, despite the whirling and aching in her head, falls asleep for the first time since she’s been in here, since Declan captured her. 

"Don’t pout, Nadia. Your part in this is bigger than even you could ever imagine. You are the beginning— the beginning of the end. Your death will bring life to Lucifer." He smirks. "Besides, it won’t be like you’re really dead. You’ll just be relocating."

Her jaw set, dark eyes glaring up at Delcan from where she’s chained to the floor. “Gabriel’s looking for me right now. Him and Demetrius— they’ll find me. Your perfect plan will fail and the only one who’s going to end up dead will be you. You’re an idiot for thinking that you’d get away with this in the first place. I hope they rip you to shreds.” 

He sighs, shaking his head like she’s a toddler who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Slowly, he crouches down in front of her, and takes her face in one of his hands, squeezing hard. Hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. “See, that’s where you and my dear sister differ. She’d never rely on anyone else to save her. She’d do it herself because she knows that there’s no one else you can count on.”

Without warning, he pushes her face back and her head hits the concrete wall behind her with a crack. She cries out, but all that does is cause him to laugh. “Plus, if Gabriel and Demetrius knew what I’m planning on doing— if they knew I was going to bring the real Viviana back, I bet they’d help me. Your nothing more than a cheap replacement, after all. And not a very good one. You don’t have her face, her personality. Just her memories.”

"Unchain me and then you’ll find out how like her I really am." Nadia spits between clenched teeth. Oh, how she’d like to reach out and claw his eyes out. How she’d like to beat him down and kick him and kick him and kick him and bash his head in.

Declan laughs again, and he rises to full height so he’s looking down at her again as if she were nothing more than a bug he’d like to squash. “It’s a mask. Your courage. You’re shaking like a leaf, you’re scared to die. Which is why you’re nothing like my sister. Each time she died, she did so valiantly. She planned each of her deaths. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t pleading and crying. She was admirable. You’re not.”

"You’re not going to get away with this!" She screams at his retreating back. "You’re not going to kill me! You’ll fail, and I’ll laugh when you do!" Nadia continues to scream even after he’s gone; she screams until her throat is raw and scraping. And then she cries.

"So what’s your real story?"

Subtlety isn’t her strong suit, and her curiosity usually got the better of her, this time is no different. She stands in the doorway of the room that Dalton now occupies, her arms crossed over her chest as she watches him set his book down and look up at her. Silence stretches between them for a long moment before he speaks.

"No idea what you’re talking about," he drawls, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. Arrogance leaks from his every pore, so much that she can almost smell it. Or, that could be the overwhelming scent of whatever aftershave he’s wearing.

Giving him a skeptical look, she takes a few steps into the room. He watches her every move, she can feel it on her back as if he’s examining her under a microscope. Viviana turns around to face him again, an elegant eyebrow raising in his direction as she perches herself on the edge of his desk. “Now. The truth.”

"You were there. Everything I said was the complete truth." Still no change in his heartbeat, she notes. He really is a good liar, and she has to say she’s impressed. It must show through her expression, judging by the smirk that works its way onto his lips.

She taps her fingers against the wood on the desk, her nails scraping noisily against the surface, claw marks etching in the wood. It causes a slight wince in his features, and that brings a smile to her face. “I’d have no reason to not believe you, except I don’t trust you, and Demetrius told me that none of it was true.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Damn that Demetrius. He never did know how to keep his mouth shut.” A pause, and an idea seems to dawn on him and he jumps to his feet. Her eyes narrow as he comes closer to her, but he remains at a respectable distance so she doesn’t have to throw him through a wall yet. 

"Tell you what," he says, "I’ll tell you the complete and honest truth if you kiss me.” She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looking at him with a confused expression on pretty features. “Y’know the story of the princess and the toad, right? The princess kisses the toad and he turns into a prince.” His blue eyes are beaming with mischief.

She doesn’t even hesitate with her retort. “Oh, I don’t think you’re a toad, Dalton. I see you as more of a snake.” Pushing herself off of the desk, she breezes over towards him, and pauses inches in front of him. “Plus, I’ve got enough star-crossed lovers for one life time.” 

"Honestly, I thought you’d be happier about the return of your estranged older brother." Dalton quips as he stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s all limbs, Viviana notes from where she’s seated on her bar stool.

Happy? You abandoned me, remember that? When I was little, right after mom and dad died— you just took off without a word. Never called or wrote. Never let me knew you were okay. What would make me happy would be never seeing you again.” His body was practically shaking with anger, and it takes all of her self-restraint not to turn on her protective mother mode and throw Dalton out of her house onto his head. 

Demetrius softly rests his hands on Zach’s shoulders. “Let him talk, Zachariah.”

The youngest boy turns around to face Demetrius so quickly he’s nothing but a blur of motion. Noticing his hands that clench in tight fists at his side, Viviana steps herself in between the two, looking eye-to-eye with her son.”Calm down,” she orders. For a fraction of a second, he does, but then anger claims his features again.

"You’re both against me? I get it with you, Demetrius. He always was your favourite, you always let him get away with everything. But not you, Viv. You don’t even know him, and I’m your son! You should be on my side."

The demon opens his mouth to respond, and, hearing the intake of breath from behind her, she raises her hand to silence him. Her attention goes back to Zach. “I’m never on anyone else’s side,” she says gently. “And trust me when I say that I trust that boy as far as you could throw him. But he’s your brother and family is family.”

There’s a pause, but eventually, he turns around so that he looks at Dalton again. He’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk, and Viviana wishes she could smack it right off his face. But she refrains. For the sake of her son, and Demetrius.

"So. If I’m going to give you the time of day, you better have a good explanation for being gone all these years. Better than good, though— a great explanation. Like, I don’t know, you were kidnapped and have actually been held hostage all these years and that’s why you’ve never attempted to make contact with me."

Dalton’s eyes lazily goes from Zach to Demetrius, and his eyebrows raise slightly. Viviana turns around just in time to see Demetrius nod. An interested grin pulls on the corners of her lips, and she moves back to her stool. Taking a seat, she leans with her elbows on the counter, and waits for the scene to unfold.

"When Mom and Dad died, it messed me up, y’know? I was fifteen years old, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I took off. I tried to call you, Zach. I wrote letters and never got a response. I always thought that you were ignoring me. And, when I was seventeen, Demetrius got in contact with me. Found where I lived and showed up one night.

"He told me not to try and call you anymore, not to write. Because it was better if I didn’t, better for you. He went on for over and hour, telling how things were better with me gone. Said you were doing good, and how much easier it was for you to deal with Mom and Dad’s death because I wasn’t there. And I believed him. Didn’t think he’d have any reason to lie to me, even though I realized later how stupid what he said was."

Zach glances back at Demetrius, betrayal obvious in his expression. “Is that true? Did you tell him that I didn’t want him around?”

Demetrius’ face is unreadable, and he nods just slightly.

For a moment, all the youngest does is look at him. But then he shakes his head, disgusted, and takes off out of the kitchen. There’s still that self-satisfied smirk on Dalton’s face as he breezes past the demon to follow his brother. Something’s off, she realizes as she looks at Demetrius whose head is hung.

"None of that was true, was it?" She says, an eyebrow raising in his direction as she brings her wine glass to her lips and takes a long drink. She knows the answer before he speaks, and she has to give props to Dalton— he’s a good liar. His heartbeat had remained strong and steady, never faltering throughout the whole story.

He shakes his head. “Not a word. I just figured it’d be easier for Zach to hate me.” 

He placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing once as he sat down beside her.

Her face was drawn in concentration, and she stared off into nothingness with an unreadable expression. Blank eyes didn’t even flicker over towards him, and she made no acknowledgment that he was there at all. His hand moved to twirl a piece of her hair between to fingers.

"What is it that you’re thinking about so hard?"

She looked at him then, blinking as if she didn’t even know he had been sitting there. But her face soon sobered, and she blew a long breath of air from her cheeks. “You do realize that I’m going to die someday, right? I’m going to get old, and I’m going to die. And you won’t.” Her eyes met his, and he could see the beginning of tears brimming them.

"Trust me when I say that there’s not a day that passes that I don’t think about how I’m going to have to learn how to live without you again. I do realize that one day, hopefully in the very distant future, my whole life with be yanked out from under me." His hand slipped down to grasp hers, entwining their fingers. "There’s always something that reminds me of it."

"Are you scared?"

"Scared of having everything I love about the world taken away without any rhyme or reason? I’m terrified. It gets closer with each day that passes."

She found herself turning into him, pressing her head into her chest and letting his arms encircle her in safety. “I don’t want to be a vampire. I don’t want to not be a witch, ever. But I also don’t want there to be a moment when we’re not together. I love you, Elijah.”

He put his hand under her chin, forcing her face up to look at him. “Things will happen as they will,” he said calmly, and despite the emotions that threatened to tear him limb from limb.

Neither of them said anything, so he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers as she cried. 

She had found Gabriel in a room that she didn’t even know existed.

As it turned out, Viviana’s house seemed to hold more secrets than Viviana herself.

She had gone into the one room that had been strictly off limits since that terrible day—Viviana’s bedroom. No one had so much as walked up the staircase at the bottom of the hall that led up to her floor. But that day she hadn’t been able to find Gabriel anywhere, and she wouldn’t have even thought to look there if it weren’t for a whispering in the back of her mind.  

So she had opened the door and mounted the staircase, which opened up to Viviana’s grand room that was one floor renovated into one big bedroom. The room was alit, but completely empty, and Dominique was about to turn around and leave when the open closet door caught her eyes. She had been in her room the day before that night, and she remembered the door being closed.

So of course she had to investigate. And, as she walked into the closet, she saw the coats on the back wall pushed back to reveal yet another staircase. She hadn’t known that to be there, but she couldn’t deny something that was right in front of her eyes. She wasn’t going to investigate further until she heard footsteps above her head, and she knew that’s where Gabriel was.

As she poked her head into the room that she didn’t know existed, she saw Gabriel sitting on the far side, lit only by the dim light of a single candle. But he wasn’t the only thing there. The room was filled with canvases and paper—tacked on the wall, sitting on the floor, lounging on easels. And all of them were filled with paintings—some of the most beautiful paintings she’d ever seen.

“Are these—”

Gabriel looked up at her, his lips in an O shape, as if he’s shocked to see her standing there. But then the shocked expression fell and he was back to looking miserable and withdrawn—the same way he had for a week. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know she could paint,” the blonde walked towards a half-finished painting, and she couldn’t help but draw in a breath when she saw that it was a picture of her, standing with the axe that she had used to kill Lucifer.

“I think there were only three people in the world who knew she could, and two of them are dead, so.” He doesn’t attempt to meet her eyes, instead turning his attention to another, darker, painting.

The silence stretched between them, and she thought that he wasn’t going to say anything else, but then he turned back to her. “It feels like she’s alive in here. You can still feel her in the bedroom, but in here—it’s like she’s standing right beside me.” He said, and he looked to his left, staring at the empty space as if he thought he could make her materialize by sheer will.

“I miss her too,” Dominique said. She thought about taking another step towards him, but he looked so withdrawn, so miserable that her feet stayed planted firmly in place. “There’s still a half-empty glass of wine on the counter that no one has the heart to touch.”

He ignored her, his eyes flickering towards the ceiling. “She saved me; all she ever did was save me. When she found me, bleeding and broken in the field, she fixed me. She put me back together. And when I died, she never gave up hope on me. I came back, and she fixed me again. Everyone thinks her whole life was about her, but it wasn’t. It was about me.”

“This isn’t your fault, Gabriel.”

He turned to her, eyes blazing. “Yes it is. I fell in love with you. I was the reason Eris came back and summoned Lucifer, who started this whole mess. It’s on me, Dominique. She’s dead because she couldn’t stop saving me.”

“She had a choice. She could’ve walked away,” the witch said quietly.

He scoffed. “Viviana doesn’t walk away from anything.”

“But she could’ve,” she insisted, which, admittedly, wasn’t the smartest thing for her to do. “It wasn’t her fight.”

Gabriel stared at her, dumbfounded for a long moment before his lip curled up in a snarl. “You blame her,” he accused. “You think that it was her fault she died. I could’ve gone with her and protected her. You had the most powerful weapon known to man in your hand, and you did nothing to save her. She didn’t have to die.”

“Gabriel,” she said as he stormed past her. But he didn’t stop. He just kept walking, down the stairs.

She had never felt so distant from him before. 

“Take me away from this place,” Viviana begged, her hands pressed against Alex’s chest. “Please, Alex. I don’t want to be here, anymore, I don’t want to marry that man. I want to be with you, so, please, let’s go.”

“Viviana,” Alex said softly, taking her hands in his own. “Running away from your problems isn’t the answer.”

She drew back from him as if he stung her with nothing but his words. Her arms fell limply to her sides, and the look on her face was one that he never wanted to see again. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal.  “Are you saying that you wouldn’t run away with me? That you don’t want to be with me. Because if I stay—if I get married—we will never be allowed to be together, do you understand that?”

“Viviana,” he started again, “I want nothing more than to be with you, but if we run, we’re running from more than you could ever comprehend.” They would just be trying to escape Viviana’s life; they’d also be running from Alex’s choices—from Rixon. And he wasn’t sure if Rixon was the right kind of person to be running from.

Her eyebrows knitted together until a realization dawned on her. “You’re scared,” she accused, a mean smile curling around those perfect lips. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re too scared to run away with me.” The girl, so dainty and light, reached up and wiped angry tears from her eyes. “Well, fine. You can stay here, and I’ll go by myself.”

He grabbed her arm as she tried to walk by him. “Don’t,” he said, amber eyes meeting brown. And he took a step toward her, bringing his hands up on each side of her face before pressing his lips to hers. She was hesitant at first, but then she was kissing him back like she usually did. He pulled back slightly, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll go. I’ll take you far, far away from here.”

Viviana’s eyes returned to the ones he knew—warm, welcoming, loving, kind. “You promise?”

“Mio amore,” he whispered, a smile curling around his lips. “I promise.” He nodded. “We’ll leave. We’ll find a place and be happy together. But you must know that you’ll never have a life like you have now, like you could have with the other man.”

“Riches and royalty? Do you think that’s all I care about?” She sounded flabbergasted that he would even think of such a thing, but she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him again, shortly and sweetly. “All I want in life is you, Alexander. I don’t need to have money or a title to be happy. Just you. You’re everything I’ll ever need.”

He ran a hand through her curls, looking at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and, he had to admit that she was. With her wild hair, warm eyes, and perfectly pink lips, there was no doubt in the world that was the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. “Tonight, then. When the moon reaches the highest point in the sky, come out here, and we’ll run.”

She barely knew him. She didn’t trust him. But the sight of him walking away from her made her insides churn uncomfortably. Because this time, he wouldn’t be coming back. She gritted her teeth, bouncing from one foot to the other before she propelled herself forward, into the doorway of her little cabin. He had already reached the fence and was about to open it when she spoke.

“I don’t like cheese. I hate wearing socks. I wish I lived in Greece because it’s the most beautiful country. I have a toenail that grows sideways.” At that, he looked over his shoulder, perking an eyebrow. “I’m claustrophobic, and I’m terrified of needles. Feet gross me out. I could live off of French fries, and there’re normally two cartons of chocolate milk in my fridge at a time.”

He was facing her full on now, but he didn’t say anything.

“Reading is the most wonderful thing because, for a little while, I get to live someone else’s life. I complain a lot, but I’m so shy. I love to laugh. Sometimes I like to turn up the radio really loud and dance around the kitchen. And I sing to myself everywhere. I don’t brush my hair because it makes it frizzy. I love animals more than humans.

“I don’t wear pants when I don’t have to. Sometimes I don’t get dressed all day. I shower twice a day. I really miss my mom. My dog, Sansa, is my best friend. I’ve struggled with depression for as long as I can remember. Being alone terrifies me. I don’t talk a lot because it’s hard sometimes. I’m not open because whenever I have been, people have hurt me.”

His face had softened considerably, but he still remained quiet.

“And the thought of falling in love, the thought of someone having that much of me, is the scariest thing of all.”

In a flash, he was in front of her, taking her face in his hands. Their eyes, both dark in colour, were locked, and she could see something burning in the depths of his. Before she could take in a breath, his lips were on hers, strong yet soft. She was hesitant at first, but it felt so natural—so right, that she couldn’t stop herself from relaxing and kissing him back.

 

He remembered her smelling like summer rain, and sunshine, as if things couldn’t get anymore ironic. 

And, through the whole time he knew her, there was never a moment that she wasn’t smiling like she was the happiest person on earth. It always confused him greatly, but, if he was correct, it was also what made her so… appealing to him. Her thirst for life and love and happiness and everything good was apart of what made her so enthralling.

It just seemed like it was impossible. Humans were broken and sad and never pleased. Or at least what he saw of them. But this woman, this woman whose eyes were the colour of burnt coffee and whose laugh was the most beautiful sound to the ears was never like that.

She was happy. She was whole. She was big in mind and spirit and soul.

And he want to know how it was all possible. Wanted to know how she was like she was, and why on earth she always had flowers braided into her hair—a different colour every day of the week.

Eventually, he learned why she braided flowers into her hair, and why sometimes she would lie on the grass with her eyes closed in the scorching bright sun. But the one thing he never learned was what made her so joyful every moment of every day. He had asked her once, but the only response he got from her was, “because it’s a beautiful day. Because I’m alive.”

If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her saying it. And he could almost feel the way she patted his hand afterword. And he could feel, rather than see, her smile. The smile that was most definitely a thousand times brighter than the sun. The smile that almost made him wish he was human.

He knew now, that the feeling in his gut he got whenever she was near, or whenever he thought about her, was love. Or as close to love someone like him could get.

Thinking rationally, he shouldn’t have so openly accepted it. Letting her get to him was a mistake, though he knew she didn’t mean to. Falling for her was wrong. But, as he thought about it, he knew he didn’t regret it. No. The last thing he regretted was falling in love with Rosalie. They were polar opposites  but she loved him and he loved her and that should’ve been enough.

He could’ve given her everything she ever wanted. He would’ve made her a queen, if she had permitted it. Though, if he had to admit, imagining Rosalie in a place like hell was nearly impossible.

He wanted to be with her for the rest of forever. But, as it turned out, she had different plans. So he killed her. He got mad at her, so he killed her husband, and then he killed her. Never once since then did he feel guilt for his actions. Now, he could see so clearly how much of a good choice that was. He should’ve done it earlier, when the feeling started, but he didn’t.

Lucifer wouldn’t admit it, but as he was sitting in his prison that the little blonde witch and his daughter had trapped him in, he felt regret for what he had lost. And what had happened because of it. 

CLARAOSMIN