Work Text:
Paper flowers.
That was all Eden ever was.
Perfect petals that never fell. Perfume that never faded. Grass that never dared to grow wild.
Lilith stood barefoot at the edge of the garden and felt nothing. She should have felt something- reverence, awe, belonging. This was the place she had been made from. The place she had once known. Instead it felt thin, like painted glass.
She lingered near the edge of its gate more than she walked the paths, forever caught between inside and out, between leaving and returning. This Eden did not reject her. It simply did not recognize her.
The wind whispered through leaves that had never known fire. Rain fell in gentle, meaningless arcs, never heavy enough to carry stories. There was no blood in the soil. No grief in the air. No laughter born from survival.
She missed ash. She missed the way Hell crackled, alive and broken. The heat. The noise. The screams that meant there were still voices left to scream. Ruin meant hands had built something once. And loved it enough to mourn. She had wanted to feel welcomed here. Had prayed for it, in the quiet parts of herself she despised. But she was not made for paper flowers.
She lay back in the grass and stared up at the sky- too wide, too blue, too perfect to be true. Not heaven, but an imitation of peace.
Hours passed where she did not move. Where she did not exist. And when she closed her eyes she saw Charlie’s smile. Lucifer’s hands. Fire on the horizon. Hell, loud and aching and real.
If Eden was a dream, then Hell was the only place she had ever been awake.
The realization came quietly, without ceremony: She had not fallen. She had chosen. And she would choose it again.
When she’d made her deal with Adam, Sera arrived shortly after to discuss further with her. She’d told Lilith that Eden would be a balm. That it would soothe her, quiet her, stitch her back together. Instead, it made the emptiness louder.
The quiet here was not peace- it was anesthesia. Soft grass. Still air. A sky that never burned. It felt like being burned alive in silk. They offered her calm. Offered her rest. Offered her something like forgiveness. But she did not want to forget how it felt to ache.
Pain meant she had loved.
Pain meant she had lived.
Pain meant she had chosen.
She did not want to be locked inside a version of herself that never screamed, never fought, never burned.
At night, she’d imagine the sound of Hell; fire cracking, buildings screaming. Charlie laughing. Lucifer’s wings stirring the air beside her. She curled into herself on untouched grass and wondered what was wrong with her. Why peace felt colder than fire. Why silence hurt more than screams.
The answer came, steady and unkind; she was not meant for sterile gardens. She was made of ash, of heat, of scar tissue and stubborn love. And she had always- always- found her place there.
Among the ashes.
The guilt gnawed at her bones, threatening to split through her skin. She had done everything she could think of to dull the ache. Being back here- back to the dirt she had been born from, back to the endless blue horizon, back to flowers that never wilted and whose beauty pricked at her- it all felt like a mockery. A reminder of something she was no longer allowed to be. She lay amid things that flourished without struggle, without rot, without consequence.
Fake things.
Sometimes, when it was quiet, she closed her eyes and let the wind brush her skin. Felt the hair on her arms rise. Tasted the air by scent alone. Sometimes she swore the wind sang to her, low and familiar, like it remembered who she used to be.
She had always longed for connection. Since the beginning, since the moment she had been created. When she thought she had finally found that connection, it withered in her hands. She tried to fix it, tried to reach it, tried to pull him back, but he remained lost to her.
Does he feel the same way now?
Lilith shook her head sharply. No. Don’t think about down below. That way lay spirals.
The memory, of course, came anyway.
The phone ringing. A day after her bargain with Adam. Her thumb hovered over the green button. Lucifer’s picture glowed on the screen- his soft infuriating grin, familiar eyes.
She let it ring. When it stopped, the silence felt like a sentence. This is what she would have to do until only God knew when.
Her eyes burned. She had left on broken terms. Left her husband without explanation. Left her daughter without answers. There were moments she did not allow herself to remember.
Moments where restraint failed her entirely.
Where she tore flowers from the ground until her hands and nails ached- only to watch them bloom brighter, untouched by her rage. Where she struck trees that refused to splinter and screamed at oceans that swallowed her voice without answer. Where she sank to the shoreline, shaking, soaked, furious, and small. Where she clutched her phone and nearly shattered it in her hands. She did not answer. She never answered.
The garden survived her. It always did. When the storm passed, Eden remained pristine, and Lilith was left with the quiet knowledge that her grief could not scar this place. She does not dwell on it.
She could not.
The guilt was endless: for leaving her family. For ignoring their calls. For not seeing how Lucifer’s pain had festered into permission for slaughter. For abandoning her people.
And worst of all
For knowing that if she were given the choice again, she would choose her daughter every time. Perhaps Adam was right. Perhaps she was rotten. Perhaps creation itself would have been spared if she had never been-
Stop.
Resist.
Resist the rot of thought.
Resist the pull of despair.
Resist the comfort of hopelessness.
She pressed her face into untouched grass and breathed. The sky stayed silent. The flowers never wilted.
And somewhere down below, fire still burned.
___
Lucifer’s hands were streaked with light, bending and folding into shapes only he could see- intricate designs that shimmered and pulsed beneath his touch. He murmured to himself, focusing on the patterns, the artistry, anything to keep the thoughts at bay. Time blurred. The room hummed with the soft, steady thrum of creation.
Then the phone buzzed.
Asmodeus. He glanced at it, heart tightening. A sharp pang of guilt whispered through him. He told himself he was too busy, that he had more pressing matters, that…well that he simply couldn’t. He let it ring out, ignoring it.
The room fell silent again, as it always did now. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes falling on the empty spot beside him. The place Lilith had once filled while he’d create, warm and alive, now stretched out like a shadow in the moonlight, mocking him with its emptiness. He pressed his thumb against this forehead, trying to focus on anything other than the hallow ache that has nested there for years.
Lucifer’s gaze drifted to a framed photo on the desk. Charlie, grinning up at him, her small hands clutching at a drawing she’d made of the three of them. He traced the edge of the frame absentmindedly, thumb brushing the glass. The thought of calling her made his chest ache. Years of absence, of barely spoken words with months of silence in between. And yet..he knew if he reached out now, he might only drive her further away. He was scared. Afraid to be close to anyone again. Afraid of trusting that they wouldn’t vanish like smoke through his fingers.
His hands twitched. The light in his palms flared as he fidgeted, twisting it into shapes he didn’t fully see, seeking control over the uncontrollable ache in his chest.
Finally, with a long, shaky breath, he picked up the phone. Not Charlie. Not yet.
Lilith.
He hesitated. Could she even hear him? Would she answer after all these years? His thumb hovered, heart hammering, until he pressed call.
The voicemail picked up almost immediately. “The account holder on this line is unavailable, or-“ He quickly pulls the phone away, already having this memorized. He waits for the beep.
“Heeeyyy, Honey! Uhmm…I’m just… calling to, uh, check in on you. See how you’re doing. You don’t gotta worry about me- I’m…I’m just dandy. Keeping busy, doing all my projects, nothing..uh, too exciting.” He plays with the buttons on his blazer. “I just spoke to Ozzy, and, well, he says the darndest things. You should-“ He coughs, voice cracking a little, trying to keep it steady. “-you should call me back and I’ll tell you what he said. I bet you’ll get a kick out of it.”
He pauses, eyes flickering to that empty spot again, then to the picture of his daughter. His grip on the phone tightens. “Charlie..she’s good too. She misses you! And…well, I do too. Of course.” His breath hitches and he swallows hard.
“I…I hope you’re happy, Lili. Wherever you are. Even if…even if it’s not with me.” Another cough, clearing his throat, voice softening. “Call me when you can.”
He leaned back, letting the silence fill the room. Her name glowed on the screen, unreachable, but at least it felt like a thread connecting him to her.
He hung up, staring at the empty seat beside him again, wondering if she ever thought of him the way he could not stop thinking of her.