Chapter Text
5 Years Before the First Extermination
Even these bricks are chipped a little. In the lowest alleyways of Pride, there’s no cement. Only dirt that you just might be able to see beneath the dried blood and trash. In the nicest areas of Cannibal Town, you’re still going to see a stray bone lingering from a neighborhood feast – where they feast on their neighbors. If there was anywhere in Pride, in Hell that would be flawless, I thought it’d be here. But even here, the bricks are a little chipped.
But that doesn’t stop me. Scaling this great exterior wall with a silent precision, my eyes are on the prize. Not to starve. Not to need to fend for myself anymore. Living in Hell is fucking. hard. Hellborn are not usually bad, per se. But the ones who tend to dwell around Pride are. Because they are around the rest of us. Sinners. ‘Scum’ of the living world who get sent here after we die whether we shot up an orphanage, cussed in church, or just leaned far too heavily on one of the Seven Sins. And once Sinners are here, it’s not like they see any use to bettering themselves from here on out.
So wrath, pride, lust, greed – everything runs through the streets of the Ring of Pride itself. The dumping ground of all human souls. A pit of nothing, a valley of rock and obsidian and error. And by one mistake or another regret, I’m here too. Couldn’t remember for the life of me why, either. I lost count of the years, and most bittersweet memories of the human I was before. I’ve forgotten a lot of things, come to think of it.
Like the feeling of contentment in your stomach – no hunger pains, no sickness. Or fully falling into a deep, safe sleep. Without needing to keep your guard up, sleeping with one eye open to make sure no one connects a knife to the bone in my throat, just to pick my pockets for spare change.
But in all of these eventful years, I’ve made do. And when I didn’t, I licked my wounds and dodged faster. Moved quieter. Hit harder until I did. The only reminder I have that I’ve survived Hell is each breath that I take. And each one reminds me again, because I forget so quickly. Because everything could change in the midst of one.
I’m if Robin Hood was a self-centered trash bag. I steal from those better off than me, and give it to the poor. Myself. The secret to how I lived so long in Hell? I learned that very simple rule. ‘Every man for himself’. And I got a small name for myself too. In a way, at least. The rumor of a faceless, unnamed swiper taking wallets from pockets and the bite from your fork murmurs through bored demons. Chalk that up to the thousands of other dirty and desperate thieves, and I’m no different except I haven’t got caught.
I hate how much pride I’ve adopted from living in Pride for so long. But I’m self-aware enough to look back and recognize how I’ve changed. Just like I’m aware enough to see that this little swiping trip is a bit…disgustingly ego-driven? Proof that I’m in way over my head? Suicide?
Oh no, but I’ll so miss my days in Hell! But hey, these bricks are chipped, so they may not have good shit after all. But apathy to dying doesn’t quell slight nerves bundling tight in my chest. And as I peek over the window ledge framed with golden tracery on the exterior of this extravagant palace, that apathy falters for a moment.
The curtains are drawn on the other side, allowing only a slight crack within the fabric to look back at me. But even that is pitch dark. Steeling myself with a steadying breath, I continue the climb. My tail swings up to coil tight around a rod engrained into the facade of the wall, the flag at the end still and silent with the breezeless air of the night. I hang from my tail, free hands fishing for the tools I need. The wedge jams the window open just enough for my lockpick to stick through. The click on the other side is still just as satisfying as ever. I’m slowly dragging the window open, and it’s then that the breeze decides to greet me.
The curtains draw into the room, but only to toy with the shadows licking at the fabric as they flow farther from the light of Heaven in the sky far above. The lights inside are off, and I hear nothing otherwise. With a swift pull and an unravel of my tail, my boots land silent on the plush carpet.
I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but I should’ve known this palace would be…a palace. Extravagant halls lined in marble and perfect wood, chandeliers every few yards, paintings of all kinds unwashed of the situated light in the night hours. I feel like I could just take a picture of this place and that’ll be worth enough to feed me for a year. It’s hard to stay focused and not split between taking in the sights and getting what I need and getting out.
With the light of the window long gone, my eyes adjust easily to the dark. Without light, the sights are still dull and muted. Yet somehow, the palace interiors are still just as beautifully meticulous. I can’t imagine how it will appear when morning comes. But fortunately and unfortunately, I’ll be long gone.
Then something else breaks the pattern in the walls. No longer pieces of art or sculptures, but ornately framed portraits. Portraits of the owners of this great mansion, blonde as the first ray of sunlight that God created. One by one the portraits pass by as I do, set into the wall like a timeline – thousands of years captured on one stretch of a velvety and golden wall. The monuments of power and influence, names of legend since the dawn of time. And soon, a third takes her place beside them, growing and learning her role with each portrait.
I’m not sure if anyone has ever before tried to burgle the Head Honcho of Hell and his Royal Family. I mean if anyone has enough to spare, it’d be them right? But if they did, I doubt they made it back to tell the tale. But I’ve never tried before!
How hard can it be?
My gloved palm presses against the cool metal door. The push is soft at first, and freezes completely when the hinges tiredly creak at the movement. Too risky, but the gap that’s there now is manageable. I slip in sideways with a silent air about me, and ahead of me, lies the kitchen.
I’d be lying if I said my hunger didn’t lead me here. The satchel over my shoulder’s already a few pounds heavier with a goblet and two fancy looking egg things I found on a hall table. The rest can wait a little. After all, people need money to buy food. This is just skipping the middle man temporarily.
The kitchen itself is impressive. White marble countertops, velvety red casework with gilded golden handles and accents. On the wide island in front of me, a crystal bowl of red and green apples looks back at me in the darkness. Instantly, my stomach growls through the empty kitchen, as if trained to stay ‘turned off’ until the sight of food made it impossible.
With an eager smile, I cross the kitchen until the cool skin of an apple sits in my gloved hand. The same skin sits against my lips and nose. Eyes closed, I inhale softly, feeling the fruit against my lips. Unable to wait, my teeth sink into the fresh apple. The audible crunch is cut short as I pause mid-bite. But when nothing is noticeably disturbed in the kitchen, and hopefully the rest of the palace, I let myself slowly and silently pull the bite from the apple.
The flavor explodes in my mouth like an unseen firework. My taste buds almost sting with the sudden sweet food. Fruit that’s not partly rotted or eaten by hell ants is rare in Pride, but never, ever is it fresh. Jesus, I could cry, it tastes so good.
I chew idly as I reach up with my free hand to take another apple, and slip it in my satchel. Prioritizing efficiency, I bite onto my fruit and reach for the others with both hands, pocketing each fresh luxury for myself. I pull my own apple from my mouth with another bite, and pick up the crystal bowl itself. With a small smile and an observing tilt of my wrist, I mentally shrug and slip that in the satchel as well.
Then I turn to scan for more, for something I could take. Mouth open for another bite, I pause before my teeth even meet the fruit when my eyes land on a tiered pastry tray on a nearby countertop. Three tiers of sweet, sugary delicacies, smiling at me like they were waiting for me to make this discovery. And as my feet quietly bring me closer, I see exactly what’s on them.
The top tier is a round tray of brownies, topped with powdered sugar. The middle tray is lined with pre-plated slices of lemon cake, with a perfect drizzle of white icing across the tops. My mouth’s already watering, and my head is tilting with a pathetic helplessness. The bottom tray is set perfectly with cupcakes. Vanilla with yellow icing, each one decorated with little wings, black eyes, and an orange beak.
My hungry gaze pulls away to scan my surroundings cautiously. I feel like this would be too greedy. Like these perfect little pastries are so far beyond priceless, that taking even one would be unforgivable, rather than breaking and entering with the intention to rob. But when my eyes find no one else here but me, I can’t stop myself from reaching for the closest thing.
I bring the lemon cake to my mouth. Only this time, I don’t give myself the sensation of feeling or smelling. I take a big bite, and the second the new flavor greets me, a soft laugh of disbelief huffs through my nose. My hand presses to my mouth as I chew, revelling in the sweet and tangy forces colliding together beautifully.
Happily indulging, I lift the slice for another bite, not hearing the door to the kitchen creak once more. Just as I bite once more into the perfectly battered pastry, a click sounds through the room before the light blinds me.
I freeze at once, head already snapped towards the source. There at the door, I lock eyes with arguably the last person I’d want to run into here. He stands in the threshold with wide eyes, just as surprised to see me as I am him. His hand still lingers at the lightswitch, his other resting on the knob of the kitchen door. He wears a red trimmed pajama robe, with rollers in his blonde hair. Blonde as the first ray of sunlight God created.
And for the first time in all of my burglaring…I have no idea what to do. Does he see me? Maybe he’s looking at something else right next to me?? Do I run? Is there even a point, or will it take him less than 5 seconds to kill me? What will the King of Hell do to me after I broke into his home?
He looks over at me, face squinting in slow confusion.
“Wait…” The King begins, putting the pieces together in his 3 a.m. mind. “You–...You don’t work for me?”
I hesitantly look to the side, an entire bite of cake still in my mouth. “...Um–”
“Wh-whoa-wait,” He steps forward with a few pushes of his hands and a bitter, realizing chuckle. “Are you…Are you trying to…rob…me?” He asks, like the word has never been used on him before. “Ahech–, me?”
I quickly drop the cake and my satchel with a nervous step behind the island. It’s not like basic cabinetry would stop the King of Hell but it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“No!” I return quickly, “I-I was just–”
“Oh-ho! And now you lie to me?” He demands angrily, taking another step forward that I retract from in a panic. “A Sinner breaks into my house in the middle of the night, and–”
“Lucifer?”
Another voice cuts through the tension, but not my spiraling thoughts. The King pauses, but he doesn’t pull his discontentment from me. A taller figure walks through the kitchen door shortly after, and only then do I fully process that the Fallen Angel stopped. The sight of the King of Hell approaching you angrily is not a thing I want to see again.
But when my eyes land on her…everything else in this palace seems utterly and pathetically worthless. Her silky pajama dress is modest and flawless, just like her. True royalty lies in her fierce and kind face, and her strong eyes and presence rivals Lucifer’s. Though, he is in his robe and rollers, so it may not be a fair comparison at the moment.
She sees him, and then she sees me. She’s no doubt just as confused, but her eyes tilt in concern rather than fury.
“Are you alright?” Lilith Morningstar prompts softly.
“I got this, Sweetie,” Lucifer states with protection and authority.
But Lilith gently walks right past him with a stubborn flick against his temple, surprising the King shorter than her.
“Not you,”
She lightheartedly criticises, before setting her soft and strong eyes on mine. She opens her mouth to speak, but something else pulls her gaze away. She sees the other half of the lemon cake on the ground beside my abandoned satchel. Red and green apples spill from the worn fabric, as well as a few shards of crystal.
My stomach sinks with a cold, dreary, painful awareness. I broke the crystal bowl and whatever else I had in there when I dropped the bag. They caught me, but I could at least give it back. But it’s broken. It’s priceless, and it’s broken. And I freeze when Lilith looks back at me. But instead of malice or irritation, it’s the same worry as before. Because she wasn’t looking at the crystal.
“Are you hungry?” She asks instead, her voice smoother than any I’ve heard before.
Lucifer looks around her, utterly perplexed at his wife. “What?”
“..I–...” Is all I manage. It’s hard to process exactly what’s happening.
“Dear, I’ll have this sinner out in a—“
She glances back to the man beside her with a questioning air. “Can’t you see that this poor soul hasn’t eaten properly in ages?”
Lucifer scoffs and walks to the side. “Does that give her the right to- to break into our home and–”
“Well who else’s home would she break into?” Lilith challenges, carefree and confident, and positions herself directly between Lucifer and I. “No soul has anything down there but pain and loss.”
Lucifer lifts his hands towards her, towards me, like he wants to argue. But he knows that there's no use.
“Eh-, uh-...ugh.” He gives up and turns away in disbelief.
The Queen faces me again with a warm smile. I can’t help but lean away from her hand when she rests it on my shoulder, the warmth of her palm seeping into my dark sleeve. Her kind words break the silence with a gentleness that’s easy to believe
“I promise you, Miss, we aren’t mad.”
“We aren’t?” Lucifer questions from behind her, out of my sight.
Lilith doesn’t turn, but sends a sharp warning out of the side of her eye. “No. We aren’t.” The softness returns with a graceful shift, the kindness back on her lips. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you stay in one of our guest rooms tonight?”
The King’s eyes widen at once. He steps around with raised, halting hands to slow her thought process before it gets out of even his control.
“Wh-whoa wh-wait, what? Ha-hold on–”
“In the morning,” Lilith interrupts him seamlessly, “We shall speak over breakfast.”
…Breakfast? I nearly…I nearly forgot the word for it. Maybe I did. I open my mouth to agree, to accept the food tomorrow and be on my way. After all, it’s the most valuable thing in this royal palace. And even if this is a trap and they intend to kill me, I can at least be granted mercy from this realm of ash and sin with the sweet thought of…breakfast…on my mind.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see my satchel still sitting on the smooth kitchen floor. Open with food already, and allowing the small shards of broken crystal to twinkle back at me from the overhead lighting. I’m not some beggar coming in for favors and scraps. I’m a burglar that came here with the intent of robbing them. The literal Sin of Pride, and his wife. How does this end well for me?
“What…” I manage finally, unsure about looking away from the evidence of my guilt. “What about the bowl?”
But the fair Queen only smiles a soft and entertained smile. She stands and begins to walk past me, but slows to rest a hand on my shoulder once more.
“You’re here because we’re rich,” She states with an amused lilt to her tone, like she’s holding back a chuckle, “Then you know that money doesn’t matter to us.”
Then, she walks past me and towards the mess I’ve made. Lucifer, still in his robe and rollers, pinches the bridge of his nose as a rugged, begrudging exhale leaves his throat. Even he can rarely ever argue with his wife, so it looks like this sinner is staying here for the night. As much as he doesn’t want that.
“We’ll…have someone get this mess cleaned up.” He declares, though it lacks all of the assurance and warmth that Lilith’s tone holds. It’s more of a…lifted-nose attitude about a chore.
But before the last word can even leave his mouth, Lilith herself is already kneeled by my satchel instead of a servant. The clink of glass, apples, and other small trinkets I’ve swiped fills the silence as she manipulates the bag. She dumps the rest of the bag on the ground, and once it’s empty, focuses easily on the worn, patchy, and scraped satchel.
A hue of white light swirls around the hole-y denim, pulling at the very strings of the fabric. And once the light passes, the satchel is as good as new. As good as when I stole it the first time. With a hum on her lips, Lilith puts the apples back in the bag…and then she puts the trinkets back in as well.
She stands and happily walks back towards me. Behind her, another shore of light washes over the shattered crystal still sitting on the floor. But just as quickly, each shard is gone with the passing magic. I’m too wide-eyed at the sight to notice her second, detour of a stop. In the streets of Hell, power is only for Overlords or Blue Bloods. Which I am neither. For us, power is money, a knife, brute strength, and a gun.
It’s only when Lilith hands me the satchel does my attention waver, and blink down at the bag like I’ve never seen it before. In a confused daze, my hand lifts to quietly grab the offered, brand-new accessory, filled with fruit, a goblet, and those two fancy eggs. I lift my eyes and open my mouth to question it, but the words die in my throat. In her other hand is a plate with…
…more lemon cakes.
…What the fuck is happening?
I don’t realize that the plate’s in my hand now. Once more, I feel like it doesn’t belong in my hand. That a random golden goblet does, because I stole it. But something like this is made. It’s prepped and attended to, baked and presented. It’s something sweet and rich, and not only in flavor.
The Queen rests her hand on my back to guide me away. I move a few steps in a daze, but the second the King’s closer in my peripheral, I snap my eyes upwards. He stands there, arms crossed, watching his wife care for me like she’s taking in a stray cat that wandered into their home looking for one of her own.
And he’s looking at me like he’s never liked cats.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Lilith teases as we pass by. “He just needs his beauty sleep.”
When the door to the guest bedroom opened, I wasn’t sure I stepped into a room at all. I thought it was just another chamber, large and grand, with pale green walls trimmed with beautiful and intricate golden and silver.
A work desk, a mirror so large and embedded in the wall alongside bookshelves and cubbies, a large door that I’m assuming leads into a closet, and a central bed against the wall with a slightly darker green canopy. The silky and semi-translucent fabric is tied back to the four posts, allowing visibility to the plush and perfect covers and pillows.
At first it takes my breath away. And Lilith watches me with a smile as she allows me to take in the sights. But very soon, I ease a step back.
“I–...”
Lilith’s brow furrows in concern. “Is everything alright?
I shake my head, but I hesitate to explain. I mean…I don’t deserve this? But instead, I look up at the tall demonness with something soft and vulnerable behind my eyes.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask curiously, praying that questioning it doesn’t change her mind. “Why are you helping me?”
Lilith's smile doesn’t fall, but it does wane just slightly. Her own thoughts pull at her mind, like a melody heard just from across a bay. Something that’s calling for her, but something that she doesn’t quite want to listen to. That she knows the melody wants her to follow. But what if she wants something else?
Her feet take her quietly towards the bed. She turns and sits on the end with a sigh.
“I…” She hesitates, and with another sigh, she relets. “I believe that not all sinners have the dark heart that my husband believes. After all,” She adds with a sad smile my way, “All I did was fall in love. And it earned me…this.”
She lifts a hand towards the room. The lavish room. The rich room. The room inside a wing of a royal palace that you can stay in forever and never grow hungry, never be in danger, and sleep full nights without waking up with a parasite or a body next to you – dead or alive.
…Yeah, this seems like a pretty fucking good gig to me? Yeah she’s in Hell, but that is barely of any consequence when you’re here. But Lilith carries on. She stands and meets me again, grabs my hand, and gently guides me towards the large mirror. She stands behind me, her hands on my shoulders.
“I want to help sinners prove that some of us are worthy of more than this place.” She says with a tinge of hope, but a kind of hope that’s tired, and been prevalent for thousands of years.
But in the mirror, she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at herself as she speaks.
“We deserve more than this…don’t we?” Lilith asks, open and silently hoping, not for the first or the last time.
I meet my own gaze in the mirror. Tired, all in black, and not expecting this robbery to end with room and board – even for one night.
“Yeah.” I answer, but only for her sake. Because I know that’s what she wanted to hear.
But in reality…No. We don’t. I don’t, at least. Because the second I saw myself in the mirror – for the first time in a very, very long time, I saw myself. I see the blood on my hands and face. And I remember what I did all those years ago.
How I bought myself a ticket to Hell.