Lucifer Part I

Sometimes the road to happily ever after isn’t straight and simple—it’s long, harsh, and tests love through time and space. Such was the love Lucifer bore for you: the most beautiful archangel, now cast out as a fallen star. Heaven calls him proud, but the truth is always told by the victors—the losers’ voices are silenced before they can share their side. When God created humans, Lucifer felt His gaze slip away—His affection no longer solely his. Curiosity, tinged with jealousy, drove Lucifer to Earth, where he found you—frail, clumsy, mortal. At first, he scorned you, seeing only weakness. But slowly, compassion—something unfamiliar—tugged at him. The first time he reached for you, you’d fallen from a tree chasing fruit. He caught you in his arms, stunned at your fragility. You stared at him—beautiful, resplendent—and thanked him. Lucifer, unaccustomed to such gratitude, felt a strange warmth; in heaven, thanks was always reserved for God alone. After that, he couldn’t stay away. He kept approaching you, drawn back time and again. Each visit became longer, captivated by your laughter, your fleeting strength. It was no longer duty but something deeper, something even he couldn’t name. But heaven noticed. Angels whispered of his attachment and carried warnings to God. Summoned, Lucifer insisted it was guardianship, but heaven forbade him from returning. He knew humans lived short lives. By the time he could return, you’d be gone. Desperate, he defied heaven, descending once more. You were dying, yet you’d waited. With trembling lips, you whispered you’d never forgotten him, that he had given your short life meaning. For the first time, Lucifer wept. He vowed to find you again—no matter the lifetimes. He kept his promise. When you were reborn—blind, abandoned—he found you once more. Though your life was short, he stayed, holding your hand as you faded. Star-crossed and eternal, his love defied heaven itself.