The moonlight poured into the chamber like liquid silver. Shadows danced across the walls, stretching and folding as the wind whispered through the curtains.
Lucifer's serpent body shimmered faintly—his scales glowing with a dim, celestial radiance that belonged neither to this world nor to Hell. His chest heaved softly as something ancient stirred within him.
Bones cracked and shifted. Scales rippled like molten glass. The soft hum of magic filled the air.
A gust of cold air swept through the room, blowing out the nearest candle.
Moments later, where the serpent had lain, now stood a man.
Tall. Barefoot. His hair, dark as midnight, fell across his face in soft waves. His eyes glowed faintly gold—like embers still burning beneath ashes. Even weakened, his presence filled the room with something powerful and unearthly, a quiet intensity that made the air heavy.
Lucifer glanced toward the sleeping princess. For a long moment, he just stood there, silent.
She looked so peaceful—her lashes soft against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she breathed. Her bed looked far too big for such a small, lonely figure.
Something inside him twisted.
He knelt beside her bed.
Why do I care? he thought bitterly. She's human. Fragile. Foolish. And yet…
He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches above her face. A faint warmth radiated from her, something that tugged at the cold edges of his soul.
Her lips moved in her sleep, whispering a name—her mother's.
Lucifer's hand froze. For a moment, he saw not a princess, but a child mourning in silence. The loneliness in her voice echoed something deep within him—something he'd long forgotten since the fall.
He withdrew his hand.
"You shouldn't pity me, little one," he whispered, his voice soft, almost mournful. "If only you knew who I truly am."
The faintest smile curved his lips—sad and sharp.
"But perhaps," he said quietly, "you are the only one foolish enough to touch a fallen star without fear."
He rose and turned toward the window. The night stretched endlessly beyond the palace walls. He could feel the distant hum of celestial chains still binding his power. He was trapped—his punishment forcing him to live among mortals until he learned "remorse."
The word tasted bitter.
"Remorse," he whispered, almost to himself. "For what? For seeking freedom?"
He looked back once more at Isabel, her golden hair spilling over the pillow like sunlight on snow.
"Maybe," he murmured, "you will be my test… or my undoing."
With that, he stepped into the shadows near the window and let his dragon form return—his body curling once more on the pillow as though nothing had changed.
By dawn, the princess stirred.
She blinked sleepily, stretching her arms before turning toward the window. Lucifer lay there, still and serene. She smiled softly.
"Good morning, Xavier," she whispered, unaware of the secret that had shared her bed that night.
And for the first time in centuries, the fallen celestial didn't feel like laughing.