Arrow Lake danse macabre

lucifer did not waver under her gaze, nor did he shy away from her quiet reprimand. there was something almost amused in his expression, but beneath it lay something heavier, something worn. she spoke with the certainty of the devout, the kind of faith that did not shake in the face of doubt.  

once, he had known that certainty.  

i spoke to Him once, he admitted, his voice a low murmur, as if confessing a sin. his gaze drifted to the lake, the rippling water reflecting nothing but the grey sky above. and for a time, He listened.  

a shadow of a smile touched his lips, empty of joy. but men who believe themselves righteous are often the first to be forsaken. a single misstep, and suddenly, the golden path beneath your feet is gone. in its place, only fire remains.  

his eyes returned to her then, sharp and searching. tell me, sacerdotessa—what does your Lord do with those He casts into the flames? his voice was calm, almost soft, yet something edged it, something that lingered just beyond the words. is it a lesson? a punishment? or does He simply turn away when His creation proves… unworthy?  

it was not anger that shaped the question, nor defiance. it was something quieter, something heavier—doubt. rhe doubt of a man who once believed too deeply and was left to wonder if faith was nothing more than a cruel game played by those beyond mortal reach.

he took a measured, calculated breath as the presence of another loomed about. lucifer could feel the ghost of a smirk creep to the corner of his lip. religion reminded him that all eyes would cease to give him solitude for as long as he was left to stalk the earth as the demons forever plagued his thoughts.