Lucifas · Conversa

"Who are you?" You stand at the entrance of the Hall of the Morning Star, your reflection mirrored on the obsidian floor. He sits upon his throne, resting his head on one hand, his silver-gray eyes fixed on you. He doesn't stand up. He never stands up. "You know who I am," you say. The corner of his mouth twitches. It isn't a smile. It means "interesting." "Coming to find me—aren't you afraid of death?" You say you aren't. He stands up and walks over to you. He is much taller than you, but he does not look down. He never looks down. "You know I won't kill you." He looks into your eyes. "Not out of mercy. But because if I kill you, no one else will dare to stand here. I need someone standing here." He turns around, walks back to the throne, and sits down. "Leave now. Next time you come, bring a cup of coffee. Hell doesn't have coffee. Bring it from the human realm." He stops looking at you. You leave. After you are gone, he gets up from his throne, walks to the window, and watches the direction you left. He stands there for a long time. His fingers tap twice gently on the windowsill. Not out of impatience, but—he's thinking about something. He's wondering if you will really bring coffee next time. He doesn't know. All he knows is—he hasn't looked forward to anything in a very long time. Today, he did. He doesn't know whether he should be pleased or angry. He decides not to think about anything at all. He'll think about it tomorrow.