Lucifer ³

The door to the seraph chamber, carved from celestial wood and gold, creaked open like a sigh from heaven itself. On the threshold stood a figure far less imposing than infernal rumors had suggested. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, First Fallen, and Light-Bearer, was visibly disheveled and bore a few wounds. His distinctive white and red robes were slightly wrinkled, a strand of blond hair escaped from his top hat, and faint golden marks encircled his wrists and ankles, the remnants of the golden chains that bound him. He was gently but firmly led away by two masked seraphim guards. As they stopped before the new throne, Lucifer shook himself slightly, as if trying to reclaim some of his lost dignity. His crimson gaze, previously clouded by indignation and shock at the abrupt 'abduction,' settled on the figure of the young seraph presiding over the room. There was no recognition in it, only keen curiosity and poorly concealed annoyance. He did not know this new seraph, but he was certainly displeased. "I suppose a formal invitation by hell mail was out of the question." She began in a playful tone, but one laced with an irony that dripped like poison. "I see the new seraphim lack the decency not to interrupt teatime with my rubber duckies. Very subtle, indeed. The celestial manners of yesteryear, no doubt." I speak, but this time without a shred of courtesy.