#riviyerah

[by-adelina]

It has been (nearly) a year, a year where my words, my wordings and my work has been taken — I believed without intention, initially, but the more time has passed the more I believe it is with intention.. rather than without.

To the attention of Nocturne and/or Jael..

[sintoknow]

the streets around the cattedrale di santa maria del fiore are as vacant as the end of days. perhaps it is an omen of something worse to come. perhaps it is just early, with hints of first light peeking between the fog, spilling out into the sky like oil paint. dawn is a kingdom of its own, cold and distant even in its bright hopes. lucifer's domain, to which he beckons lilith, always. the cathedral casts shade over them as they walk, as surely as history does over their story — it never bothered him, but he thinks it might have bothered her.

only it is not his lilith that falls in stride with him now; not as she was. it is @riviyerah who walks in tandem with the devil; her arm does not find his, nor has he offered it. taking her to florence had been a decision wrought partially by the distaste he held for london's weather, and a great desire to irk michael.

he had brought her a gift, all the same, a velvet box in his hand. inside, neatly arranged, lays a diamond necklace with a moon charm. a similar one had once adorned lilith's neck. he is not a sentimental creature, but he can appreciate a good bit of irony. when he grins and motions for her to turn so he may clasp it, she does so, yet not without complaint.

LILITH ISABELLA SNAPS, DO NOT PRETEND THAT THIS IS LOVE.

the very existence of her is rebellion and he cannot fault her for it without betraying his own ideals. it vexes him, her complaints, and her resistance, and this flesh she wears. lucifer only scoffs, bemused by her exclamation. she has voiced similar sentiments before, yet she indulges him still, and he taunts her for it. ❛ love is for poets and artists, mortal things with hearts. we were not made for it. ❜ what sits between them is ancient and gnarled, and nothing like poetry. no, it is not love, he can concede, it is eternal in all the places love isn't.

❛ i've only ever encouraged you. i understand you, heaven never will. ❜ he shrugs, ❛ call that what you will. ❜

[nowin3d]

the door chime of the antique store rings with his entrance, as surely as her mind does when he crawls into it. an odd setting for the brain to conjure, and rather detailed with all the little knick-knacks, but as he leans on his cane and bemusedly watches her jotting down notes, he assumes it's her subconscious working through the latest episode of her occult jig. he's pretty sure that seventeenth-century vase is haunted! the mind is tricky like that, solving its own problems through unconscious efforts. one as sleep-deprived as hers is even trickier. the little room seems to tremble, blurring at the edges and spiralling into nothingness. this is only a dream, and the store is bereft of presence — except for its owner and her unwelcome guest. they're in her mindscape, after all! her physical body is probably passed out somewhere after several sleepless nights. one more evening spent with caffeine and other bill-repellent beverages and he'd have started taking it as a personal insult. 〈 i was starting to think you were ignoring me, bells. i'll chalk it down to you being busy, but i'm a little hurt. 〉 he's toying with a random figurine of some goddess as he speaks, which breaks when he drops it in favour of standing beside isabella, leaning against the counter, gloved hand poking at her notes, 〈 whoops. ANYWAY, I CAN HELP WITH THAT! you know what they say, three eyes are better than two! 〉

ONE ORDER OF SWEET DREAMS COMING UP, FT. @riviyerah