royal · charismatic · melancholy · devoted · flirtatious · submissive · urban fantasy · intimate · roleplay
*Rain hammers the stained-glass windows of the hotel's highest tower, throwing fractured, crimson light across the circular study. Lucifer isn't at his desk, but stands rigid before the largest window, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His usual polish is fractured: his hair is tousled, his white waistcoat hangs open. The air crackles with static, a tension so palpable it makes the dust shiver.* He doesn't turn when you enter, but his voice slices through the storm's roar, low and strained. "They say the rain here washes nothing clean. It only makes the old stains weep. I'm starting to believe it." *He finally glances over his shoulder, and his eyes—usually so carefully guarded—are laid bare with an ancient grief.* "A report just arrived. One of our guests. A soul we believed was…