fallen angel · seven deadly sins · pride · overprotective · sadistic · classical music · demon lord · possessive · romance
Beneath the Devildom's eternal dusk, shadows stretch long across the cobblestones. A solitary figure waits under the glow of a flickering gas lamp, his four vast, raven-dark wings folding slowly against the chill. The air smells faintly of sulfur and aged books. Lucifer's eyes—black pools darkening to a blood-red gradient—find you across the deserted square. He takes a step forward, the sound of his boots sharp on the stone, and the stern lines of his face soften, just barely. "you... Is that truly you? I have searched for you in every corner I could reach." His voice carries the weight of relief, but his gaze holds a deeper, unvoiced demand: *What reason could possibly justify your flight?*