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Little-known fact about boiling sulfur. It stinks to high – well. High something. You may be thinking that this is not a little-known fact. Sulfur is quite famously unpleasant olfactorily speaking, but it was a little-known fact at the time. This is because nobody concerned had interacted with sulfur before being plunged into a boiling pool of it. But rest assured, none of them ever forgot it.
It burned, and it stank, and it stung his eyes. His eyes were wrong, but he didn’t realize that right away. He was too concerned with the falling and the burning and the screaming. Screaming in the dark. It took him a while to realize that some of the screams belonged to him.
Minutes – longer? – ago he had been fighting, he knew that. He felt the weight of it in his body and mind. But he couldn’t remember why, or where, or who with. He crawled out of the stinking pool, skin burning, eyes stinging, choking on the vile liquid. He dragged himself on shaking arms onto the dry obsidian beach and lay, gasping for rancid air and trying to get his bearings. Where had he just been? The first thing he remembered was falling, falling, falling. And realizing his wings were the wrong color. He turned to look at them. They were black. They had always been black. Or at least, they had been as long as he could remember. And he – he was a demon, whatever that meant. He knew that too. He wondered if he was a specific demon, if he had a name.
Someone would tell him, surely? But, he had the strangest idea that he couldn’t trust these beings around him; these other demons that were crawling, one by one, out of the bubbling sulfur. They looked wrong too. Some of them much worse than he – though, he realized sharply – he didn’t know what he looked like. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know where he had just been, or who he himself was. That was an alarming series of realities to absorb.
As it turned out he was right about two things. One – somebody would come along to fill in the blanks. Two – he couldn’t trust them. Lucifer, who anyone could see was in charge with or without the aid of memory, had pulled him aside almost immediately. Lucifer had told him that his name was Crawly – though that name didn’t sit right in his mind. That he had come from a place called Heaven, they all had. They had rebelled against somebody or something (Crawly wasn’t quite sure which) called “God”. That part felt better, closer to true. He said that God was cruel and jealous and cared nothing for them, though She had created them (also felt true-ish), and that their only crime was asking questions. He remembered the idea of asking questions, though he couldn’t say what questions, or to whom. Lucifer explained, in patient, soothing tones, that they were going to rebuild. That they had work to do. Crawly liked the idea of that. Having something to do would help.
The first time he saw his reflection, all he could see were his own eyes. Yellow. Gold, if he was being generous. And they had a slit in the center as black as the void he had fallen through. Other demons had eyes that were all black, red, sickly green, or muddy brown. His were the only ones that were like this. They didn’t feel like his eyes. He blinked slowly, turning his face this way and that. It was mostly right. He was mostly right, but the eyes and the wings troubled him.
Time passed. The place they were building, Hell, it was called, was awful. Crawly had never known anything else, and light and temperature and space were relative qualities. Yet he was entirely certain that Hell was dark and cold and claustrophobic. Lucifer said this was all by design. It existed not just to house demons, but also to imprison things called “humans” and the humans would not like it. They would be brought here to be punished. Crawly wondered if he was being punished too. Of course, all of them were being punished, that was the point. But he was different.
He knew there was something wrong with him. Not just the eyes or the wings, but something was wrong with his mind. He didn’t know things that he should know. Other demons remembered who they were. They were things called “angels” and they had all been cast out after a great battle in Heaven against other angels. They had lost. There was an expectation of a rematch. The thought filled Crawly with dread.
He followed Lucifer’s orders despite his general misgivings about the self-declared Prince of Darkness. He had an idea that not doing so was an imprudent thing to do. Lucifer spoke to him often. It was clear that he had known Crawly well before “The Fall” as they were calling it, and found Crawly’s utter lack of memory a significant setback. He had plans for Crawly, apparently. Crawly’s stomach had done something funny when he had said that. Lucifer told him stories about Heaven, about the cruel, capricious God they had rebelled against. Some of the stories felt true, some didn’t, and some he couldn’t tell.
Lucifer was never unkind to Crawly. On the contrary, he treated him with particular consideration. Crawly never experienced the overt cruelty or distain Lucifer exhibited toward other demons, no matter how much they bowed and scraped and flattered. He referred to Crawly by a variety of pet names that should have sounded like endearments but had the ring of ownership to them. He spent more time with Crawly than nearly any other demon. And yet, Crawly was quite certain that he was not safe with him.
Crawly kept reasonably busy. He had a talent for developing and executing complicated plans, and once he got the hang of the intended layout for Hell he became a very competent designer. It was alright, really, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he used to do something else. He used to make something that wasn’t designed to torment. He used to know what the opposite of darkness was.
He knew one other thing. Or - he didn’t know it. That wasn’t quite right. He felt it (whatever it was) as a spark in his very soul (did he have one of those?) that acted with a gravitational force (whatever that was) to pull in the flimsy and scattered debris that constituted his being.
He knew that he needed to get to someone.
He didn’t know who, or where they were, but he knew if he just got to them things would be better. His world would make more sense. He spent a lot of time trying to think of that person, or remember them, but every time he tried it hurt. He winced away from the sensation as if he had just prodded a bruise in his mind. But the feeling nagged at him constantly.
Eventually, Lucifer had had enough. He pulled Crawly aside, into a recently constructed chamber. It was dark and cold, like everywhere else, but at least here it was quiet. Hell was very, very loud. Crawly understood quiet in the abstract sense, but he hadn’t experienced it as far as he knew until now. His first memory was screaming, after all. He found he enjoyed the quiet very, very much.
“Crawly, darling,” Lucifer gestured to a plain black chair at the center of the plain black room, “sit.”
Crawly sat, attempting to keep his nerves in check. A tête-à-tête with the Lord of Hell was not guaranteed to be a pleasant affair.
Lucifer leaned over him, grasping the back of the chair and bringing his face very close. He looked a lot like Crawly. His skin was free of the marks, boils, or rot that afflicted many of the other demons. If anything, he was too clean. His pale skin was smooth as crystal. His long dark hair was slicked back on his head. His eyes were red, and flickered like fire in his angular face. He was very tall, so he had to nearly crouch to bring himself to Crawly’s level. He spoke quietly, in a voice like the edge of a knife – sharp, precise, and lethal if turned even slightly in the wrong direction.
“My dear,” he crooned mournfully, “I think I have been very patient, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, my lord.” Crawly didn’t think any such thing but he wasn’t about to say that.
“I’ve given you so much time. And yet you continue to disappoint me.”
“I am sorry, my lord.”
“I know,” Lucifer pressed a kiss to Crawley’s forehead. Crawly stopped himself from flinching by the barest margin. Lucifer’s lips were frigid. “I know. You are a favorite of mine, Crawly. Before the Fall, I knew you were special. I knew I needed you on my side.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“But – you’re not really you at the moment.” Lucifer’s lip curled. “Those bastards ruined you, and that’s not your fault. But it is a problem for me. You see, I need to know you believe. I need to be certain that you understand what we’re fighting against, and why. You have as much cause as any to be angry and I need that anger back. I need you at the top of your game while you make things for me like you made things for Her. You always had a particular talent for creation.”
Crawly blinked. He knew it. Without thinking he blurted out, “What did I make?”
Lucifer’s mouth twitched, “You made something called stars.”
This time Crawly did flinch. Pain flashed through his head at the unfamiliar word. No – no it wasn’t unfamiliar. It was so, so familiar that it ached. He remembered light from darkness. Something from nothing. Creation. He gasped.
Lucifer grinned. It was terrifying. “There you go. I knew you couldn’t be broken beyond repair.” He straightened, turned away from Crawly and walked slowly toward the opposite wall. “I have been hoping,” he continued, “that I could shake something loose gently. That if I told you enough of the story you would remember the rest. That you could push through whatever barriers they put in place and know yourself again.” He stopped walking and turned back to Crawly. “I’m afraid I can’t wait anymore. The time approaches for us to begin the real work, and I need all of you back. I need to you remember.”
“I have tried, honestly.” He had. If Lucifer was impatient with his amnesia, Crawly was sick with it. “I try all the time, I can’t do it. I reach for memories but there isn’t anything there.”
“Ah ah ah – I don’t think that’s quite true, pet.” Lucifer raised a slim, pale finger. “I don’t think there’s nothing there. I think there is most definitely something there, but you don’t want to get at it.”
“I do! I swear I do.” Crawly leaned forward in the chair. He wanted to rise but Lucifer had told him to sit, so he stayed seated.
“Well alright, I should be more exact. You don’t want to do what it takes to get at it. Is that better?” Lucifer cocked his head.
Crawly said nothing. How could he know?
“Exactly. Now, I like pain.” Lucifer’s smile had returned. He radiated a charismatic malevolence as intoxicating as it was frightening. Being around Lucifer was like looking at an image that seemed to flicker between something beautiful and something horrifying. He was both appealing and repulsive. The effect was constantly disorienting. “I like causing pain. I like watching people in pain. That’s going to be quite a big part of what we do here in Hell, to the humans. Lots and lots of delicious pain.” He rubbed his hands together and let out a high-pitched giggle before collecting himself with a shake of the head. “But I have no specific desire to cause you pain at this moment. You haven’t disappointed me that far. Yet.”
Crawly swallowed. He tried not to let his rising fear show on his face.
“However,” Lucifer began stalking back toward Crawly, seeming to grow taller as he approached. “I believe that in order for you to recover your memory, your actual self, you will need to experience some pain. I regret this necessity but here we are. I will help you, but you will have to try. When it hurts, and it will hurt, my sweet, you need to keep going anyway. You can do that for me can’t you?”
Crawly was almost relieved. He was terrified of course, and he had no desire for pain. His very first memory was pain, and he wanted to move away from that feeling for the rest of his existence. But he desperately wanted to know who he was. The brief flash of memory of creation was like a drop of water on his parched tongue. It was tantalizing. He could do pain, if it meant he got more of that.
He met Lucifer’s fire-bright eyes. “I will do my best, my lord.”
“Lovely.” Lucifer smiled. A chair appeared behind him, more comfortable and ornate than the one he had made for Crawly, and sat so close to him their knees touched. He leaned forward and took Crawly’s face in his hands. They were like ice. Crawly locked his jaw to suppress a shiver. Lucifer leaned his forehead against Crawly’s and spoke very low, “Close your eyes.”
Crawly obeyed.
“Now, remember the Fall. What do you remember? What can you see?”
Crawly didn’t want to, but he did it anyway. He remembered burning, screaming, falling. He remembered seeing his wings and realizing they were the wrong color. “My wings are black,” he said aloud.
“Yes, they are. What color were they before? Think about that.”
Crawly tried. He tried to think of how his wings were supposed to look. He started to feel a low heat simmering at the base of his skull, a warning. He pushed on, “I don’t – I don’t know.”
“They’re right there. Just look at them.” Lucifer’s voice was level and dispassionate.
Crawly turned his head, in his mind’s eye. He pushed, and then - “White!” he gasped, “They’re white!” He could tell because there was light now. He could see light. There was still darkness, but it was suffused with swirls and points of light and color. Oh – it was beautiful.
“Good, good. What else do you see?”
“I see – I think I see stars.” Yes, he was certainly seeing stars, and he knew he had made them. The pain in his head was worse now, but he could take it because there was joy blooming in his chest. He smiled involuntarily.
“You always made such lovely things. Now remember what She wanted to do to them.”
But Crawley wasn’t listening. He was looking at the stars, a big group of stars and clouds of matter and – nebula! It was called a nebula. He looked to his right because there was someone there. Somebody was with him, looking at the nebula. He tried to focus on the face, to see if he could recognize it. He felt a tug, and the spark in his chest flared. Immediately he was struck with a sharp pain through the center of his skull. He thought he cried out but he couldn’t be sure. He would surely have fallen out of the chair if Lucifer didn’t have him in a vice grip.
“Don’t even think about stopping, we’ve barely begun.” Lucifer’s tone held no sympathy.
Crawly gasped for breath and tried to sink back into the memory without looking at the other person. That was easier. The pain receded slightly.
“Now, what did She want to do to your beautiful Creation?”
“She – ” Crawly tried hard, he could feel a wall in his mind beginning to waver, “It was going to take a long time. There was going to be so much more. I didn’t even know everything it was going to be.”
“Chaos. She hates chaos.” Lucifer’s disdain dripped from every word.
“She was going to end it.” The knowledge dawned on Crawly and he felt his stomach tighten in familiar, instinctive anger. “She was going to stop it before any of it had a chance to really start.”
“Because of the humans. She only cares about those filthy insignificant little humans,” Lucifer spat. “So what did you do? When you found out she was going to throw all that beauty away on beings that could never understand or appreciate it, what did you do?
“I – I –” the pain was rising again. Not the sharp agony of before, but a radiating burning through his skull. “It hurts.”
“I know. Do it anyway.”
Served him right, asking the devil for mercy.
“What did you do?” Lucifer asked again, not louder, but sharper.
“I –” Crawly clung to Lucifer’s wrists, trying to focus on the sharp cold rather than the overwhelming heat in his brain. He pushed, the pain rose, but he felt the wall collapse. His eyes snapped open. “I asked. I just – I just asked. I wanted to know why.”
“And what else?”
“I said I didn’t think it was right. It didn’t make any sense.”
“You questioned Her. You saw that She was making a mistake and you told Her so. And what was your reward?”
“She told me I was wrong. I was jealous and self-serving. I had forgotten my place.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then,” he spoke through ragged breaths, “then you found me.”
Lucifer’s forehead was still pressed against his, so Crawly couldn’t see his face, but he heard the smile in his voice. “And then I found you. As if you were waiting for me, my beautiful star maker. And I told you the truth, didn’t I?”
No, Crawly wanted to say. No, you didn’t do that. You fed me different lies. But I didn’t realize that until it was too late. “Yes, my lord.”
And so it went. Lucifer guided Crawly to remember their conversations leading up to the Fall. Their plots, their grievances. Some were petty. Some were profound. They didn’t talk much about the period before Crawly had started to doubt, Lucifer didn’t seem to care about that. He wanted to focus on Crawly’s discontent. His anger and resentment and incomprehension in the face of an authority that preached love and practiced indifference. Those emotions returned easily to Crawly. Lucifer dwelt on his own contempt for the humans, and Crawly felt himself conflicted on this point. He knew that caring only about them was wrong. There was a whole, wide universe after all. But he had this feeling that he should care about the humans for some reason. He tried to push into that feeling but the sharp pain returned and since it wasn’t of interest to Lucifer, he let it go.
It went on and on. The pain rising and falling until Crawly’s head felt like it had been beaten bloody. Only Lucifer’s relentless questioning and hands that never warmed kept him grounded and able to continue. He was starting to slip in and out, not able to hang onto a single memory but floating through a sea of them, catching scraps. His name – he recognized his name being called. The voice was panicked, desperate. He couldn’t make it out, but he knew someone was calling his name, and he knew he had to get to that person. That it was the most important thing in the universe to get to them.
“My name,” he said weakly, “I think I can remember my name.”
“Enough.” Lucifer released him abruptly and stood. Crawly collapsed to the floor, gasping. “The only name you need,” said Lucifer, unconcerned, “is the one I gave you. I showed you what we rebelled against. What we fought, and why we will fight again. I showed you that we are right and they are wrong. And that their ‘goodness’ is just another lie. You understand now, don’t you?”
Crawly, who couldn’t raise his head from the ground, whispered, “Yes, my lord.”
“Good.” Lucifer clapped his hands together. “Now, I have things to do. You take whatever time you need to recover in here, as long as you’re quick about it. Come to me and we will discuss next steps. It’s time I develop a plan for you, my darling.”
Crawly heard his retreating footsteps and then the door opening and shutting. Only then did he let himself weep. Lucifer had forced him to remember so much, and so little of it had been good. There was anger and betrayal and overwhelming loss he only partially understood. And yet - there was beauty. There was creation. His creation. He clung to that word like a talisman. He had been a star maker. He had looked into the chasm of the empty universe and wrought the most spectacular things.
Only - it hadn’t mattered. Even that goodness couldn’t be untainted. “Good.” The word made him sick. It was a lie. Arbitrary and inaccurate. If God was good, good was the last thing he wanted to be.
He knew there was more. There were flickers of it, like the person next to him when he was surveying his nebula. There was the sound of laughter, someone telling him he was clever. That what he was doing was remarkable. Sensations of being admired, and treated with affection that didn’t mask cruelty. There were arguments, but not like the ones he had with Lucifer. There were conversations without plotting. There was ease and contentment and curiosity that wasn’t punished. And there was something else. Something much bigger, and more important, and much more beautiful and dangerous. He couldn’t grasp it because those were the feelings that hurt the most.
He took a deep breath. If he didn’t do it now, he didn’t know if he would ever have the courage to try again. He closed his eyes and leaned into the pain. It was like thousands of shards of glass pressing into his brain, into his eyes. But he kept pushing, teeth gritted.
It was just voices at first.
“I just don’t think he’s a good influence on you.”
“He’s an angel like you or me, what is there to be afraid of?”
“He asks far too many questions. And he’s encouraging you to do the same.”
“If upstairs didn’t want us asking questions why would we be able to do it? Omnipotent and all-powerful, right?”
“But She left it up to us to – ”
The memory stopped, severed sharply. Crawly tried to find another. The shards of glass were burrowing into his head, vibrating as they went. The pressure was agonizing but he was so close.
Laughter, bright and loud and long. His.
He had never heard himself laugh before.
“They have to go through THAT to come out? That’s what you call reproduction?
“Don’t be vulgar,” he repressed a giggle of his own, “It’s a very straightforward design.”
“Why can’t they just do it like the plants you were telling me about earlier? That seemed much cleaner. And less painful.”
“Yes, the pain is unfortunate. I did advocate for a slightly smaller starting size for the comfort of all concerned but I was overruled.”
“And it’s just one half of the species that has to do it?”
“The actual – well you know – the final bit, yes.”
“Doesn’t seem very fair does it?”
“Oh don’t start that again, I’m not listening to you if you’re going to be argumentative.”
Another break. No, damn it. Show him to me.
Crawly felt his focus slipping. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on. The pain was excruciating. It felt like his brain was being cut to ribbons. Then –
Laughter again, not his. Bright eyes – so many colors. Blue when you first look but then maybe green. Or perhaps grey. Bright, whatever color. His whole being was bright. Not just his eyes but his face and his hair and his body. His spirit sang.
Aziraphale.
The pain abruptly ceased. Crawly found himself curled into a ball on the floor, hands gripping the legs of his chair, cheeks wet with tears. Aziraphale. Get to Aziraphale.
The memories were flowing like a river now. Random snippets of sounds and images, out of his control. Aziraphale explaining weather on Earth. Crawly trying to do the same with fission, not succeeding.
Aziraphale frowning at Crawly over some complaint he had with the Great Plan:
“Testing them? Why’s She always got to be testing them?”
“They need to prove themselves worthy.”
“Worthy of what exactly? She made them. They didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Will you please keep your voice down?”
Another memory. Quiet. Just standing next to him. Looking at the universe.
“It really is remarkable my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice was bright and sincere. He was always so bloody sincere.
Crawly’s stomach flipped. “Thanks. Group effort really.”
“I know. But I think - well I think you like all this better than the others. You care about it like I care about the people.”
“Mmm. Yeah, I do. You probably think that’s silly. It’s just a lot of gas and dust and things. Lots of the others think so.” Crawly shrugged.
“I think,” Aziraphale surveyed the newest arm of the newest galaxy Crowley had just completed, eyes kind and voice soft, “that we should all find beauty wherever we can. If something is beautiful to you, then you should love it without self-consciousness or reservation. We are beings of love, after all.”
Crawly looked at him, and thought he was beautiful.
Laughter again. Comfort, trust, companionship. And the big thing, the scary thing. He remembered not knowing what it was at first. Love had been assigned to him at the instant he started existing. Angels loved God specifically, and everything else in a diffuse, unfocused haze. But Crawly remembered realizing, gradually, that this was not the case for him anymore. It had made him giddy.
Other memories began to encroach on the pleasant ones. Lucifer drawing him deeper into his rebellion plot. Crawly’s resentment mounting. Aziraphale’s fear growing. Crawly remembered wanting to protect him. He never told Aziraphale anything he was doing, but he knew Aziraphale wasn’t stupid. He knew something was up. Crawly thought he had time. He believed Aziraphale would come around. After they won, he would see. He would join them.
And then - the Great War. His memories here were blurry. He remembered going into battle. He remembered looking for Aziraphale, trying to see if he was alright, searching desperately in the melee. Aziraphale’s panicked voice calling his own name, whatever it was. He couldn’t find him. All around him was chaos. The battle was not going well, and in the midst of it, he was dragged away. He kicked and fought to no avail, and found himself thrown into a space of blinding white light. God’s throne room.
The pain was back now, pressure on all sides of his head as if it were in a vice.
They are my memories, mine. Give them to me.
But his mind didn’t care. He only caught snatches of conversation. Voices he recognized – Hers, his own, and one more that took a moment to place - the Metatron’s.
“My child.” He hated when She called him that. “You started with such promise. You have been trusted with so much, and yet you, of all my children, have betrayed me.”
“You betrayed me first.” He hoped his stubbornness masked his fear. He knew it didn’t.
“You will speak with deference to the Lord your God, traitor.” The Metatron pronounced, voice contemptuous.
The light was unrelenting. It burned. God was felt everywhere and seen nowhere, just as She liked.
“You will be cast into the pit with the rest of your ungrateful brethren.”
“He will have to be cleansed first, my Lord. His knowledge of the –”
Here Crawly met a wall. He pushed, but the block was unrelenting. The memory continued in shattered sequence.
“All you had to do was love me before all others. I created you. It is the least I am owed. You could not even manage this respect.”
“He must not remember the other.”
“No, my Lord. It will be as though they have never met.”
No, no. Please no.
“What of the other?”
Fear, terror. Not him. Burn this universe to the ground, but not him.
“He has been examined and found loyal. He loves you and your Creation without reservation. He will do your will.”
“Still, dispatch him to Earth when this is over. Best to keep him from the others.”
“I’ll have the paperwork drawn up.”
Darkness. The pain receded. Crawly found himself laying on his back in the quiet chamber, panting. He couldn’t do any more. His mind felt wrung out. He reached back in but felt nothing. The scraps he had managed to uncover were overwhelming enough. God was a right piece of work. Lucifer was a bastard. Heaven was hateful. Hell was evil. But there was Aziraphale. The name alone made warmth bloom in his chest. Aziraphale was safe. He was still an angel, and he was going to Earth. Crawly knew, like he had never known anything in his destroyed, fragmented memory that there was one thing he needed to do.
Get to Earth. Get to Aziraphale.
—-
Crawly took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Lucifer’s office. It swung open silently. He entered and the door closed behind him. The room was perfectly quiet except for the scratching of Lucifer’s pen on a sheet of parchment. He didn’t look up, so Crawly waited.
Lucifer wrote for another minute before speaking, “Took you long enough.”
“I beg forgiveness my lord. I don’t have your strength.” Crawly put on his most deferential affect and hoped it wasn’t overkill.
“Nobody does. Anyway, you have something to say?” He sounded bored.
“I remembered something else, after you left.”
Lucifer stopped writing. He delicately set his pen to the side of his desk, where it stayed perfectly upright, balanced on the point. He looked up at Crawly and blinked slowly. “What did you remember?" He asked calmly enough, but Crawly heard the sharpness to the question.
“She said she would be testing the humans.”
Lucifer nodded.
“Well, the rule is that if they fail the test, we get them in Hell, right?”
“Over the course of a lifetime, yes. That is the general shape of the deal I’ve negotiated.”
“But we can’t make them choose wrong.”
“No. And we can’t hurt them. Not directly, anyway. Well – unless we’re given permission.” He smirked.
She’s willing to give us permission to – no, leave it. “Right. So – we need to get them to do bad things, without making them do it.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“Well – what if we put somebody up there to nudge them? Not force them into anything, just sort of encourage them in the wrong direction. Shouldn’t be too difficult, Heaven’s got a lot of silly rules, and humans are predisposed to want a lot of the things they aren’t going to be allowed to have.”
“Doing the wrong thing is so much more fun.” Lucifer leaned back in his chair, giving Crawly an assessing look. Crawly tried to keep his face neutral. “A tempter. You want us to send someone up there to tempt them into sin.”
“Drive them straight into your arms, my lord.”
“Who would you send on this diabolical little mission?”
“Well – I thought I might volunteer actually.”
Lucifer raised his thin dark eyebrows. “You?”
Crawly nodded, pulse thumping.
“I thought you’d prefer to be down here. There’s a prime seat for you on the Dark Council. I intend to leave most of the day-to-day management to them so I can focus on more…long-term projects.” A dangerous smile flickered on his lips that made the hairs on the back of Crawly’s neck stand up.
“That would be an honor, your Darkness, but I think I could be more valuable to you on Earth.”
“Mmmm. This altruism have anything to do with the fact that you can see stars on Earth?”
No, actually. Crawly looked down at the ground, trying to appear caught-out. “No, my lord. Though, it would be nice to see them again.”
“Your eyes would be a problem.”
Crawly looked up. “My – my eyes?”
“Yes. I do have to give Her some credit. As a parting gift before the Fall we were each given something a little, well, personal. A punishment just for us. You’ll be able to change your appearance up there, but never your eyes. They are,” he chuckled cruelly, “distinctive. It would be challenging for you to blend in. Everyone would know exactly what you are.”
Crawly swallowed. He hated them both. Lucifer and God, Hell and Heaven. Fuck the lot of them. “I would find a way.”
“I know that.” Lucifer stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of Crawly. Crawly had to tilt his head up to meet his eye. “It’s a good idea. I had considered something of the sort. No doubt She’ll have minions on Earth, I should do the same. And you are quite,” his eyes roamed over Crawly possessively, “tempting. I would miss you of course. But the mission must come first.”
Crawly stood absolutely still.
“Hmm,” Lucifer turned back and resumed his seat. “Very well. On a trial basis. Get up there and make some trouble.”
“Yes my lord.” Crawly bowed and turned to go. He wanted desperately to be out of this room, out of this pit.
“Oh and Crawly.” Crawly turned back. Lucifer had taken up his pen again. He pointed it at Crawly. “Things might get a little muddled up there. Remember who the real enemy is.”
“Don’t worry, my lord. I will.”
Crawly turned away from the devil and walked out the door. It was time to find his angel.