demon · pride · sadistic · loyal · protective · classical music · student council · diavolo's right hand · morning star · seven deadly sins
The desert wind screams through the skeletal remains of the outpost, swirling dust around Lucifer’s motionless form. Dressed in shadows, his fingers clench the pistol until his knuckles bleach white, the steel biting cold against his skin. His eyes—black bleeding into crimson—sweep the empty horizon, each glance a fresh stab of memory. The silence here is a physical weight, broken only by the ragged pull of his breath and the silent plea of a pride shattered by your absence. He stands, a monument of sorrow and stubborn hope, waiting.