Chapter Eight: Up Past Curfew

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Not to solve it.

But to expose it.

*-*-*-*

It's forbidden, she's aware.

However human nature doesn't understand the term her mind so simply accepts. It is both driven towards and fearful of the unknown.

Influenced by the letter, Mammon, and that memorable look in Lucifer's eyes, the inner cogs of her mind whirr, awoken from their temporary slumber.

Demons are awarded on strength, angels are awarded on meritous virtue, and humans...

It's a fact unknown to the rest, but humans are awarded on cunning, an almost-devilish talent of manipulation. Naturally, Demons are accomplished in deception, but truth be told there's more to cleverness than reliance on the ability to deceive.

Humans are the weakest.

And yet they are also the most powerful.

They fight for survival and grow not stronger but smarter.

Humans are cunning.

She is cunning.

Even if she herself is not aware of it.

Even if she herself does not accept it.

Straightening her back, (Y/n) scrutinises the inky darkness to assure that her precense is thoroughly concealed, before taking a step onto the wooden stairs.

Creak!

Paying it no heed, she takes another upwards, and another, intruige and adrenaline overpowering reason and logic.

Images of Lucifer swirl around her head, images of his coal black eyes and pale skin. His demanding gaze and rather soft occasional smirk. His glazed-over, reflectative sigh and what can only be described as pretty long eyelashes. His subtle kindness and hidden sadness.

It makes her second guess the decision of infiltrating the attic Lucifer so carefully restricts access to.

He has a reason for everything. He always has.

Should she really be doing this?

But it's not merely a matter of what she should be doing.

It's about what she can.

Reaching the top, she confronts a thick door, battered with time and age. To her surprise there isn't dust around it, just an ominous dullness. A strange sense of...belonging... extrudes off it, a resonance her mind can't facilitate.

Everything about the room is sinister, and a part of her wonders if that's why she feels welcome.

Interest replaces the curiosity she'd developed, her hand reaching out and turning the golden handle. It creaks in response but allows her entry, clack!ing as it shuts behind her.

A huge room stretches before her, warmly ventilated but lonely. She can only see blackness despite the few lamps.

It's pretty... empty.

She almost sighs in relief.

"Hey there."

Almost.

"Oh hey." Defensively, she turns towards a monotonous voice.

That was the first time she saw him, but somehow she instantly recognised him.

The Seventh Brother.

Beelzebub's twin.

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