What's Left Of You (Tell Me)
The House of Lamentation has few decorations that give insight to how the brothers live. Most of it is how it had been from the human world, but there are some paintings that were gifted to Lucifer by the Prince of the Devildom. Even less are things that Lucifer bought while antiquing or shopping; a few knickknacks here and there, but nothing that he has sentimental value towards. Items that can be broken in a fit of rage by Satan or a hunger pang from Beelzebub.
All of that to say that there is nothing of her within the walls of this house. The paintings are all nondescript; landmarks and still-paintings, oil on canvas of portraits not of the family that lives here now. Vases picked up while on a shopping trip, small decorations that would look nice in this old gothic house, gifts from the Prince and his butler. Candle holders and lights, garlands, all things that hold no value to Lucifer and his family, no recollection of her.
The brothers all live how they want. Within this gloomy house are signs of them being here, their presence all over the house. Dirty dishes in the sink left for Lucifer to clean, navy and white strands left on the couch pillow from Belphegor sleeping, nail polish sitting out on the coffee table waiting for another use. Books strewn across the floor, bookmarks and colored sticky notes tucked neatly between pages. Signs of life from them.
Pictures on Devilgram that contain all seven have them squished together, no room for more. Always seven. Seven smiles, seven demons, seven breathing beings.
One is always missing. She always is.
Photo albums only contain the life lived down here. Mammon licking icing off his cake with a finger, posing for his birthday picture. Beelzebub at one of his Fangol games, a serious look on his usually stoic face. Satan blushing profusely while visiting a Devildom cat café while surrounded by the meowing animals. Belphegor sleeping in the most unusual places like the top of the fridge, having climbed up there to escape his brothers. Leviathan excited to finally have his limited edition Sucre Frenzy tote bag he won from a raffle, a smile like that too wide and rare to not have a photo of. Asmodeus participating in a fashion contest he put together, and obviously won. Lucifer looking positively ecstatic to be on a factory tour for vacation while everyone else looks drained.
Tell him, does she resent him for these happy moments? Tell him, does she wish that he would have died in her place, become a human without any knowledge of a family?
For the places where she lives are dusty. Within the drawers of Lucifer's desk, within the attic, within the secret room that has stayed undisturbed since it was made. Pictures locked away along with the key, shielded from the light, never fading. Never looked at unless it's a dark day worth remembering pain rather than comfort.
The boxes within the attic store what little of her presence is left. More old pictures, these ones beige and grainy from age, sealed away within photo albums that are no longer touched. A thin layer of dust covers each and every one of them. These ones are looked at even less than the ones in his room. Old clothes and feathers that he fears touching, fear of staining them black from a demon's touch. Afraid to touch what had been as he is now. She is muffled by cardboard, locked away and permanently smiling in photos that no one can bear to look at.
Her room in the house is hidden from all others. The room is covered in plastic and white sheets to fight off the dust that inevitably collects in a room rarely visited. The room shines with light unlike any of the other rooms in this house. If he looks outside, he'll see the Celestial Realm as it had been all those years ago. The only thing missing in here is her. She'll never return, but he can picture her looking out the window with her head resting in her palms, a smile on her face as she dreams of the human realm.
She lives in places like this. Places he only visits when he's thinking of her, places he avoids when he's not mourning her. Places that not even his brothers know of, places that her name is only spoken between sobs and broken breaths. A lonely place, a sad place. A place she does not belong, but where her memory is kept.
Tell him, does she hate him? Tell him, does she despise him? Tell him, does she wish he had done more? Tell him, does she curse his name?
"Tell me, do you love me still, after I have failed you?"
