Dreamly Marine

Hi! I'm Mari, a digital artist and graphic designer who will start to be more active on Tumblr after so many years!! (After X and IG recent shadowban lol)

Two sides of the same pride

"Family said that I decided to live a loveless life. Is it my fault we stay divided? ‘Cause I got too much pride."

Pride and heart stand on different sides. Lucifer, a creature of light who turned his own humility into ashes, viewed a warm smile as his sworn enemy and asking for aid as the gravest of sins.

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Tw: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Tick, tack. The sound of the clock in his study throbbed menacingly, becoming a torment for the stressed demon who wrote endlessly, not even taking a bite of that night's dinner; a devilish ham sandwich, courtesy of Mammon. He rubbed his eyes, sighing softly as his vision grew accustomed again to the dim light from the lamp on his desk.

"It's getting quite late. I should eat a little..." These were thoughts that were born neither from his stomach nor his mind; since hidden in a dark fog of hubris, his heart demanded to be fed properly. How many days had it been since he had eaten three meals a day?

Lucifer sighed again, this time with relief. He removed one of his jet-black gloves and set it down in an available space among the mountains of documents lying on his desk. His tired eyes settled on the plate, swearing he heard an angelic melody emanating from the food. Just as he prepared to grab it and take a bite, perhaps a very slight one, he felt an electric shock that stopped him dead cold.

"You are not hungry. You don't need it. Those are just excuses preventing you from finishing your work."

Lucifer frowned. That damned voice again. The voice of pride. A powerful voice capable of restraining him from summoning a smile every time Leviathan left his room, the times Asmodeus would barge into his office with red nail polish, or those singular occasions when he would find the sleeping figure of Belphie in his huge bed, hugging the sheets he'd slept in a week ago. A week ago? Has it really been that long?

"You don't deserve to rest. Not until you fulfill your duties. Or is it that you want to disappoint your dear Lord Diavolo?"

The demon clenched his jaw tightly and returned the sandwich to the lone ceramic plate, which he dared not break despite the pent-up rage. However, such a scene would be a major distraction to him and his work, so he stood up and made his way to the kitchen to put his dinner in the fridge. If he was lucky enough, only the empty plate would remain the next day. A small grin appeared on his face, imagining Beel's joyful face after finding a late-night snack just for him.

His last option for dinner was coffee, a drink he didn't really enjoy, but it was the only way to survive his daily routine. He was sure that if he didn't have at least one cup of coffee in the morning, he would fall back to sleep for twelve more hours in the comfort of his bed and the warmth of his sheets. Oh, right. He remembered that he had spent over a week without sleeping in his own bed, because there were times when his body would wake up in his office chair, on a couch without pillows, on the cold bedroom floor, and occasionally, even in a different bed.

Luckily, the coffee machine was still on. How many cups had he drunk that day? One? Two? Six? His head was spinning but he pretended to be fine. He filled a cup to the brim and looked at the blurred reflection of his tired face. But, what was he tired of? He had a dignified and meaningful job; not just anyone could read and sign mountains of documents of extreme importance. He should be proud of that.

Surely there were things to complain about, to laugh at, to cry over, and to be angry with. But his life was perfect. Waking up every morning listening to Mammon's screams because he couldn't find Goldie, Satan and Belphie's grunts caused by one of their pranks that didn't work, Asmodeus' soft voice as he recorded a story for Devilgram, Leviathan's laughter as he hid Goldie from his older brother, and the happy growls coming from Beel's stomach with every bite he took of his breakfast... For him, that was enough. That was something he could live with. All of his brothers were alive and he would never make the same mistake again that took one sibling away from him.

"It was your fault. You let Lilith die. It was your idea to defy your Father and lead your siblings into sin."

At night, during his interrupted dreams, he would see again the tears on the faces of his brothers, the blood staining their clothes, the horns protruding from their heads, the wings twisting and burning to the beat of an infernal melody. In his head, a cursed voice resounded, cries for help and screams of guilt.

"WHY, LUCIFER?"

"WHY ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A DISGUSTING SIN?"

Lucifer wanted to scream, apologize and tell them the truth. Impossible. His pride would never do that. A pride just as disgusting as the occasions when he had to tightly cover his mouth so he wouldn't throw up after meetings, disgusting as the dirty bandages he kept forgetting to change once in a while or the tears that escaped from their concealment behind the door of his bathroom. After all, the wounds in the eyes of pride were magnificent, an escape from the truth that no one had the opportunity to question.

Suddenly, he heard familiar, nimble footsteps behind him, causing him to turn quickly, but he already knew who was there. "Why are you still awake, Mammon?"

"I should be the one asking ya’ that, Luci."

The demon showed visible displeasure at the nickname, but deep down he accepted it fondly. How much he loved that Mammon called him so as if he was still a little angel who was just beginning to learn about the world and needed his big brother to guide him.

"Don't call me that." He replied annoyed, avoiding the question. "You must attend classes early tomorrow, go to sleep at this instant."

The younger one frowned, not moving from his position at the kitchen entrance. "I heard your door open. It's not weird to see ya’ awake at this hour of the night, but I had a bad feeling."

"What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine." Lucifer stated with annoyance, setting the cup down among the dirty dishes and walking towards the entrance, being stopped by Mammon in a futile moment of escape.

"WHAT do you think I mean? Maybe you haven't noticed, but I care about ya', we all do." Liar. He's happy to see you suffer, just as you've led him to lose his purity and lean toward greed. "I want you to know that if you need help with your paperwork, with pleasure the Great Mammon will do a perfect job."

Lucifer didn't reply. His heart desired to thank him for his support and company. "Mammon, you are a good brother. Thank you for being concerned." But his words were atrophied by pride.

"You're insane if you think I need your help." No, please. I didn't mean that. I need you. "Now go to your room before I confiscate your card again."

"Ehhh!? Don't mess with Goldie again!" He shouted at a considerably low volume so he wouldn't wake the others. "Al'right, al'right. I'll go back to my room. But don't even dare to think this conversation is over."

Mammon began to walk towards his door, as Lucifer's gaze followed him, making sure he kept his word. After watching the door close and hearing a quiet "click," he confirmed that he was finally alone. Once back in his room, he began his very early morning routine, which consisted of replacing the clothes he was still wearing.

He removed the stifling tie he still wore, then delicately removed the dark shirt that hid the scars on his skin, memories of war and life. The marks reminded him that he could never get back those so-white wings he once humbly wore, the same ones that created a being so similar but so different from him.

A shiver ran through his pale body as he tried to focus on something else. He stroked his hair with a strange sensation between his fingers. When was the last time he had taken a bath? At least a quick one, less than 3 minutes. The occasions he soaked in the tub he felt his strength fading away, and oh, how he wished he could stay there for the rest of his days, as the water caressed his wounded skin and his tears created a salty lake.

"A bath is fine. We don't want people to get suspicious, do we?"

No. That was the last thing he wanted. He gently turned on the bathtub faucet, watching as the tub began to fill with clean water. PURE. He removed the rest of his clothes, proceeding to pour a small amount of bath salts. Diavolo had given him these as a gift during a visit to the castle when they had stayed up for a sleepover together. It was clear that the idea of having a sleepover had not come from Lucifer himself.

"Don't they smell wonderful? Take these, I bought them especially for you. Perhaps we could try them out later..." Diavolo mentioned with a playful tone back then, but they decided not to use them that night.

The water was beginning to reach the edge of the tub, so he turned off the faucet and finally submerged his naked and starving body in its waters. The motion of the waves crashing against the bathroom floor broke the sepulchral silence that abated his mind; now determined to relax for five minutes. The drops fell with a curious sound, as he leaned his head against the wall and stretched out his arms at the edge of the tub. He wished to fall asleep in the quietness of the liquid blanket, but it would be unfortunate if they found his body floating like a dead fish in such an embarrassing state.

He gave himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a moment, for a brief instant. His mind was blank, breathing in the scent of chamomile and lavender emanating from the diluted salts. What a wonderful sensation and what a delicious silence. A slight smile decorated his drowsy face, but tranquility is finite. The threats of his responsibilities assaulted that beautiful dream and shattered the fields of flowers that once flooded his nostrils.

"What a waste. Is it a bath or a break?"

He stood up with the little strength he had left and emerged from the waters, killing the silence with the splashing of the dirty water. IMPURE. He drained the bathtub and walked to the dressing room, opting to wear one of his robes, those of such light fabric that accentuated his slender figure from behind. Before he covered his body, his gaze rested on the porcelain skin that greeted the mirror, decorated with old and recent marks that his pride forbade to show. He resisted the urge to slam his fists against the glass and quickly put on his robe, stepping out of the dressing room to resume his pending work.

He stretched his back and arms before picking up the pen, tapping it against the desk's surface, as the continuous clicking sound helped him concentrate. The current document was a petition letter from one of the students requesting permission to wear a uniform of a particular color. "Pink." He muttered. "Asmo." He confirmed. He did not hesitate to deny such an absurd request, the current uniforms were a sign of respect to the institution and made everyone equal; if he accepted it, even just for his brother, surely the others would start painting their uniforms in hideous colors.

The next was not a document, but a sealed envelope with a known sender. Hell's Kitchen. Lucifer didn't even open it, he knew full well what another letter from that establishment meant. He would talk to Beel in the morning to discuss compensation charges to the local, surely because of another temper tantrum from the younger brother. Lucifer blinked heavily, trying to keep his eyes open. His eyesight was tired and he had forgotten to wear his glasses the entire day. He cursed silently as he rubbed his eyes again and let out a frustrated groan, putting the pen aside and getting up from the chair, which caused a strong dizziness to invade his head, forcing him to sit back down.

"Where are you going? You're not done with your work."

He was right, but his eyes were pleading for a short nap so he could recover. The demon tried to make his way to bed, but his legs would not respond. He cursed under his breath again, while trying to evade the remaining papers in front of him; a huge mountain of documents, envelopes, petitions, and nonsense that he was obliged to read, answer, and sign. At times, his heart tried to convince him that he had taken on these responsibilities to feel useful, to appeal to his pride and feed his ego. For Lucifer, carrying as much weight as possible was his only goal in this new life which had been offered to him and taken away from him at the same time.

He felt a moistness on his cheeks, watching the small crystalline droplets hit the table and replace the movements of the pen. Why can't I stop them? He questioned, still unable to get up from the chair that held him prisoner. The sobs flooded the room, not even his hand could silence them, and it was at that moment when fear arose. He was struck by terror at the thought of being discovered, of being torn away from the facade he lived, of someone overhearing his wails at 4 o'clock in the morning at his desk, and then asking if he was okay. His greatest fear was failing as the perfect brother who never suffered, the pride of his siblings who couldn't afford to show weakness.

Who else would support his family if he started to fall apart?

His head started to feel lighter, and his glassy eyes longed to close. Lucifer granted that wish when he no longer heard the voice of his pride complaining. He laid his head between his folded arms, hiding his face and letting the tears overflow without fear of being found. He had two hours to recover and forget everything that had happened in that room, return to his perfect routine, nod to every command, and resolve the struggles that life sent him as a challenge. His unconscious mind failed to observe the figure that drew comforting little circles on his back and whispered that he would never leave him alone again.

Then, Lucifer understood he was burdened with two sins: the pride born of his corrupted soul and the heart that could no longer decide for itself.