This takes place during Lucien's time with Y/N (Some time after Lucien's Halloween).
Lucien was in a vast garden. The full moon cast its light down across the grasses and flowers, while a gentle breeze coaxed them into swaying softly. Moss covered every footpath, and roses grew in great bushes but bore no thorns.
“Lucien?”
Lucien turned in disbelief; he thought he had completely forgotten the sound of that voice.
The woman was clothed in a simple, blue dress with an off-white apron. Unlike her livery in life, these garments were well-kept and tailored; they seemed to be spun from pure luxury. Her black hair was neatly groomed, and it rested over her shoulder in a braid. Her blue eyes caught the moonlight in a way that made them almost glow.
“Lucien, is that you?”
Lucien held back a sob. He wanted nothing more than to leap into her embrace, but he held himself back. His wings folded behind them, as though trying to disappear.
“It is you, isn’t it?” Lysfred called.
She began to close the distance between them. Lucien hid behind a rose bush, as childish as it was.
“Come out, why don’t you want to see me?” Lysfred asked.
“Don’t look at me,” Lucien said quietly.
“Why can I not look at you?” Lysfred asked, crouching down on the other side of the bush.
Lucien’s tongue ran over his fangs. His wings furled around him in a leathery cocoon. He hugged himself so tightly that his razor-sharp nails almost drew blood.
“Because… I’m a monster,” Lucien said.
“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Lysfred said.
Before he could stop her, she circled around the roses and knelt in front of him. She set her fingers in the small crack in his wings; she gently but firmly pried his cocoon open and met his downcast eyes.
“My poor precious boy,” Lysfred whispered, “there is nothing you could be to make me stop loving you.”
She cupped the side of his face, running her thumb over his scar. As his tears fell, she brushed them away.
“Is this real?” Lucien asked.
“If you want it to be,” Lysfred replied, “I am real for as long as you-”
…
Lucien’s eyes snapped open. He sat up in bed, and the tears came streaming down. Oddly enough, he wasn’t despondent. He felt strangely warm inside.
“Good evening,” Simon yawned, stepping inside, “Y/N is going out, said she needed fresh air- are you okay!?”
“Simon!” Lucien got up at once, “Simon, you’re a religious scholar.”
“I…yes.”
“Can our loved ones visit us in dreams?”
Simon’s face fell into pity.
“Lucien, we’ve had this discussion before, haven’t we?” he said, “absent with the body, present with the Lord. There is no way to commune with the dead.”
“But suppose the dead were the ones doing the communing,” Lucien tried, “or maybe the Lord wanted to send someone as a messenger-”
“Lucien.”
Simon’s face held no room for compromise.
“It was just a dream,” he said softly, “even if it wasn’t a dream, I don’t think it was really your loved one you were talking to.”
 Lucien’s hopeful expression faded into gloom.
“…I see,” he said.
The moonlight filtered in through the windows as Simon drew back the thick, heavy curtains.
“If this is about who I think it is, then count it as a good thing,” Simon said, “she is in paradise. She doesn’t suffer.”
Why couldn’t I be in paradise with her then? Lucien thought, why do I have to remain as a twisted, wretched thing doomed to condemnation?
Voicing this would only intensify his grief, so Lucien opted to simply nod instead. He glided out into the hallway, passing a mirror. Only his clothing showed up in the reflection. Thank goodness being a creature of the night came with one small mercy; he did not have to look at himself.
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