#scornedson

      it hurts, seeing lucifer for the first time since the cage. he has taken       the time he needs, done all the healing he needs to. he has learned       his lesson, has come out of their torment with his faith renewed, his       purpose restored. ❝ brother… is it too late to say sorry? ❞

       There’s something about this church in specific that makes him strangely uncomfortable, out of place. It’s never happened before-- no matter how old or ruined the place was, he could always find shelter in it, a place to rest and alleviate his thoughts from the whole ‘savior’ talk the angels shower him from time to time.

      But here, there’s some wicked feeling that he cannot place just yet and still it makes his skin crawl, as if he’s being watched from afar-- and he hates it.

The dry heat that crackled the air choked her gasp; her eyes flying open as she sat up with a start. Coughing, her wavy mane that had been so carefully managed was frazzled. Sweat rolled in beads down her cheeks. Darting her eyes around, the only sight that met them were tongues of flame. Jolting as a chill shot up her spine, she frantically stood. Suddenly she froze, her slit pupils dilating and a ball blocking her throat. Patting herself down, there was not a lick of flame charring her clothes. Still the circle of flames and blood red sky above her crackled. Licking her lips, she cautiously extended a hand toward the edge. Her heart thudded violent and frantic in her ears- wait, her heart? Why was there silence? Her fingers were met with not a single burn. Shifting her feet, she took tentative baby steps forward; her head buzzing, her mind spinning in a daze as if she’d dunked it in pea soup. Taking a deep breath, though she felt no air hit her lungs, she desperately shouted. 

“Where the fuck am I?! Is anyone here? Hello?!”

Sweat dripped down her face. Her lips trembled as a salty taste trickled across her tongue. Curling her hands to fists, her shoulders tensed. A frustrated grunt rumbled her throat. Gnashing her teeth, an ethereal shadow sprung from her back. The figure raised its ghostly hands; it’s slightly muscular arms poised for combat. It’s long legs were stood shoulder width apart. It did not move. From behind it’s torso she scowled. Her ears were stained red, her cheeks were flushed in fury. Fires crackled and flared in her unflinching glare. A bright mint glow engulfed her body, lighting up her reflection like a beacon. 

“Step away right now. If you don’t I’ll beat you into the ground.”

Junai Lens put up it’s fists. The fire in her gaze was forged into steel. She lifted a finger. Slowly her mouth spat out words, a challenge. 

      “ What do ya want punk, ain't interested in anything y’ say anyway.”

It stops momentarily with a chuckle, laced with a permeating disbelief that is often reserved for children.  What a far-fetched thing to say.

         ‘ You’re speaking non-sense. “

Send ❥ ❥ ❥ if you’re enjoying the portrayal of my muse.