#whoo

Lucifer purses his lips, echoes of his daughter's words jarring daggers from behind his mind's eye. 

“They’re our people too, dad. People with—with hopes and dreams, and—and fears. Like you, and me. I have to do something."

That had been months ago. Same day she left home, along with most things in her room and the knickknacks that had innocently scattered around the house. Once overlooked, now the fractures that chiselled the crack in the wall.

From the corner of his eye, the man’s brow tightens. Lucifer watches shoulders stiffening under a black suit, a red beak pulling into a frown. The imp's eyes remain cemented in the same spot of the table, however, an empty murkiness tredging the edges. Too recognizeable. Too familiar.

Lucifer closes his eyes. Fine. Okay. Okay.