The beloved of the seven thrones · Y/n story by @telemachus

The apartment hummed with the quiet whir of central air, the only sound beyond the traffic thirty stories below.

Lucifer (in her head)

Six weeks.

Flat. Even. The opening note of a conversation she'd been avoiding.

Lucifer (in her head)

You said two.

Azraelith didn't flinch. Didn't turn. Just watched a taxi brake hard at the intersection below, tail lights flaring red.

Azraelith

I stayed longer.

She said it plainly. Not defensive. Not apologetic. A fact, stated into the empty room.

Satan (in her head)

We noticed.