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Without Eve, the hole felt colder, scarier and darker than it really was.

Part of you wanted to go back up to the Garden, where everything was blue and green and soaked in sunlight. You wanted to smell the damp grass, not this rotting dirt. The Garden of Eden was safe—it was a place you knew. Whatever lied in waiting at the bottom if this hole was something you did not know, and your instinct was 99% sure that it wasn't safe, despite what Eve told you.

As you climbed further down into the darkness, you began to doubt Eve. The same nagging sensation from earlier came back, the wispy thought that you were forgetting something. It lingered in the back of your head, just out of your reach, disabling you from remembering what you forgot. It was the same feeling that you got back at home, when you would go downstairs to grab something—like a pencil or a glass of water—then realizing that you had no idea what you came down for when you got to the bottom of the steps. This was that feeling.

You gripped the metal rungs harder beneath your palms. Your mind was reeling with memories that weren't yours, names that you never heard before. Behind the closed walls of your eyelids, you saw a city of brick, a man clad in red, a cabin in the woods. The name Rose, and the name Alastor, or something like that.

Pushing the strange memories away, you went down further.

It was starting to really feel like the hole was endless. When you looked down—or the direction you thought was down—you saw nothing but more darkness. No hint of a light source that would verify the nearing of a floor.

But you kept going down.

It felt like hours before you saw light.

A warm yellow circle, from some distance below you. Light meant flooring. Light meant no more climbing down this ladder, no more staring at absolutely nothing.

You hurried to reach the bottom, where the circle of light sat patiently waiting. Little did you know, someone else sat down there, patiently waiting.

Waiting for you.

Alastor's POV, present tense

Eve is scrambling to brush chunks of grass and dirt over something on the ground when I find her.

I immediately want to kill her, and that's how I know I'm going dark. Going dark is a term I use to describe the uncontrollable killing frenzies that occasionally take control of me, triggered by the sight or scent of blood, and intensified each time I kill someone. I haven't gone dark once since I saw (Y/N) that beautiful day.

I guess that frenzy-free streak ends now.

"Al," she greets me, brushing her dirty palms off on her thin green dress as she stands up. "What a pleasant surprise."

I chuckle, knowing that my appearance is neither pleasant nor a surprise. "Eve."

She stares at me, waiting for me to ask her where (Y/N) is. But I don't ask. I stare right back at her, waiting for her to be the first to speak.

Our staring contest ends when she says, "It's over. She's already entered the Chasm. Lucifer will be here shortly to take care of her—"

Before she can finish her sentence, I snap my fingers. She stands still for a moment, frozen in that beautiful moment between life and death. Her eyes widen, and she reaches a shivering hand up to her chest, where her heart can no longer be found.

Instead, her heart is sitting in the palm of my hand.

Eve falls to the ground, the sound of bones collapsing against the dirt arising like music.

"Thank you for your services, dearest Eve. I hope you enjoy life in the ultimate void of nothingness that is death," I lie, dropping her bloody heart to the ground and crushing it underneath the heel of my foot. I hope she does the opposite of enjoy it.

Ah. The sweet, sticky smell of death.

Second person POV, past tense

The second your shoes touched the hard concrete floor, you could tell that something was off.

A hallway stood outstretched before you, empty except for the torches lining the stone walls. Their shadows danced over the walls, illuminating the cracks that streaked through the concrete. They were crumbling beneath the pressure of tons of dirt above them.

You placed your palm on one of the walls. It was cold and smooth. For some reason, it reminded you of paper.

You walked on, your fingers dragging along the wall as you went. At the end of the hallway was a door, short and dark and old-fashioned looking. You could see it, for the hallway was not nearly as long as the hole was deep.

The doorknob was gold, shining as if it had just recently been polished. When you wrapped your fingers around it, you shivered. It was cold, just like everything else in that hole and in this hallway.

You twisted the knob. At this point, you were continuing more out of curiosity than because Eve ordered you to. As your memories trickled back into your consciousness, you remembered who you were. You remembered Rosie, and bits of Alastor. You remembered that he told you not to touch Eve, but you couldn't remember if you trusted him or not.

The gold hinges creaked as you pushed open the door. So much for being quiet, you thought as you peeked your head into the doorway.

There wasn't much to look at. More concrete, which was falling apart on the floor, but even more so along the walls and ceiling. A small part of you wondered just how thick the concrete was, and if there was a possibility that the room could come crumbling down at any moment. There was a brown couch, an old-school television, and a dining table, but before you could observe further, the room transformed, right before your eyes.

One minute, it was a crumbling basement, the next it was a modern living room, with pristine, white tile floors, a widescreen TV—which was a whole lot better than the last one—and beige painted drywall.

There was a man sitting on top of a old mahogany dining table, which was positioned in the right back corner of the room. He was smoking a cigarette, and when his bright yellow eyes flickered up to meet yours, he pulled the cigarette away from his black lips. His skin was fair, his cheeks were rosy, and his blonde hair was combed back underneath a white top hat—which had a thin, purple snake winding around the middle. You weren't sure if it was dead or alive, and part of you wanted to keep it that way.

"You must be (Y/N)," he drawled, standing up from his seat on the table. He dropped his cigarette and smushed it underneath the heel of his black shoes, all while making eye contact with you. "I'm sorry we had to meet under such... extenuating circumstances."

You frowned, remaining silent, examining the man's shark-like grin. It wasn't right. He wasn't right. His sharp charisma was nothing but a facade, and you saw right through it. He wanted something from you.

Or maybe he just wanted you.

"Excuse me, I'm not being gentlemanly at all. Allow me to introduce myself." The man took a few steps closer to you. He was wearing a fancy white suit, the long tail of the coat brushing in a nonexistent breeze as he walked. His heels clicked against the floor with each step. "My name is Lucifer Magne, but you can call me sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lucifer.

He held out a gloved hand. As you were reaching out to shake it, you saw that he was holding a cane in his other hand.

On top of the cane was an apple. An apple with a bite taken out of it.

The thought was so sudden that it felt like a smack to the face. You snatched your hand away, but you hadn't even touched him. You couldn't touch him.

It was becoming clear that Eve had used some sort of power to force you into listening to her. Every time you touched her, the air got warmer and everything felt okay again. Knowing this, you couldn't possibly shake Lucifer's hand. If Eve—the woman who bit from Lucifer's sinful apple—could make you forget all about your love for Alastor and trust the enemy instead, what's to say that Lucifer couldn't do it too?

"I'm not touching you." The room sounded too big for your voice, which was meeker than usual.

"Suit yourself," Lucifer said, but you thought you could see his right eye twitch. He pulled his hand away and stuck it behind his back. It reminded you of the way Alastor always stood, with his hands folded over his tailbone and his shoulders arched back.

Speaking of Alastor... "Where's Alastor?"

Lucifer's grin widened. He was enjoying this. "That disgusting traitor? I'm not one-hundred percent sure, but he's most likely on his way here as we speak." That was a relief to hear, but Lucifer didn't look at all troubled by that fact. He looked down at his fingernails, as if they held some interesting secret that only he could hear about. "I will humbly admit that he is quite a powerful demon, but now, he is as good as dead."

Your heart palpitated, all of the relief gone. "Dead?"

"He surely isn't dead yet. He probably killed Adam and Eve with the snap of his fingers. But once he figures out where you are, he will try to fight me. When that time comes, then he will be as good as dead."

You blinked.

As good as dead.

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