Tw ~ panic attacks, age regression, biblical themes. This is just a snippet from a world I'm building. It's pretty much biblical fanfiction guys, but yeah - I have my own interpretations and such. It also features age regression, which I have tried to handle sensitively, with as much respect as it deserves. One final warning: This presents Lucifer/The Devil and demon lords in a soft/good light. It is in essence a hurt/comfort story... don't like those themes? Don't read anything I write about this world. And now, without further ado... I present! The story: He curled up. Everything was too loud, too bright, and their expectations were crushing him. He needed his brother. With a soft whimper, he blindly stumbled out of the meeting room, getting out, going anywhere but that cursed chamber. He needed Mikey. He needed Mikey! That thought in mind, he fled, drawing his wings in close and stumbling into another small room, far, far, far away from the meeting. When the fallen angel finally collapsed, it was into a silken pile of blankets, from where he didn’t know. They enfolded him, surrounded him in a warmth he knew wasn’t the right kind, but for just a second he could pretend it was the comforting, warm void of Michael’s wings. Soft, hazy half remembered memories floated like cotton clouds through his mind. Times of laughter, when he played in the warm sun while Mi watched him, a soft patient smile gracing his lips. Times of basking in light, and fresh air, and all the things Hell lacked. The unwanted slip and the reminder of what was real quickened his breath once more, and sweat poured down his back. Suddenly the blankets felt like a stifling cage, smothering him and drowning him, barely any oxygen reaching him at all. He panted desperately, clawing, trying to free himself. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t his brother. He would never hurt him, would never hold tight, too tight. Except he did, his treacherous mind whispered. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wailed aloud, continuing to fight until the blankets finally slipped off of him, relieving fresh air sweeping across his hot cheeks. It calmed him down a little, but heaving sobs continued to wrack his small frame. He bit his fist, muffling the cries. He mustn't think of it, shouldn’t remember it. It had to stay, locked in his memories forever, but he Could. Not. Think of it. The darkness suffocated him, but he depended on it, using the utter blackness of the… -closet?- as a lifeline, pretending as hard as he could that it was his protector, even as his mind pointed out the cracks in the fantasy. A soft, muffled groan escaped him, and a soft voice spoke. “My lord. Can I… come in?” No answer could he give, and a presence seemed to fill the space. Dim light and cooler air filtered through, along with the faint creak of the door opening. Gentle hands picked him up, cradling him close and whispering, “Was the meeting too much? It’s alright…” Lucifer didn’t know who it was, felt that he should, but rational thought hovered just outside his reach, shimmering and elusive as a feather or breath when he tried to hold on to it. He felt warmth, and a slow, gentle rocking sensation that slowly calmed him. “Breathe. Just breathe. With me, alright?” A slight nod - all he could give for his first try at legible communication again. His panicked shrieks and cries from before slowly subsided, and a calm swept over him, weariness slowly sinking into his bones. Minutes - or hours, he didn’t know which - passed, and he slowly, hesitantly cracked open his eyes. This time of relief, of apparent sanctuary was rare in Hell, and he didn’t want it to seep away so soon. However, when his reluctant gaze fell on the person, he relaxed from the tense position he had unwittingly fallen back to. It was just Aeshma, smiling softly, encouragingly. “Feeling a little better now, baby?” “A… little bit.” He admitted. “Can… we just stay like this? For a little longer?” “Of course.” The demon lord, his adopted father, said. “Do you want me to fetch some hot cocoa? I know you love it.” “Yes!” he excitedly shouted. Faint tremors of loneliness and fear returned to him when he left, but in just a few moments he returned, carrying a mug of steaming chocolate, topped with the whipped cream and sprinkles Aeshma knew he loved best. Hell was a horrible place, yes, but for just a second everything was alright.
