Athena Confessing To Lucifer

The air was still. The heavy velvet curtains barely shifted, the cold night lingering beyond them. The only sound was slow, steady breathing—soft, rhythmic, intertwined.

Lucifer opened his eyes.

The crimson glow of the dying embers in the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the vast chamber. The obsidian walls shimmered faintly under the dim light. And beside him—around him—were the resting forms of his wives.

Aphrodite's golden hair spilled over his chest, her arm draped lazily across him. Bast lay curled at his side, her feline grace even in sleep, her tail flicking once before going still. Hestia's warmth lingered, her soft breaths against his shoulder. Amaterasu, ever radiant, rested with an arm over her eyes, her presence still strong even in slumber. Medusa, the furthest but never distant, lay with her back to him, but he knew she was awake. She always was.