The Devil And His Rose

The room was silent, the only sound the soft rhythm of Becca's breath. She cradled her baby gently, her fingers brushing the soft skin of the infant, who slept peacefully in her arms. The world outside felt distant, muffled.

"You're so pretty, baby," she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible. Her throat tightened as the dam inside her broke.

Tears, the ones she'd been holding back for so long, slid freely down her face. She didn't try to wipe them away. There was no point.

Her gaze lingered on her baby's snow-white skin, the way it seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

Rosy cheeks, so perfect, so innocent. The contrast between the soft warmth of the child and the cold ache that gnawed at her insides made her chest tighten.

"You remind me so much of the snow," she whispered, almost like a prayer. Her fingers traced the delicate curve of the baby's face, trembling with the weight of her unspoken thoughts.

A soft breath escaped her lips as she looked down, the words she wanted to say trapped behind her ribs.

Her eyes never left her child's face, as if afraid to blink, afraid that something—anything—might change. The tiny, fragile form in her arms was the only thing that mattered now.

"Mama will name you Rose," Becca murmured, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

The moment the words left her mouth, the baby's tiny lips curled up into a peaceful smile in her sleep, as if in agreement.

Becca's heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening with emotion. She held the child closer, her fingers gently brushing the soft strands of hair.

"You like the name, don't you?" Her voice cracked, and she let out a sad laugh, a sound that carried both joy and sorrow.

The baby's peaceful expression, so innocent and pure, made her ache in a way she couldn't explain.

She kissed the top of Rose's head, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if the kiss could protect her from the weight of the world.

"I'll keep you safe," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she rocked the child in her arms. "It'll be okay, I promise you."

She closed her eyes, as if by some miracle, her words could shield them both from the storm on the horizon.

It had been seven months since Rose's birth, and despite James' best efforts, Becca had made it clear she wasn't ready to forgive him.

They slept in separate rooms now, the distance between them palpable.

Rose lay peacefully in her crib, undisturbed. The room was still until a figure emerged from the shadows. Lucifer.

His red eyes gleamed, darker than the flames that danced in his hair.

He was tall, his broad shoulders cutting through the darkness with an effortless grace.

His presence alone seemed to change the air in the room, his muscular frame moving with quiet power as he approached the crib.

"Rosalina." His deep voice was soft, the ice in it long gone, replaced by something gentler. He stared at her, the baby's calm sleep a contrast to the whirlwind inside him.

In that moment, all he could see was Rose. His hands, strong and steady, gripped the side of the crib, the wood creaking under the pressure, threatening to crack. His fingers trembled slightly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control, but when they opened again, they were filled with a tenderness that had never been there before.

Slowly, he reached down and lifted the baby from her crib, cradling her close. "Soon I'll have you in my arms again," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet promise, before vanishing into the shadows with her.

Lucifer appeared in the woods, the crackling fire illuminating the clearing. Rose was still in his arms, her tiny form nestled against his chest.

Surrounding them were hundreds of candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the ancient stones beneath them. Two cups sat on the ground, their dark, intricate designs gleaming in the dim light.

But the sudden shift in the air caused Rose to stir. Her tiny eyes flew open, and though she was just a baby, she felt the change.

She whimpered softly at first, then, as the sense of something wrong seeped in, her cries filled the air.

Lucifer appeared in the woods, the crackling fire illuminating the clearing. Rose was still in his arms, her tiny form nestled against his chest.

Surrounding them were hundreds of candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the ancient stones beneath them.

Two cups sat on the ground, their dark, intricate designs gleaming in the dim light.

But then, Rose began to cry.

Lucifer froze. Panic hit him like a wave, his usually composed demeanor slipping for the first time. Why was she crying? What was wrong?

He looked down at her, unsure of what to do. He had never coaxed a baby before. This wasn't something they taught you when you were the lord of Hell.

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably, his large, dark wings stretching slightly behind him as he tried to rock her in his arms. It didn't help.

The crying only grew louder.

"Fuck," Lucifer muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he began to pace in frustration.

What kind of god doesn't know how to calm a baby? He thought, feeling a rare moment of helplessness. His wings twitched, and his hands clenched, like they were itching for something—anything—to fix this.

He almost summoned a spell to silence her, the words already on the tip of his tongue, but then he paused. No. That would be a mistake. There were other plans for her tonight. The ritual was more important.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his fiery hair. His gaze softened as he looked down at her, his usual cold composure giving way to something almost unfamiliar. He had no choice.

Lucifer's deep voice rumbled, almost hesitant, as he began to sing.

The melody was unfamiliar to him, each note slipping from his lips like it was a distant memory he couldn't quite recall.

His voice, usually commanding and full of power, turned gentler, the words smoother than he ever imagined them being.

The first few lines wavered, but then they took root, and to his surprise, the baby's cries slowed. Rose's small hands relaxed in his grip, her tiny body softening against him as his voice filled the clearing.

The sound of his voice seemed to settle the air itself, and after a long moment, Rose's cries faded completely.

She blinked up at him, her teary eyes wide. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Lucifer's heart skipped a beat. Had he actually done it? But before he could savor the moment, she reached out, her little hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Lucifer's eyes widened. His hair—she's pulling my hair! His wings flared slightly in surprise. The grip was surprisingly strong for someone so small, and the sudden tug caught him off guard.

"Rose—" he started, but she didn't let go. He tried to pull back, his fingers brushing her tiny hand, but it was useless. She was focused, her little hand wrapped tightly around his fiery strands.

He stared down at her, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips as he tried, and failed, to free himself. "Let go of me."

She ignored him, too busy with her new "toy," her grip stronger than he had anticipated. Lucifer shifted awkwardly, trying to maintain his composure.

But then, he couldn't help himself. The absurdity of the situation hit him, and he chuckled despite himself.

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "You think this is funny?"

Rose paused, her large blue eyes blinking up at him in innocent curiosity. And then, like she understood exactly what he meant, she giggled—a high, pure sound that resonated through the clearing.

Lucifer's chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth flooding him. He couldn't help but laugh with her, even as she clutched his hair tighter.

He was the lord of Hell, and here he was, laughing like an idiot at a baby's giggle. But that laugh, that moment, somehow made everything else feel a little less important.