[ After the abduction, the queen-napping, Elio's health has taken a turn for the worse. He's never been sickly, not aside from the occasional nosebleed or foot cramp, so it's a new way of experiencing his body. This uncooperative. The first couple of weeks, he continued to visit his father's hell loop, walking over lava pits and scorched ground to get there, his flowers and grass failing to sprout forth and like that, he quickly realized he couldn't do anything for him anymore, all his powers in that regard seemed dormant, slumbering far below the surface, out of reach. He knows they're there, the palace still responds, even if more faintly now, they're just not... readily available. Meanwhile, he got gradually more tired, more exhausted, stayed in bed longer, slept more. Paler. Ghostly.
Lucifer had insisted on flying him back to Earth and although Elio had protested, there's only so much you can do when the King of Hell has decided something's the right course of action, the only right course, even. But as they'd taken to the sky, the barrier hadn't opened and Lucifer had almost flown him headfirst into it in his frustration.
Which means, he's trapped here. He's trapped in Hell, more and more surely declining.
They're whispering words like death and end among themselves, he knows, the demons, though very quietly, because they don't want Lucifer to hear currently, not with Grigori stirring in a pit of tar outside. And Elio knows he should probably be afraid, but he isn't. Worried, sure, but not truly afraid.
He doesn't think this is endgame, it's a step on the way. He wasn't blessed for nothing.
It's been how long now? Time in Hell doesn't count itself, so Elio doesn't know. Years. He's sitting in bed, the sky outside dark and starlit, untouched by fire pillars and the like. Lucifer, still in his Devil form, he can't get out of it any longer, is sitting near the headboard of his bed, on the floor, guarding him. Always guarding him. Elio is reading Catullus, though he's less reading as blinking stupidly at the small text, even these short poems an insurmountable hill to climb at this point. Eventually, he sighs, letting the book slip into his lap, covered in a duvet. ]
However much I'd like to read about Catullus' lust for Juventius, I think it's a lost cause.
[ Leaning his head back, he plays with the edge of a page idly. After a long minute of quiet, a slow turn of his head. He looks over Lucifer's face, his strong shoulders, firm chest. His expression softens. ]
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Lucifer had insisted on flying him back to Earth and although Elio had protested, there's only so much you can do when the King of Hell has decided something's the right course of action, the only right course, even. But as they'd taken to the sky, the barrier hadn't opened and Lucifer had almost flown him headfirst into it in his frustration.
Which means, he's trapped here. He's trapped in Hell, more and more surely declining.
They're whispering words like death and end among themselves, he knows, the demons, though very quietly, because they don't want Lucifer to hear currently, not with Grigori stirring in a pit of tar outside. And Elio knows he should probably be afraid, but he isn't. Worried, sure, but not truly afraid.
He doesn't think this is endgame, it's a step on the way. He wasn't blessed for nothing.
It's been how long now? Time in Hell doesn't count itself, so Elio doesn't know. Years. He's sitting in bed, the sky outside dark and starlit, untouched by fire pillars and the like. Lucifer, still in his Devil form, he can't get out of it any longer, is sitting near the headboard of his bed, on the floor, guarding him. Always guarding him. Elio is reading Catullus, though he's less reading as blinking stupidly at the small text, even these short poems an insurmountable hill to climb at this point. Eventually, he sighs, letting the book slip into his lap, covered in a duvet. ]
However much I'd like to read about Catullus' lust for Juventius, I think it's a lost cause.
[ Leaning his head back, he plays with the edge of a page idly. After a long minute of quiet, a slow turn of his head. He looks over Lucifer's face, his strong shoulders, firm chest. His expression softens. ]