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The Garden of Eden had always been a place of comfort for me—a place where I could be alone with my thoughts, free from worry or concern.

I couldn't help but feel satisfied as I looked at the root I had planted, now grown a few inches taller than when I had left it before supper. Kneeling down for a closer look, I instinctively reached out to touch it, but a voice caught my attention before my fingers could make contact.

"Don't touch it! You might stunt her growth!"

That voice alone brought a smile to my face. I turned to see a small green sprite hovering nearby, looking thoroughly concerned. Unable to help myself, I signed in the air to reassure them.

Don't worry. I wasn't going to do that. It's good to see you again, Furiea.

Furiea was a freshly born soul created by Father. Though they lacked a permanent form, their personality was always bright—a breath of fresh air.

The sprite's green glow shifted to red, as if reflecting their irritation.

"Do not lie, Samael. Your hand was clearly about to touch it! Humph!"

They pouted, earning only a silent chuckle from me. Moments later, however, their color softened into a solemn blue.

"You never really told me why you hide your voice... or why you do that."

I froze.

My silence felt heavier than ever as I lowered my head. Whatever expression crossed my face must have alarmed Furiea, because they quickly changed the subject.

"Did you plant this seed, Samael? It's growing quite nicely. Is it that apple seed you always carried with you?"

I nodded in response, earning a delighted giggle.

"Maybe one day you'll plant an entire garden. And when that day comes, I hope I can help you."

That earned a genuine smile from me. I nodded once more in agreement. It was a promise between us—one I hoped we would keep.

I became so absorbed in our conversation that I lost track of time. I had almost forgotten that I was supposed to meet Lucifer.

After waving goodbye to Furiea, I made my way across the fields toward Lucifer's chambers.

Upon arriving, I found him standing before a portrait depicting himself and the other Archangels in prayer, bathed in the light of God. The radiance seemed brightest around Lucifer, causing his golden hair to resemble living flame.

Sometimes I wondered whether Lucifer had commissioned the portrait himself because he believed it reflected how the other angels saw him and the Archangels—fiery beauties who served as God's hands and voice.

I would never ask.

I feared the answer might stir something within my heart that could lead to conflict.

"You seem troubled, Samael."

The words finally registered in my mind. For a moment, I hadn't even realized Lucifer was speaking.

A slight frown formed on my lips as I shook my head.

I apologize. I was simply lost in thought.

I signed the words earnestly, hoping to reassure him. This seemed to have work since Lucifer dropped the subject entirely for a subject I knew was coming.

“The time has come to replace them, Samael. I know this is painful, but you know Mother wants this for your own benefit.”

My expression fell at those words. I knew exactly what they meant, and I had never welcomed such rituals.

Slowly, I walked to Lucifer's bedside and sat at the edge of the bed. Lowering my head, I took a deep breath before giving a reluctant nod.

I'm ready...

I did my best to hide my anxiety, but I knew this had to be done. It was what I had been told to do.

Lucifer retrieved a pithos fashioned from pure gold. Its lid bore the carving of an eye, while the handles resembled the curves of a cornea. He opened the vessel and thrust his hand inside. For a moment, he rummaged through its contents before finally finding what he sought.

In his hand rested a pair of shears whose blades had been forged from a dying star. They were called Ylomil. One glance was enough to know they had been made to cut through anything.

"It's time, Samael. Open your mouth."

I drew a deep breath as dread settled within me. I always hated this part—the moment when they had to be removed.

The strings.

Black threads stitched tightly across my lips, keeping my mouth sealed shut.

They hurt. They always hurt. Yet over time, I had grown accustomed to the pain. If there was any relief to be found, it was thanks to Lucifer.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

The sharp sound of the shears filled the room as Lucifer carefully cut through the threads binding my mouth.

"You've been playing with them again," he said, concern evident in his voice. "These wounds look fresh."

I lowered my gaze.

Lucifer took a cloth and gently wiped the blood from my lips.

"I know you want to speak. One day, you will. But for now, you must endure. For now, you must never speak."

The words settled heavily in my chest.

All I could do was nod in agreement.

I raised my hands and began to sign the words I wished to say.

How is Michael? Is he doing alright?

Lucifer nodded, a faint smile appearing on his face.

"He is doing well. He just returned from his patrol in the East. He kept talking about the stars—how vast, endless, and beautiful they are."

I couldn't contain my smile. Though the pain still lingered, hearing about Michael was enough to distract me while Lucifer carefully removed the remaining threads from my lips.

Once the last of them had been pulled free, he placed them inside the pithos. As the black strings settled within, new engravings slowly appeared across the vessel's surface. They resembled serpents coiling around one another, their bodies twisting into an intricate pattern.

Lucifer replaced the lid and studied the pithos for a moment before stepping out of the room.

Left alone, I glanced toward a nearby mirror.

Golden blood mixed with black ichor stained my lips where the strings had been removed. I frowned at my reflection, wondering if I would ever truly be allowed to speak.

When Lucifer returned, he carried an ornate box reserved for this ritual. Opening it, he revealed fresh white thread and a sewing needle.

"I hope you enjoyed this brief moment of freedom."

It was all he could say.

Lucifer knelt before me and carefully threaded the needle. One hand cradled the back of my head as he positioned the point against the edge of my upper lip.

Then he pushed.

The needle pierced flesh.

Like the shears, it had been forged from Ylomil, a material capable of piercing even the flesh of angels.

I felt the thread being drawn through the fresh wound.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Despite the agony, I could feel the care Lucifer put into every stitch. He was as gentle as he could be while carrying out a task neither of us desired.

The pain was unbearable, but I did not cry out.

I remembered the first time this had been done—the way I had bitten through my tongue and been forced to swallow my own blood.

"I'm almost finished, Samael," Lucifer murmured. "Just be strong."

With one final pull, the last stitch was tightened into place.

Snip.

The shears severed the remaining thread.

At last, it was over.

Exhausted, I rested my head against Lucifer's shoulder. He gently stroked the back of my head.

"You did well, Samael. Father would be proud of you."

Those words always filled me with conflicting emotions.

Not only for myself, but for Lucifer as well.

How I wished Father were here to tell him those words personally. How I wished He could express that pride Himself.

But that could never be.

He was God.

He watched over all creation and could not leave His sanctum for any one individual.

How I wished that were not the case.

How I wished He would comfort me.

How I wished I could hear His counsel.

I suspected every angel longed for the same thing, though none dared to speak of it.

"You're monologuing again, Samael."

Lucifer's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I blinked and quickly signed:

How did you know?

He laughed.

"You always tap your leg when you're thinking too hard about something."

I glanced down and immediately noticed my leg moving.

Or rather—

Lucifer's finger was tapping against my leg in imitation of me.

Heat rushed to my face.

"Now, Samael," Lucifer said, concern softening his voice, "what has you in such a bewildered state?"

He rested his hands on my shoulders.

"You know you can always come to me and speak your mind."

I frowned at his choice of words.

Lucifer immediately realized his mistake.

His expression fell, and he lowered his head in apology.

I simply shook my head, already forgiving him.

I just wish I wasn't alone.

The admission hurt more than I expected.

My frown deepened.

Lucifer remained silent.

He didn't need to answer.

He already understood.

Though I was surrounded by countless angels, they were not like me. Nor did they truly see me as one of them.

"Samael," Lucifer said quietly, "one day you'll understand. One day you'll find your calling."

I nodded.

Rising to my feet, I bowed before taking my leave.

The journey back to my chambers passed in silence.

Once inside, I closed the door and stood before the mirror.

My gaze lingered on the white thread sealing my lips.

The stitches were barely visible now, almost as though they had never been there at all.

For a moment, I allowed myself to acknowledge my true feelings.

A bad habit.

One I needed to control.

Lucifer and Mother already carried enough burdens of their own. I shouldn't add to their growing list of worries.

My eyes drifted toward the bedside table.

There, resting quietly upon its surface, lay a handmade golden cross.

I stared at it for a long time.

Slowly, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around it.

These burdens were mine to bear.

No matter how much it hurt.

No matter how lonely I felt.

I would endure it for them.

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