Eternity
He leaned slightly against the big picture window in the living room, looking out over the skyline of New York, still not asleep even in the early hours of the morning. Blue eyes scanned the city, calculating and cold, though flecked with shimmers of warm gold. Nothing. There was no sign, no hint. Nothing.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he looked one last time, hoping against hope, then turned to look absentmindedly at the rest of his flat. Kurt Elling crooned gently in the background, but even music couldn’t fill the absence in what was left of his heart, if he had one anymore.
He missed something. He had wracked his brain for who or what he missed, but couldn’t remember to save his soul (ha, good one), despite self-torture, despite traveling farther than anyone ought to have to in order to remember anything. Despite everything.
He could remember his name, and where he lived. After that, his mind was blank.
Legend Kaylara, second to none but Lucifer himself, the Second Fallen, High Commander of Hell‘s Armies, was more lost than he had ever been in his ridiculously long life. He remembered nothing besides his name.
A sudden glitch in his heartbeat caused him to stumble and fall onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily. He had pills for this, if he could just remember where…the counter. Of course. He scrambled over to the marble and hoisted himself up, grabbing the orange bottle of his little life savers. He swallowed several more than anyone would have suggested, and lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, willing it to stay in one place.
No doctor would even look at him without a sort of insurance card, and the emergency rooms he’d been to couldn’t explain what was wrong with him, even though they’d done countless tests to try and determine something.
Nothing else could hurt him. He’d tried overdosing on random pain medication, he’d tried hanging himself, and had to laugh because he’d hung there for hours and didn’t die. He couldn’t die. He had tried, whatever cavity his heart ought to have filled had hurt so badly. The doctors were baffled by that, as well. He seemed to have no heart, and he could feel the absence of a soul. He didn’t understand how he could live without a heart, but he was alive, and breathing.
He would walk along the congested and squalid streets of the city, and mysterious almost-humane creatures would sidle up to him, telling him that “Lucifer” wanted to see him. He had no idea who this character was, and had no interest in seeing someone he didn’t know or trust.
Kurt Elling stopped, and there was the noise of CD’s shifting around before Ella Fitzgerald’s satin tones filled his flat, singing of things that made his chest constrict and embarrassing tears creep out of the corners of his eyes. And all this for no conceivable reason.
And so he’d told every single messenger that had stopped him that he didn’t know who Lucifer was, and that he wasn’t going to come with them. When they’d tried grabbing his arm or arguing with him, he could feel his temperature begin to rise and a flush come to his cheeks, and they would back off like he was on fire. Maybe he was. He couldn’t ever tell, though. He’d stopped seeing these strangers with even stranger messages for about a week now. That was…good? He didn’t know.
Ah, there. He felt better. He rose, and automatically went back to his big picture window, a dark shape against the rising ember sun, blue eyes flecked with gold scanning as the city awoke.
Legend Kaylara, New York City. Lost.