☣ twenty-one [at the crossroads a second time, make the devil change his mind]
[And on the ninth day, Samael was moved to the neurology ward. No longer having to pee through a tube did wonders for a man's sense of dignity. It was disorienting being in a new room but he had the constant presence of Blackwells to soothe his frayed mind. He was still sleeping far too much for his liking but at least the pain was subsiding, in both his wrist and in his head.
Late in the night, he woke from sleep. He had half a mind to press the call button and cajole a nurse into giving him something to help him fall back to sleep without the inevitable tossing and turning. Sedative or alcohol or even a handjob; the nurses were pretty and Samael's dominant hand was broken. Life was cruel (and the Horsemen even more so). He shifted uncomfortably and a shadow passed at the foot of his bed. His gaze sharpened and then his mouth dropped open.
Picture it: In bed, there was a somewhat broken Samael, whose soul muddled through purity and whose actions spoke of carelessness. His hair was short, his face more angular, even in the space of little more than a week, and his body is tense. Standing at the end of the bed was another Samael, whose soul was nowhere to be seen, so blackened it had become. He was beautiful with blonde curls and a smile that would turn a nun's knees to jelly. He turned that smile on his bed-bound counterpart and Samael shivered.
"Lucifer." It wasn't a question.
The other Samael laughed jovially and left, almost melting into the shadows.
Samael closed his eyes and grimaced. Maybe he had damaged his brain; he was clearly going quite mad]
Late in the night, he woke from sleep. He had half a mind to press the call button and cajole a nurse into giving him something to help him fall back to sleep without the inevitable tossing and turning. Sedative or alcohol or even a handjob; the nurses were pretty and Samael's dominant hand was broken. Life was cruel (and the Horsemen even more so). He shifted uncomfortably and a shadow passed at the foot of his bed. His gaze sharpened and then his mouth dropped open.
Picture it: In bed, there was a somewhat broken Samael, whose soul muddled through purity and whose actions spoke of carelessness. His hair was short, his face more angular, even in the space of little more than a week, and his body is tense. Standing at the end of the bed was another Samael, whose soul was nowhere to be seen, so blackened it had become. He was beautiful with blonde curls and a smile that would turn a nun's knees to jelly. He turned that smile on his bed-bound counterpart and Samael shivered.
"Lucifer." It wasn't a question.
The other Samael laughed jovially and left, almost melting into the shadows.
Samael closed his eyes and grimaced. Maybe he had damaged his brain; he was clearly going quite mad]