It was not an evening to be outdoors; rain had been falling steadily since the early evening, and a storm was brewing as the day approached midnight. Still, there was one brave soul wandering aimlessly along the cobblestone path and through the village. Or, perhaps, it was not bravery that dictated his movements…merely a loss of purpose. For the first time since his creation, Lucifer was confused.

He had been trying for centuries to make sense of humanity, and the priority they received over his kind. It was because of them that Lucifer had even considered revolution. Logically, if the great Creator granted mere men the gift of free will (a gift they squandered and abused), why should the angels not reap the same benefits? When the angel asked his master about this discrepancy, the answer he was given left a foul taste in his mouth: “Because I wished them, and not you, to have it.” It was that answer that planted the seeds of rebellion in Lucifer’s mind, the seeds that led to a bloody war raged in heaven, and the subsequent banishment of the great Morningstar to Hell. It did nothing but deepen his loathing for mankind.

Now, however, as he walked drenched through the quiet village, Lucifer questioned his motivations and goals. The burning need to destroy humanity in an attempt to prove their unworthiness of free will had smoldered over the millennia, and he was simply tired of everything. It wasn’t fair…it never was fair for him. He had only desired one thing: the right to a choice in his destiny. What was so despicable about that? Why had it warranted his banishment?

Lucifer felt his eyes moisten, and tears mingled with the rain that relentlessly pelted his face. He finally broke free from his musings enough to realize that he was soaked thoroughly, and sought shelter beneath a nearby house’s alcove. When he reached the little makeshift block from the rain, he sighed heavily and turned to lean against the brick; instead his head almost made contact with a window that glimpsed into a dining room. He stepped back for fear of being seen, but could not help watching as a family of four (two parents, a son, and a daughter) feasted and laughed and smiled. Lucifer’s heart (if he even had a heart) sank lower in his chest and began compressing his lungs to the point where it was difficult to breath. He reached out and pressed one hand against the windowpane, whispering, “Why not me?”

Fresh tears sprang from his eyes, and the dejected Prince of Hell turned from the home and once more escaped into the shelter of the rain, a curtain that masked his pain from judgment.