Author
Morning dawned quietly over the Highlands, but inside Celeste's heart, nothing was calm.
The sun had barely slipped through the narrow cracks of the small window when she opened her eyes, breathless, as if she had surfaced from somewhere very far away—or very deep. It took her a few seconds to understand where she was. The simple room, the wool blanket over her body, the scent of wood and earth rising from the floor—everything was the same. Yet she was not.
Something new lived within her now. A subtle but constant vibration.
A calling.
Celeste brought a hand to her chest.
Her heart was beating faster than usual, as though responding to something unseen—something coming from very far away. Or from someone.
She took a deep breath.
"It was just a dream… just a dream…" she whispered to herself, trying to believe it.
But the more she tried, the more the reality of what she had felt returned.
His touch.
His warmth.
The light.
The way their souls seemed to fit together, as if they had been made for one another.
And above all, the hardest sensation to ignore:
She could feel him.
She could feel Lucifer.
Even while awake.
I watch Celeste walk toward the water basin by the cabin door. The water is still, reflecting her flushed face. She leans forward, touches the surface, breathes in the cold morning air, and closes her eyes.
There is no denying it.
She can still taste him on her lips—that soft hint of sunflower oil, so pure, so light, so unforgettable it could drive any mortal mad with longing.
And the scent…
Ah, the scent.
A delicate, almost sacred fragrance, blending lavender incense with something indefinable—something that could belong only to a being made of light.
Celeste presses her fingertips to her mouth, her face warming with color.
How could a dream leave marks so real?
And then the doubt settles into her heart:
If it was a dream… why do I miss him?
If it wasn't a dream… why would he choose me? Why me?
Celeste steps outside the cabin. The Highland wind wraps around her blond hair like icy fingers, yet the cold does not bother her. Nothing does—except his absence.
And it is precisely then, suspended between doubt and longing, that the calling intensifies.
It is a warm, profound sensation, beginning in her chest and spreading through her arms, her throat, her entire skin. It is not pain. It is not fear.
It is presence.
He is thinking of her.
Celeste lifts a hand to her mouth, startled, almost frightened.
It is not a voice.
It is not a sound.
It is understanding.
Her heart recognizes the energy touching her.
It is his light.
Lucifer's light.
I describe this moment carefully: it is as if two souls that should never have met were being drawn toward one another by an ancient force—destined, inevitable.
The thread of light between them, born in the dream, pulses.
Celeste feels her entire body tremble—not with fear, but with desire.
The desire to see him.
To hear him.
To taste once more the kiss that stole her breath and her awareness.
To surrender to the unknown, to what lies beyond logic, fear, and the world itself.
She tries to step back inside, but her body carries her once more to the doorway. The wind shifts, growing warmer. The sky seems brighter, as though a presence were drawing near.
"Lucifer…?"
The word leaves her lips softly, more a breath than a call.
In the Underworld, the banished angel opens his eyes.
He has felt her too.
Her call echoes through the shadows, reaches his light, and wraps around him completely.
A single thought from her is enough to make the light of an archangel waver.
Celeste breathes deeply, not fully understanding what is happening, yet profoundly aware that from this moment on, she is no longer alone within herself.
The bond has been forged.
The silent pact has been sealed.
She is, forever, the one who can see him as he truly is.
And as the Highland wind dances around her, Celeste whispers:
"If this is a dream… let it never end."
But she already knows.
It is not a dream.
It is not imagination.
It is destiny.
And Lucifer is on his way.