Chapter Text
Things were becoming unmanageable.
It was not supposed to be this way. She had learned long, long ago that things rarely happened as they should — but this… the events of the last year… even she could not have anticipated it all.
After millennia spent at Lucifer’s side — love aged to collaboration, soured to control and devolved into abuse — Lilith had finally done what she had fantasized about doing for centuries: taken what was hers.
At last, on the throne of Hell she sat. Again.
Of course, it was not so simple. Drinking Lucifer’s blood and banishing him to wander the mortal realm, powerless, had been simultaneously immensely satisfying and terribly, emotionally devastating. The clarity that moment had produced was… almost unbearable. Millennia spent believing Lucifer would make good on his promise to crown her queen, millennia spent serving him, suffering at his hand. She had loved him, once. Had spent nearly her entire life beyond the garden with… him. Had been manipulated by him, exploited, violated. Had groveled, and cowered.
She saw it all, in that moment.
And then it was… over.
But the battle was not finished — not nearly. Hell was not an easy realm to rule, Sabrina Morningstar’s brief, absurd regency aside; the young, naive witch had only escaped the wrath of the Kings and the Court thanks to the protection of her dear father.
Lilith had faced many challenges in the days and weeks following Lucifer’s banishment — vengeful Kings, heretofore unknown ‘heirs’ to the throne, rebellious members of the Court… the list dragged on. Yet despite it all she had managed to fend them off, to stack her own Council and circle with ancient witches admired and trusted.
And eventually, one day weeks after that fateful moment on the floor before the throne, she had found the time to breathe, to pause and consider something other than her own immediate survival. Her son. The child borne from a cursed womb, the child she had conceived in a final act of desperation, to spare herself from Lucifer’s wrath. The child she had butchered — the worst, most horrific thing she had ever had to do, without contest.
Just the thought of Adam had nearly brought Lilith to her knees since his death, over and over and over again — every minute of every day, grief threatened to consume her. Perhaps it was good, then, that the distractions were plentiful. Perhaps it was good that she had time to think, in the back of her mind, how she might bring him back.
Baron Samedi — who had revealed himself to Lilith in one of her most vulnerable moments, grieving and desperate and stripped of her power — had given her an invaluable gift: Adam’s spirit. To complete the resurrection, she simply needed a vessel, strong enough to bear the soul of Lucifer’s spawn, her spawn, a child most certainly possessed of immense power.
It took her much longer than she hoped to locate.
For weeks Lilith stole away from her duties in small increments, scouring witch’s alcoves across the globe for a suitable vessel. She would not kill a child. Perhaps she would have considered the option prior to her own conception and delivery — no, she certainly would have considered it, and likely done it. But not now. Not after Adam.
And then one day, in the middle of the night and close to collapsing from sheer exhaustion, she found what she was looking for.
A family of witches had perished in a fatal vehicular accident on the Moldovan-Romanian border — two young parents, one warlock and one witch… and a baby. A baby girl. The parents had died on impact, the baby… succumbing to smoke inhalation. No living relatives, the family either cursed or victims of extremely bad luck. Perhaps both, given the obvious power the parents held, evident even postmortem.
A girl. A tiny girl.
…Women should be in charge of everything.
Adeline.
She told no one, ensuring she was completely alone in her quarters before even looking at the baby’s face, the most ephemeral of glances. She could not bear anything longer, beginning the ritual without hesitation — a taxing yet brief burst of magic. And then suddenly… her child was… alive.
And for only the third time in her life, Lilith fainted.
She finally had everything. Her power, her throne, and her child. The love she felt for the little beastie was… frightening. It was… divine.
And then the threats began.
The child’s power was obvious, magic evident despite how small she was. A child of Lucifer, an heir to the throne Lilith now occupied. A child everyone wanted contact with, control over.
A child Lilith was incapable of defending while ruling Hell — and one she was utterly unprepared to raise on her own.
For all of Lilith’s power, she did not know how to raise a child of the non-demonic variety, a fact she had done her best to ignore during her time at the Academy. There, the doting assistance of countless young witches, most uninvited to her quarters yet arriving to ‘help’ with Adam nonetheless, had ensured he slept and ate and was properly attended to. That much she knew, despite her pride and ego — she could not have done it alone. But in Hell, despite the support of her advisors and many offers to assist with Adeline’s care, Lilith found herself falling back on old habits — trusting no one, and suspecting everyone of seeking to harm her and her child. Her daughter.
There were alternatives, options. Many considered… but only one clear path.
And so it was that one ordinary yet chilly afternoon in March, she landed on the porch of the Spellman Sisters’ Mortuary, sagacious and determined, Adeline bundled in her arms.
And without hesitation, she rang the bell.