Work Text:
The sun was already setting by the time Mephistopheles returned to the cottage. By Lucifer, would the demands of that man never cease? Countless tomes of dark knowledge the demon had brought forth, and the doctor seemed to get through them as though they were mere pamphlets. The piled volumes practically formed the foundations of his house. And yet, it was never enough.
Still, perhaps it was best to keep Faust’s head buried in books. It would distract him from the world outside. Prevent him from looking out through the window into the town square, where the market traders sold, the housewives bought, and the children played. Among them one golden-haired child, in particular, that Mephisto was eager to keep his secret. His cherub of Hell.
Mephisto conjured up a cauldron of soup on the burning hearth, willed away the dust and dirt across the floorboards, and settled into his armchair, done for the day. His daughter, with his permission, was out in the meadow - no doubt admiring the blooming spring flowers and playfully making daisy chains. Occasionally, between his many errands, Mephisto had paused to cast images of demonic symbols into the girl’s mind, hoping she might dangle the threaded white blooms along the grass into the correct shapes for summonings. What is more, he wanted her to become familiar with the plants, in the belief that a love of flowers might one day lead to a knowledge of herbs. It would hold her in good stead when the time came for her to learn the witch's craft.
Mephisto knew that day would come sooner than he was expecting. The girl was already seven years old.
The sound of sobbing stirred Mephisto from a half-doze. Instinctively, he knelt down, arms outstretched, as the cottage door opened: his precious little human weeping bitterly as she rushed towards him.
“Lilith? Lilith, my lily, my little love... what has happened?”
As he embraced the crying child, running the fingers of his assumed human body through her hair to sooth her, it took a lot of effort to suppress his temper and keep his claws retracted.
He had made a great effort to style some of Lilith’s flowing locks into two tall cones (a fashion akin to horns, in his own private, proud joke) - decorating them with ribbons and the precious flowers that the little lady loved so much in order to please her. Now, the ornate design had collapsed into frizzy clumps - sticks and pebbles stuck inside them as though the child had been dragged backwards through a bush, the beautiful blooms ripped away.
“Boys,” Lilith sobbed. “Boys... in the meadow.”
“Boys? What did they do to you?”
“They... threw stones at me. Then, they pushed me over. They... they said I was a changeling brat, which is why I have no Mama.”
As she wailed loudly, feeling utterly wretched, Mephisto shushed her hurriedly - cupping her chin and lifting her face to met his gaze.
“That is not true,” he insisted. “Your mother is in H -”
He choked, unable to continue. The name of that sacred place burned on his forked tongue.
“Your mother was a good woman - even if she made some mistakes.”
Mistakes my actions led her to make, he considered - but he refused to dwell on the notion for long. After all, he had done his duty to Lucifer. And if he had not, he wouldn’t now have this most precious of jewels.
“And be assured, she was human,” he went on - plucking the foul adornments out of Lilith’s sun-coloured hair. “You are no changeling. You are so much more. You will become so much more.”
Smiling, he gently wiped away her tears.
“Your destiny is a great one, my little Lilith. I promise you.”
He led Lilith to the dining table: lifting her into her seat, before ladling some of the delicious-smelling soup into a bowl and deftly sliding it along the oak surface to stop before her, much to her amusement. He, meanwhile, sat across from the girl, pondering carefully. He had neglected to serve himself, but this didn’t concern Lilith too much. She was used to not seeing Papa eat.
“Which boys called you names?” Mephisto asked Lilith coolly.
“The Krauss brothers.”
“The fishmonger's sons?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Mephisto rose, drawing his crimson cape closer around his body... pulling his hat down lower over his eyes.
“Wait here, my dearest,” he instructed, heading towards the door. “Eat your dinner. I shall be back before nightfall.”
The next day, Mephisto wandered through the marketplace en route to his master's house. Frantic whispers and whimpers were moving through the streets with the morning breeze. It was the same story everywhere: how the three Krauss boys had been fishing for tadpoles in the pond when they were approached by a huge black dog. Then, before their eyes, it had shifted into other forms – a gigantic bat, a sharp-fanged, high-horned, vast-winged beast – as their minds were flooded with visions of torments and hellfire.
The poor youths had scarcely slept a wink all night... frequently waking up screaming in a cold sweat, asking for sweet buns and flowers to give to some girl or other, expressing a need to make “everything right again”. The doctor had been duly called, and he put it down to a raging fever they were all suffering from. A chill from paddling in the water, no doubt.
Satisfied, Mephisto went on his way. He thought of the lullaby he had sung to Lilith as a baby - the warning against wolves snatching her away. But those canine beasts were not what she had to fear most in this world. Men, Mephisto knew, could be wolves as well. They attacked those they considered weak. Those they considered different. And once they were grown, they made women their prey in other ways, too - just as Faust had done with Gretchen.
Well... it wouldn’t happen to her. Not his daughter. If men acted like wolves around her, then he would assume a wolf’s form - and other ones besides - to protect her.
Lilith, he knew, would be safe and sound for now. She was happily sat sewing in their little cottage: her horns of hair styled up higher than ever, decorated with strands of golden silk and the sweetest smelling roses ever to exist.