Work Text:
About one month ago Lute was given a shiny, brand new arm to replace the one she'd lost. Though Emily was able to gift the arm, she wasn't capable to replace what else Lute had lost.
Adam.
She remembers for a moment, something he'd said to her soon before their inevitable descent to Hell.
“You’re one tough bitch, Lute. Never change.”
She had changed, hadn’t she?
Everything she has ever known seemed to be some sort of ruse; a secret to all and a peace to none.
Lute had slowly curled in on herself, gripping Adam’s halo like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Her breathing was inconsistent, similar to what had happened in the alleyway previously.
She was breaking, slowly but surely. Unsure of what to do or who to go to in times like these. She was getting worse with each agonizing second without him. Without him telling her what she needed to do, or who she needed to be.
Weak, pathetic, anything she could think of would be categorized as shameful. The only thing she could see clearly now was his apparition. Every bump in the night, every movement, every knock on her door; she thought was him. Why couldn’t it be him? Why did he have to die, why did it have to be in her arms?
Her new golden fingers dug into her remaining arm, leaving gold liquid to rise over broken skin. Angelic steel…
She didn't deserve this stupid arm. Hell, she didn't deserve to still be breathing altogether. Of course the gift she was graciously given after the battle was what she was now managing to harm herself with. That was her thing… to bite the hand that feeds. She didn’t know how to be, she just knew how to serve. If it wasn’t to serve Adam then what was she good for? That’s what she was made for. Adam had her attached to his strings, much like his guitar. Only playing them for anger, for pain, for destruction.
Lute hadn’t thought about God for a good while. She supposed it’s blasphemous enough to consider the fact that if it weren’t for the constant reminder that she was, in fact, in Heaven, she would’ve been worshipping Adam like her God from the start. That’s what this is, isn’t it? She had been worshipping him. The thought of the God being her leader, her captain, her sole purpose… It made her laugh.
“What are the odds of that?” She managed to let out in a broken chuckle.
If she was damned to Hell for it, then so be it. Fallen, broken; Adam would find her.
Wouldn’t he?