Chapter Text
It was a dim night on the streets of Hell. The, Older, so to speak branch of the pride ring, the residents of which had somehow survived both centuries in Hell and the past almost decade of annual extermination, it was quiet, as per usual, the population of that neck of the woods had been ever dwindling as time went on, Hell favouring the significantly larger population of 'new-age' sinners that plagued the streets of the pride ring.
But despite such changes two overlords had endured the passing of time and changing of the land.
Maestro was sitting at his desk, a sheet of paper sitting before him, the thin lines etched with delicate music notes. God he was really losing his touch. He grumbled softly. The tip of his quill straining as he dragged it along the side of the paper, leaving a jagged line of ink staining the sheet. As hard as maestro tried he just couldn't compose. Not until he got a reply.
It was a bold move, sending that letter and he regretted it almost instantly but now all he could do was sit and occupy himself until he hopefully got a reply, otherwise the next overlord meetings would become more awkward than they already were.
He hoped. Really hoped, that he'd get some sort of reply even if it was just a simple 'fuck off'. No. He would never be that upfront, or modern. Would he? What if he was about to be ghosted by a demon. Could demons ghost people if they're demons not ghosts?
Oh god. Hed spiral into using pyrokinesis to ignite the letter and burn it to a crisp, let his confessions and love burn into nothing, just as he wished that letter would.
No. Maestro, its just a letter, he'll read it. He might even say yes, you never know. He internally scolded himself. Frustratedly pinching out the light of the candle beside him and closing his eyes. Maestro leaned back, in all his years spent in hell he'd never felt like this. He ignited the candle again with a flick of his burning hands, leaning forwards and clutching his antlers with a sigh
'Oh zestial'
It felt good to speak his name. Like if he said it enough times he'd have a chance. A chance to be with him.
With a defeated sigh. Maestro grabbed the chamberstick burning steadily on his desk, rising to his feet and pushing the blank sheets of music waiting to be written on to the side. They'd have to wait longer.
But as he neared the door, longing and love settling heavily atop his chest. He heard a soft knock from the window, he turned, foolish hope flaring up. All he could see in the dark night was a letter tucked in the window.
Maestro rushed foward, opening the window to see nothing for a moment. The he noticed it, the tip of a slender feather, alternating between red and green disappeared behind a corner.
His heart. Was it really? Did that just happen? His mind raced with thoughts as he picked up the letter, on the front was a wax seal a shade of deep obsidian and marbled with sharp chartreuse. The pattern of a spindly spider lay stamped into the wax.
Oh .
My.
Satan.
He's replied.