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You never would have expected Hell to be…beautiful.
But walking beside Primo, his large hand wrapped warmly around yours- it all makes sense now.
The world beneath the world is not that of torment and anguish- but of light. Song. Memory.
The air hums quietly with ancient chanting, softer than the sea. Crimson and gold blossoms bloom up and out cracks in the marble floor, each petal shimmering with a breathtaking soft infernal flame.
“It is not fire.” Primo assures you with a knowing smile, as he admires the awe written all over your face. “It is life. Life that never needed the sun to grow.”
The older Papa moves with reverence, his robes whispering with soft swishing sounds, as he leads you down a hallway lined with floor to ceiling never ending mirrors.
Mirrors that did not show reflections, but instead told stories- souls being born, stars igniting, the first chords of a song that you could only imagine sound like the heartbeat of the universe.
You look at Primo- noticing that he looks to be fully at peace. At home.
When the great doors at the end of the hall open, a glow like moonlight on wine spills out toward you. You cannot help squeezing Primo’s hand a bit tighter in nervousness. You are not quite sure what you are going to find, but certainly it is not all of this- or him.
A figure rises from a throne of black glass- Lucifer Morningstar, the light bringer himself. Radiant in a way that both hurts and heals deeply. His smile is sharp but not cruel. Breathtaking.
“Ah,” he says, voice resounding like the most beautiful of symphonies. “You have brought a guest, my old friend.”
Primo bows low both in respect and reverence. You follow his lead. “Sì Padre Lucifero. I thought…perhaps it was time.”
Lucifer’s gaze turns to you, curious and kind. “You were right to bring them here…to me. The living forget- Hell is not just some vast sea of torture and pain, it is but of preservation. All things precious come here…in due time.”
You can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Not searing or burning, but instead comforting and intoxicating. Like a hearth on a brisk night. The halls around you begin to shimmer as soft music starts- violins, flutes, the echoes of tones of voices older than stars.
Lucifer gestures with a graceful hand, a luxurious table appearing out of thin air. Piles high with goblets of molten amber, fruits that pulse faintly with light, and breads that smell of spices and smoke.
Primo squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You see? Even below, there is hospitality.”
And so you feast. You laugh. You drink. You listen as Lucifer tells tales of angels who built the first songs while Primo hums and nods in agreement, eyes soft and proud as he watches you soak up the knowledge he has shared and tried to preserve with the ministry for years.
Eventually, when it is time to leave, Lucifer blesses you- a touch to your forehead, light and cool, leaving a faint shimmer on your skin.
“Do not fear the dark, little one.” He says. “It remembers who you are. Even when you forget yourself.”
As you rise back toward the mortal world-fingers intertwined with those of Primo- the air smells faintly of jasmine and smoke. Glancing at you, he smiles gently.
“Now you have seen it,” he murmurs softly “The heart of all things…even the light owes something to the dark, dolcezza.”
And you nod- feeling it deep within the beating of your heart. The strange serenity that comes with knowing that even Hell, when guided by Primo’s hand- can feel like coming home.