He cried, “Holy, holy, holy Father. Great and boundless. Creator of all things.” He clutched at his robes, heard the crinkle of the psalm he’d written. “I am your servant. Please have mercy on me.” “You have my mercy.” But the Father didn’t tell him to stand. “And you have my love, Lucifer.” It took everything Lucifer had not to burst into tears of affection, even if his knees pressed onto prickling rocks. He thought, ‘It is good to bleed, right?’ “All that I say comes from a place of love.” ‘Is love meant to pierce?’
