Lucifer found it like peeling a citrus — flaying. ‘I thought I might see, beneath all the skin, the hundred trinkets the Lord puts inside us — all the flowers, the golden organs, the hidden wings, the folds of the universe — but there’s only red muscle, pouring. Flesh, meat, plump and wet rivulets; with no eyelids, you can’t blink, Phanuel. Your face, I’m holding it in one hand, thinking about placing it over my own, so I might pretend to be you, just to know what it’s like to not be Lucifer.
