Lucifer finally saw him well. He was indeed brunette, but a shade removed from black and tousled in curls that fell past the nape of his neck. His skin was brown as bronze, kissed by a handful of darker specs — like he were a mountain itself with touches of a wildfire’s ravage. The hooded eyes — those were hazel, but only between the soil browns and leafy greens. And no, there aren’t words for the full of his lips, or even the hill on his nose bridge; there are words, but they begin to fail, they become repetitious. He was tall, mountainous again, and broad everywhere; this mountain of an
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