LILITH & LUCIFER
They call him the rebeller, even though it was her that first spat in the face of Adam and fell from the Garden of Eden. Or was it?
Or did they scream in unison, anguished at the dictatorship of the divine narrative, words like barbed wires wrought to scour wounds that flamed against their once-pristine skin.
It was her cry against her father that damned her with wings that freed her from the prison of Eden, a siren song that dragged Lucifer from the Heavens where she pressed him against her cruel lips and from their unholy union sent forth Azazel, glorious serpent of her revenge that lured sweet rib-bound Eve into the temptation that she had long grasped with open eyes and soiled soul.
She dusts herself with the sparks of the Morningstar and sets the constellations alight with Nephilim that whirl across it, cackling, waltzing like the decadent damned, curling their fingers cracked with sin to mankind. Her sooty hair trails across the universe, singularities stretched thin and tripping the angels that fly to her at the bidding of abandoned Adam.
She stretches across a bed of skulls washed in from the great floods as Lucifer spins around her an adoration - an underworld aching with the worship previously denied to her, warps scripture so it shies away from speaking of her but to merely ensure her name, alone, and nothing else, is known. He unbinds towers from the Kingdom of Heaven, gathers armies of demons and humanity alike in her name - one day they will march, at the end of creation, their next and final rebellion, marching a warpath to heavens build on the back of a fallible god. Then, again, they will reign in an endless empire of anarchy - each soul a sovereign of its own.