That evening, Mammon came to take us to the opera house. He was dressed in a black, princely outfit, shoulders adorned with golden plates. For once, he didn’t look quite so roguish and actually somewhat resembled a younger version of Lucifer.
We took a carriage through the bustling streets. The snow was heavier than the day before, falling white and fine like sprinkled salt, blanketing the Pillar That Holds Up the Sky, the ancient clocktower, and the massive hexagrams. The streets were slightly damp, and now and then came the crunching sound of snow being crushed underfoot. Along the road stood silver columns topped with statues of hellhounds, each holding a golden filament in its jaws, the wires stretching between columns to suspend ornate golden flowers above. Each flower bore the name of a street.
The opera house itself gleamed silver and gold. Outside, rows of trees with glowing leaves lined the entrance, and floating candles drifted gently above their tops. Benches sat at the doors for passersby to rest.
Our carriage stopped directly at the entrance. Mammon stepped down first and stood before the gate with his hands behind his back. I descended after him with Hanniah and the other angels. Mammon bent his elbow toward me and placed his wrist over his chest. “Milady,” he said.
“Prince Mammon, how gallant.”
He blinked, then leaned in with a sly grin. “You can put on a show in front of others, but just wait till I break that act of yours.”
We seemed to be running a little late—few people were still entering. I shook my head and reached to rest my hand on Mammon’s arm. The contrast between my white glove and his black sleeve was striking. Mammon smirked, then glanced back and raised his chin at Hanniah. “Keep up, son.”
Hanniah frowned. “You’re being rude!”
Mammon ignored him completely, dragging me along.
Just as we reached the door, a female demon hurried over. Mammon instinctively stepped aside, extended a hand with a smile. The demoness was flustered and delighted, curtsied with her dress in hand, cheeks blooming with blush, and walked in.
I watched her go and commented, “You do have your strengths.”
“You say that like you’re trying really hard to find them.”
Hanniah muttered, “It’s his only strength.”
“Lord Hanniah,” Mammon said, “I’m only this charming with women. I could treat you the same, you know.”
“You—!”
Mammon hummed smugly, pulling out the invitation for the angels and flashing it at the guards.
As we walked in, I asked, “Why do you have my invitation?”
“Safekeeping. You’re my wife, after all.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“I said the moon’s lovely tonight.”
“There’s a moon tonight?”
“There isn’t.”
“…”
The opera house was divided into three main areas: the music hall, the theater hall, and the dining hall. Along the corridor to the music hall stood rows of statues of heroes. Each held a silver plate in its hands, with scattered magical pellets atop, crackling and flaring, little flames dancing in the dim light.
We entered the music hall and paused at the threshold. The entire hall was cloaked in darkness. Crimson velvet drapes were drawn up with satin cords, and from the high ceiling above the wide stage hung threads suspending dark red lamps. The orchestra stood at the edge of the stage, having just played the opening notes. The audience seats directly facing the stage were densely packed, while the left and right sides were reserved for honored guests. Closest to us were three tiers of private boxes on either side; closer still were two tiers, each level adorned with exquisitely carved decorative patterns. Nearest the stage were the noble seats—just two luxurious private boxes veiled by sheer curtains, each topped with a sculpted golden lion.
Mammon led me around to the back and up to the third tier. As we passed, he was practically drowned in the adoring gazes of noble ladies and young debutantes.
The attendants remained in the outer tier. The Seven Lords of Hell and their consorts were seated in the left-side noble box; other high-ranking guests sat to the right. Mammon took me to greet those on the left, and all eyes turned toward us.
Samael stood up suddenly and said, “Prince Mammon, Lord Michael, Lord Hanniah—what a rare sight to see you three arrive late.”
The guests seated below turned their eyes toward us as well.
Mammon replied, “It hasn’t even started yet. What’s there to worry about?”
Abaddon added, “No, there are two things wrong with your tardiness. First, it shows disrespect to Their Majesties Lucifer and Lilith. Second, it inconveniences the ladies present.”
Mammon gave a nonchalant “oh” and turned to glance at Hanniah.
Hanniah had never tolerated public shaming, and this time, visibly annoyed, he responded bluntly, “Then what does Your Excellency propose?”
Azazel said, “By rights, you should leave.”
“Then we’ll go,” Hanniah muttered awkwardly, tugging on my sleeve. I was just about to speak when Azazel interjected, “However, since you’ve already entered, leaving now would only cause more disturbance to the young ladies. Please remain standing until the performance concludes.”
Soft chuckles began to ripple through the crowd behind us.
Hanniah stood frozen, caught between shame and indecision.
Lucifer lounged against the sofa, holding a glass of wine, eyes on the stage. Lilith sat beside him, one hand resting casually on his thigh.
It clicked for me then—this entire scene had been orchestrated in advance.
I smiled. “Lord Azazel, I’ve heard tonight features the most legendary and celebrated ballet troupe.”
“Yes, you’ll be witnessing the finest ballet in all of the Demon Realm.”
“Ballet is a graceful art. I’m sure the aristocracy adores it.”
“Indeed.”
“The gentlemen of the Demon Realm are so refined, and the ladies are all enchanting. Their Majesties Lucifer and Lilith are shining examples. Truly admirable.”
“You’re absolutely right, Your Highness.”
Lucifer turned his head to glance at me.
“That being the case, nobles like Their Majesties Lucifer and Lilith certainly wouldn’t stoop to petty bullying of children from another realm. I understand the joke now. Hanniah’s just a child so he took it seriously because he didn’t get it. How rude of us.” I nudged Hanniah. “Son, quickly apologize.”
“Oh—was that it? S-Sorry,” Hanniah stammered, quick to reflect.
A hush fell over the room.
Even Lilith was looking at me now.
Lucifer exhaled softly, shook his head, and turned back to the stage.
Azazel hesitated. “Ah… yes.”
I gave Mammon a hard, very hard pinch at the waist. After hearing his sharp inhale, I was satisfied. Pulling Hanniah along, I said, “Their Majesties Lucifer and Lilith saved the best seat for you. Go thank them properly.” Then I sat him in what had been Mammon’s seat.
The oboe began its delicate, wistful melody. A company of demon ballerinas in white swan costumes took the stage.
I only vaguely remembered that famous ballet. Something about a prince falling in love with a princess cursed to become a white swan, then mistakenly falling for the black swan. There were two possible endings: one like a classic fairytale where the prince and princess lived happily ever after; the other, more tragic, where, after upsetting the white swan, the prince dives into a lake to find her, and the two die a beautiful, sorrowful death, then rise together as swans and fly off into the sky. I wasn’t sure which version the Demon Realm preferred.
The prologue began.
The scenery and lighting were conjured by magic, a vision of castles and lakes emerged onstage. Beside a quiet lake, Princess Odette picked flowers. Suddenly, cloaked in black, the dark lord Rothbart, played by a fallen angel, appeared, and with a wave of his sleeve, transformed the princess into a white swan. Odette staggered, her body no longer her own, and collapsed in sorrow. The lights dimmed, and the scene changed.
Act I, Scene I. Dancers filled the stage—a birthday banquet for Prince Siegfried in the royal garden. This troupe was clearly exceptional. The ballerinas, en pointe, held perfectly straight lines from arch to calf, creating a striking scene. Even the clatter of pointe shoes on the floor had been silenced with magic, enhancing the elegance.
I glanced at Lucifer. Chin in hand, he watched with interest. Lilith, clinging to his arm, murmured softly, “Just watching them makes my feet hurt.”
Lucifer stroked her cheek affectionately. “They’re used to it. Don’t worry.”
Lilith leaned close to his face. “Turn this way.”
Lucifer turned, and she quickly pecked him on the lips, then nestled into his side like a delicate dove.
Onstage, the prince and the court maids danced in merriment. The queen entered in resplendent attire, furious. She ordered Siegfried to marry soon, putting a stop to the revelry.
Then, a flock of swans flew overhead. The prince bid farewell to his friends and followed in the direction the swans had flown.
Scene II.
Night. Swans drifted silently across the lake, maidens trapped under the dark lord’s spell.
The prince arrived. The swans beat their wings over the water as the cello began its low melody. One swan stepped ashore and transformed into a maiden in white—Odette, whose beauty captivated the prince. As harp and strings intertwined, Odette slowly approached on pointe, sharing her tragic tale: only a vow of true love could break her curse.
Comic music followed for the Dance of the Little Swans. Though “little” in name, even the youngest demon girls were impossibly statuesque. The four ballerinas, perfectly matched in height and elevation, danced in dazzling synchronization. Amidst this charm, the prince, deeply moved, held Odette’s hand for the most famous pas de deux in Swan Lake, vowing his eternal love.
The fluidity of their movements and the tender, lilting music entranced the entire audience. Couples leaned into each other. Only Lilith broke the spell with a sudden comment:
“They’re dancing so hard—won’t the stage break?”
Everyone froze. Lucifer merely smiled and shook his head.
…Actually, I had the same thought. I just didn’t say it out loud.
The dark lord appeared again, separating the lovers. Odette covered her face in sorrow and exited.
Then Act II.
At a castle ball where Siegfried was to choose a bride, he wandered among beauties, but his heart wasn’t in it. Suddenly, Rothbart arrived with his daughter, Odile.
Lilith turned to Samael and teased, “Your wife is onstage.”
Samael beamed. “She finally decided to come home.”
Sariel clapped him on the back. “Poor you. Your daughter ran off for a boy, and your wife ran off for fun.”
Samael glared daggers at him. Then he glared at Mammon too. Mammon, unfazed, grinned and went back to watching the performance.
It turned out Odile, the black swan, was played by Samael’s wife. From this distance her face wasn’t clear, but she was tall. Dressed in a pure black tutu, spine straight as a blade, she outshone even Odette.
Lilith whispered, “This Odile is gorgeous.”
Azazel muttered coolly, “Let’s hope that wicked woman pulls off her thirty-two fouettés.”
Samael: “Jealous much?”
Lilith tugged on Lucifer’s collar. “What’s thirty-two fouettés?”
“Single-leg spins—thirty-two in a row. It’s the most difficult move in ballet.”
“So… the black swan is harder to dance than the white?”
“Yes. The black swan must be performed by the most technically skilled dancer. But none of you noticed the problem with the two swans?”
Lilith looked at the stage, puzzled. Everyone else seemed confused too.
Lucifer just smiled. “You’ll see after it’s over.”
The thirty-two fouettés would determine success or failure. Triumph meant flowers and acclaim; failure meant scorn.
The black swan stood center stage. Slowly, she lifted one leg, arms extended, fingers forming a delicate curve. Admiring glances filled the room. With a sultry gaze, Odile looked at the prince, who stepped forward, entranced.
The black pointe shoes starkly contrasted her pale skin. She kicked off, and at the moment her shoe touched the floor, she began to spin, blindingly fast. She danced like a phoenix cloaked in black flames, ribbons whipping like shadows, her movements wild and fiery, bursting with an evil purple glow.
Beauty was just the surface. This was soul-collision through dance.
The black swan was wingless, but when she spread her arms, it felt as though dark wings enveloped the entire hall.
The thirty-second spin stopped. The applause, though delayed, came in thunderous waves. She had smiled with confidence at the start and finished calm and intoxicated—not by applause, but by the performance itself.
Odile, proud and cold, smiled faintly as darkness swallowed everything.
From the shadows came a hoarse female voice:
“I am the daughter of the dark lord,
the black soul of the world.
I am fear incarnate,
unknowable, ominous,
the Witch of the Night!
I am the mouth that snuffs out light,
the mist to your star.
You are but a spark—
I am the endless dark.
Tremble. Submit.”
A subversive rendition of Swan Lake.
Prince Siegfried staggered back, stunned. Then, he bowed deeply and swore eternal loyalty to her.
He had betrayed his vow to Odette.
A flash of white at the window. Realizing he’d been deceived, the prince rushed from the castle.
Act II ended amid the audience’s astonishment at the black swan’s breathtaking performance.
Act III began.
He followed the swans to the lake. Darkness had crept in, devouring the world. Desperate, he begged Odette’s companions for her whereabouts.
Odette appeared from behind a great tree, soft and graceful as before.
She gazed at him directly, raised her arm, and danced.
That was when I finally realized what Lucifer had meant—these two dancers were the same person.
Through fluid steps, she asked of his heart. He responded with conviction: he had only ever loved her.
She asked if he had loved Odile.
He denied it, said he had mistaken Odile for her.
Odette approached, feather by feather shedding from her body. Her hair darkened. Her dress blackened.
The black swan smiled, spread her wings, and soared from the lake.
The prince, shocked, tried to follow, but a monstrous bird descended, blocking his path—Rothbart incarnate.
With a vicious swoop, the dark lord drove Siegfried into the lake.
High above stage right, the black swan cast off her white veil. It floated gently down, covering the ripples left by Siegfried’s fall. The dark lord looked up at his daughter.
Odile smiled. Wicked, seductive, triumphant.
Curtain.
Hanniah clutched the edge of my coat.
For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then applause exploded like thunder. Lucifer leaned elegantly against the sofa, clapping. I clapped too, though I couldn’t help but glance at him.
He turned suddenly and smiled at me—calm, unreadable.
I looked away at once and laughed. “Lord Samael’s wife is extraordinary. She captured both the seduction of the black swan and the purity of the white. Only a top-tier dancer could do that.”
Samael beamed. “Most didn’t even notice. She’s that good. Though His Majesty Lucifer is even more impressive.”
Azazel scoffed, “So His Majesty Lucifer is great, your wife is great, and that makes you great?”
Samael laughed. “Azazel, did you eat dragon eggs today? You’re spitting fire at everyone.”
Truthfully, I had guessed in Act III, when Odette walked out from behind the tree. Their faces were made up so differently, but that aura couldn’t be concealed. You’d never forget it once you saw it, especially her walk. Few women moved with such commanding force.
Not a word often used to describe a woman, but… she inspired fear.
The crowd began to disperse. Lilith linked arms with Lucifer, and the two walked past me. Lucifer turned back with a light smile.
“Did you enjoy the performance, Lord Michael?”
“It was inventive. Watching the beginning, I never expected the noble white swan to be Odile all along.”
“Yes. Odette and Odile—two names, one woman. But for Siegfried, they couldn’t be more different.”
“Maybe he thought the black swan too evil.”
“She was. And yet… she pleased him, didn’t she?”
I looked from him to Lilith, my throat dry. “Maybe if Siegfried had been sincere from the start, things would’ve ended differently.”
“There was no sincerity between them. If the sun and moon could exist side by side, day and night, light and shadow, then perhaps they could have stayed together.” Lucifer smiled faintly. “But will such a day ever come?”
Lilith looped her arm through his. Clearly, she hadn’t caught the double meaning. She smiled warmly at me, and in that moment, I couldn’t meet her gaze. My hands were awkwardly frozen at my sides.
Lucifer seemed to notice. He opened a hand. “Come with us, Lord Michael.”
“Please, you go ahead.”
He studied my lips for a moment, brow lifting, then walked off with Lilith.
Mammon caught up and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re still so formal. No need to be so stiff around them, really, my parents aren’t that hard to get along with.”
For some reason, I couldn’t even look Mammon in the eye. “You go. I’ll stay with Hanniah.”
Lucifer looked so composed now, a graceful king tinged with shadow. But the night before… the things he said, the things he did… the way he did them, were far more extreme than anything he ever dared in Heaven. He was even more skillful now, I’d spent the whole day in a daze, plagued by memories I didn’t want, but every time I recalled that paralyzing, mind numbing sensation that overtook my entire body and brain, I couldn’t help but feel afraid of facing Lilith and Mammon.
Especially that moment at midnight, when I told him this wasn’t right. We shouldn’t do this.
He had leaned in, breath warm against my ear, and whispered:
“Lord Michael… I know you love Hell’s milk with both your mouths. Just drink to your heart’s content. Don’t overthink it.”
That memory made my hands turn ice-cold.
He really had changed too much.
Ever since I arrived in the Demon Realm, a part of me had secretly hoped to reunite with the Archangel I once followed. I believed appearances couldn’t change someone’s essence. Even if he had fallen, he’d been born in Sancta Faylia, shaped and refined by thousands of Berduths of divine history. I thought his soul would still be pure.
But watching him now, surrounded by satans and archdevils, smiling in a whirlwind of chaos and revelry…
I realized, far too late.
That the gentle Archangel I once knew had died long ago.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
