[Perhaps that's the core of it. Despite all the good that shined effortlessly out of her, she did understand him in small ways, the ways that really mattered. Because she didn't believe him at first, and because she wasn't affected by him, Chloe was always able to see beyond what everyone else looked at.
She tried to find the truth of him, and being The Devil hasn't exactly turned out to be his truth, now has it?
He's not who he was before he Fell. He's not who he was when he ruled Hell. He's not even who he was when he first stepped onto the scene in the City of Angels.
Maybe he's not even the person he was when he arrived in Wonderland. He's better, and he did all of it without the influence of his Father and his other children.
He almost doesn't expect it, the way she gently leans into him, her lips soft as they gently mold against his. It takes a moment for his eyes to flutter shut, for him to relax into something he's done so many times, but never felt it like this. There's no fire there, just an all-encompassing warmth, a comfort he isn't sure he's ever known. Love instead of simple lust.
The inside of his palm rests against her throat as it drifts down from her hair. He can feel her pulse beneath his skin, the result of her quickly beating heart that cared enough to want to know him. The press of his own mouth against hers is gentle and slow, as if he wants to draw the moment out, as if he's afraid it won't last.
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She tried to find the truth of him, and being The Devil hasn't exactly turned out to be his truth, now has it?
He's not who he was before he Fell. He's not who he was when he ruled Hell. He's not even who he was when he first stepped onto the scene in the City of Angels.
Maybe he's not even the person he was when he arrived in Wonderland. He's better, and he did all of it without the influence of his Father and his other children.
He almost doesn't expect it, the way she gently leans into him, her lips soft as they gently mold against his. It takes a moment for his eyes to flutter shut, for him to relax into something he's done so many times, but never felt it like this. There's no fire there, just an all-encompassing warmth, a comfort he isn't sure he's ever known. Love instead of simple lust.
The inside of his palm rests against her throat as it drifts down from her hair. He can feel her pulse beneath his skin, the result of her quickly beating heart that cared enough to want to know him. The press of his own mouth against hers is gentle and slow, as if he wants to draw the moment out, as if he's afraid it won't last.
Nothing good ever seems to.]