The Devil had very limited understanding of time, or at least in the way mortals measured its passage.
All he knew was he hadn't been to this particular piece of nether space for a rather long time. He could, of course, have just summoned the object he was looking for to him without leaving the office, but the simple act of walking down to the Vaults was a minor cathartic, easing a few of his burdens just enough for him to feel… Free.
But, as invariably happened when he allowed his mind to drift, it focused on Her. Eons pass, and yet the wounds across his back and his heart were still raw.
He reached into his suit pocket, retrieving a steel key, rusty and dented, but still serviceable. He turned to face the abyss and, with the steadfast assurance of one who has performed this act many times before, he stepped out into the void. He fell, feeling the lurch in his gut and the rush of repressed images as once again, he fell. But not very far. See, the thing about gravity on the shadow plane is, quite simply, it doesn't really exist. It's all a matter of preconceived notions of up and down.
Landing on the underside of the path, he smiled at the door. Of all the doors he could have picked…
A small, white painted, wooden door. Its frame painted the deep shade of plum She had always liked. He waited a long few seconds, a tiny eternity, before turning the key in the lock. The brass handle turned and the room beyond was bathed in the peculiar half-light of the void. He strode into the room, surveying it, judging it.
A battered armchair beckoned, its scuffed leather upholstery ready to welcome him back.
He walked past it, searching through the piles of detritus he had accumulated over the centuries. There it was, gathering dust in between two pillars of novels.
Dusting her of, Mephistopheles drew a freshly rosined bow across the strings. The violin sang, venting the fallen angel's frustration in a wave of melancholic music. He played on, the lyrics pouring from his lips as the violin's soft music picked up speed and volume.
"We're going down, down, down,
To Mephisto's Café.
Down, down, down,
To Mephisto's Café.
And the Gears will spin,
As the Sinners sin,
But at least we'll give 'em Hell.
And the Righteous Few,
They'll spit on you,
So bid 'em all Farewell…
We're going Down."
He smiled sadly at the picture on his wall. The Girl with hair as black as midnight sky. Her eyes, seeming to hold all the stars of the cosmos. He remembered the days they had spent drawing up elaborate blueprints for her grand creation. Those plans had all gone awry when she made several last minute additions. She had always been spontaneous like that. She had taken a perfectly good ape and decided it needed a rapid kick towards sentience. If She'd just taken time to rework the plan She would have seen that for such a move to be viable, trait would need so much longer. As it stood, She was left with a race of gibbering wrecks. He had tried to warn her. She wasn't ready to hear it.
She had always had that weakness. She loved to claim omniscience, but Her all-seeing eyes were blind to flaws in Her own creation.
"You know, Morningstar, I do regret what I did."
"Well, can't take it back now, can you?"
"No… You're right, I can't. But would you at least do me the courtesy of facing me?"
"Why? So you don't have to be reminded of what's missing from this picture?"
"Ouch. That Hurt's Meph…"
"Not nearly as much as that knife did."
"…Fair point."
"You're not even really Her. You're just a figment of my own broken mind. Leave me alone… Please."
"Fine… Even if you don't think I'm really here, just know I regret it all, ok? And… Maybe you were right…"
Mephistopheles slumped into the armchair. He needed a Holiday.
Time was an abstraction, and Devil had never quite got to grips with it, but he knew it had been a while since he had done this; Played his violin, Let out all his sorrow, just… been himself. Not the Devil, Not Lucifer. Just Mephistopheles. A Man with a Job to Do. And by that wretched woman's very being, he was going to do it right.
First order of Business; Renovate. Hell was falling behind. If Souls were where the market lay, then this place needed to get back into tip-top form.
Next, get some of the best back on duty. We're talking the Unforgivable Sinners here. Homicide, Arson, Violence without Cause, Tax Evasion, Theft, Suicide… The lot.
The Gears where really spinning now, faster and faster, ideas sparking of each other at speed. Oh yes… He was back, and this time? He wasn't going down without a fight.