Disclaimer: Not mine.
Okay, I don't think I stressed this enough so: SPOILER! BIG, EVIL, SPOILER!
Sevothtarte entered his chambers and headed straight for the washroom. There were times such as these, when he comes close to losing sight of his goals. Power, a sin itself, blinds him. Fortunately, a method of reminding him was close at hand. Well, perhaps fortunate was the wrong word. Convenient would have been more appropriate. Either way, he had a means close at hand.
The large mirror over the sink is where he stops, and stares at his reflection. This face is one feared all over Heaven. Sevothtarte does not mind. He does not want to be loved, and if Heaven would not respect him, well then, let it fear him. After all, only he and the reflection staring back at him know that his true face is not one which would inspire either of those emotions.
The gloves are first to be removed, and placed carefully to the side. The tiara is next, and the cross-shaped scar is visible for a moment before being obscured by the hair that falls over it. The mask meets the same fate, save that the hands that remove it are trembling slightly. Without the friendly piece of cloth, there is nothing to hide what was beneath it.
Laila raised a hand to her face, pausing briefly at the voice-changing device at her throat before touching the ugly she-demon burned onto her cheek. 'Lilith.' She smiles. It reaches her eyes in a way that an observer would have wished it hadn't. Her fingernails dig into the brand, wanting to tear the stained flesh off as if it will remove the stains she believes are on her soul.
The pain has the opposite effect, however; it only serves to remind her of what she suffered at the hands of those men. Bitter memories, as fresh as if they had happened only a few moments ago, flood her mind. For a few hated seconds, Laila is truly weak. It had been many, many millennia since she fell, but the scars left from her rape remain, poorly hidden behind a mask. The moment passes, as it always does, and she recovers.
When a hand is lifted again to the brand, it is steady and carefully touches the lines gouged across it. The faintest trace of red colour stains Laila's fingertips, and is quickly washed off under the hottest water the tap will produce. The ice-tinted gaze drops back down to the voice-changing device, and a burst of nostalgia causes Laila to deactivate it and quietly sing a few notes.
After a moment, the apparatus is turned back on, and the disguise quickly replaced, an air of relief accompanying the movements. Surveying the masked face looking back at him, Sevothtarte smiles. That the movement is obscured beneath the heavy cloth brings another flash of approval, and the white angel sweeps out of the room.