I come from a place whither I desire to return. – Inferno, Canto II, Beatrice

The final circle faded away around her as she stood in front of large, black doors, topped by a grinning skull that burned its gaze into her skin. Two large pillars of flame, unsupported by anything and burning without any sort of source, flanked the door, and she was afraid that stepping forward might cause them to leap at her and hurt her. But, when she carefully inched her hand closer to the beautiful black marble, the flame stayed where they were.

In one quick movement, Santana pushed the door open and stepped inside the white tiled hall that led, an eternity away, to the throne of The Devil Himself.

She didn't remember the walk to the throne. She remembered stepping into the hall and taking the first few steps along the floor, but after that, a darkness engulfed her that left her standing trembling at the foot of the stairs that led to the throne, her eyes trained at the bottom-most step.

"Yes?" a bored voice sang out from slightly above her, and she tore her eyes up to look at him.

In his danger, Santana thought that this man still looked beautiful. He lay draped over the throne much like any lazy teenager would sit – legs thrown over one arm rest, head lolling on the other, one arm dangling to brush his long, delicate fingers against the floor, the other hidden from her sight.

"A-are you-"

"Oh, no, a stutterer," he drawled, rolling his eyes and staring up at the ceiling once the motion was finished – training his black, soulless eyes on to the vast, endless roof above them. "I am going to be here forever. Ugh, well, that's what you get for being immortal, I guess."

It took her a second to take him all in. He had hair as dark as his eyes, with flecks of grey in it the colour of ash. He had a little bit of stubble, and his skin was pale, but she thought she could detect the faint tinge of olive in it. Clearly, living in the Underworld meant he could never work on his tan at all…

He swung his legs off the arm rest and smacked them onto the floor, levering himself in a sitting position. "Well, spit it out, then. Who are you, why are you here, yada yada yada."

"I'm…" Where does she start? Her eyes continued to linger over his body, trying to figure out what was so strange about him. Tucked behind the black buttoned shirt he was wearing, she was sure there was solid skin. His legs, covered in a simple pair of jeans, looked like they were made of flesh and bone. His bare feet certainly proved that, anyways.

And then it hit her.

"You're so ordinary."

He sighed, as if he had heard that a thousand times before, and rolled his eyes upwards, giving one short, curt nod.

"Yes, I look human, if that's what you mean."

"But, how? Aren't you like, the Lord of Darkness?"

"Yes, and Darkness has many shapes and forms, young one."

"But I was expecting something scarier…" she whispered, and he laughed, standing up. He towered above her, a solid six feet and then some, crossed his arms and smiled.

"Child, I am scary enough on my own. I have seen cities crumble, empires fall, bad things happen to good people. Trust me, you don't need an intimidating appearance when you can do so much with a snap of a finger."

And as he said it, he raised his hands and gave a single snap with each hand, and a misty figure appeared before him, standing at his feet, almost made of smoke, but recognizable.

"Brittany?!"

"Got it right on the first try, nice!" he grinned to himself before snapping his fingers again and making Brittany disappear.

She raised her gaze at him, glaring. "Give her back to me."

"Or what?"

She frowned. There was really nothing she could do against him.

"Please, I came all this way."

"How long?"

"I don't know how long it's been since I entered the Door to Hell!"

"No!" he yelled, and she stopped, realizing she had been yelling at him, and realizing two seconds after that that was probably a big mistake to make.

"I mean, how long has she been dead?"

"Don't you know?"

"There are many dead souls in my wake, young one. I don't have time to keep tabs on all of them."

She frowned, looking down at the floor again, and shrugging. "Nine years."

"Nine years? Quite a while. Took you long enough to get the courage to actually come down here."

"I spent a lot of my time researching."

"Yes, I'm sure you dedicated your whole life to the cause," he scoffed, turning around and walking towards the throne again, sitting back down. He snapped his fingers and a bowl of fruit materialized in the air beside him; he grabbed a pomegranate, started peeling it before her eyes and slowly eating its fruit.

"Nine years is a long time…"

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Please, let me finish," he said quietly, but she knew it was a lethal quiet, and she stopped herself again, watching as she slowly picked out the fruit one by one and popped them into his mouth, smiling softly to himself.

"Nine years is enough of a time to forget someone's face, someone's voice, someone's…everything. Or anything."

She gulped, stepping forward.

"I haven't forgotten her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you still remember the little things? The smell of her hair after she comes home from being out, the way her skin glistens with sweat, the way she tastes when you kiss her, the way she would wrap her arms around you, the little things she did when she was happy or sad, what she sounded like, what she looked like, what she felt like?"

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"Hug me, I'm cold."

"Sure, babe."

-0-

"Santana, babe, are you OK?"

"I…uh…yeah…"

"Were you crying?!"

"It's nothing, Britt."

"No, come on, lemme kiss you."

-0-

"I love you."

"Your skin's really soft…"

"So you've told me, about like, five times in the past minute."

"I love you too."

-0-

I remember.

"What's that?" he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her, watching her eyes open and realization dawn on her.

"I remember. I remember everything. I remember the first time I ever told her I love her, I remember how much I cried at her funeral, I remember getting to the hospital five minutes too late because of traffic, I remember everything about her, and I'll never forget."

"You sound so sure."

"I've only ever loved one person in my life, Lucifer, and that was her."

He stared at her, his eyes burning holes into her skin and her eyes and her clothes and scrutinizing her very being, thought, soul, before he nodded once and threw the pomegranate skin to the floor at her feet, smiling at her.

"You may take her."

"For…for real?!"

"Yes, 'for real'." He brought his hands together, closing his eyes and humming softly. A glowing ball of light entered the room and settled down at the bottom of the stairs, swirling rapidly before exploding into a human figure, a female figure…

"Britt!"

"Santana?! What are you…why are you here?!" she yelled, running at her and grabbing her into her arms. Santana, gasping for air with the tears streaming down her cheeks – tears she didn't know she still had in her – held her tightly, looking at Lucifer as he nodded again. Suddenly, a searing pain started up in her left bicep, and she gave a small scream, angling her head and letting go of Brittany to look at her arm.

"Take this scar and always remember what you underwent for True Love, Santana Lopez. I will maybe see you again one day, who knows."

She looked up at him, but the young man was gone. In his place sat a shriveled old man, holding on tightly to the throne arms with bone like hands, smiling a no-tooth smile at her.

"How do I get to the surface world?" she asked, as calmly as possible behind the pain, and she smirked.

"Just close your eyes and you'll be there. But I warn you, Brittany will not be there with you when you get back."

"What?! That's not-"

And then the pain in her arm exploded, the wizened old man disappeared, and the whole world went black.