La Paloma

„And what such sweet dove is doing in this place forgotten by hope?" Lucifer asked with curiosity, intrigued by the new soul appearing in his dominion. His retinue stopped, keeping the due distance. The demons were used to their king chatting with new acquisitions. He usually spoke so nicely, at least at the beginning of the conversation. Of course, those who, hearing him speak, may have assumed, that he is, indeed, so kind and gentle, made a grave mistake.

The new soul, that drew his interest, the girl, kneeling in the middle of ash-covered void – the walls of her cell only starting to build around her, still shapeless – raised at him her brown eyes, beautiful, but haunted as if she didn't see anything around her, only some abyss of despair.

"Es mi culpa," she replied. "Siento que es mi culpa."

"Otherwise you most probably wouldn't be here, Palomita," agreed Lucifer stepping in front of the girl. There was something in her, that saddened him. More, something that woke his anger at the sight of such creature being… here.

It was not her beauty, beauty itself rarely touched his heart. Surprisingly many beautiful women came to hell as if the attractive appearance increased their risk of falling into the net of sin. Or, perhaps, it increased their chances for a more adventurous life. The ugly ones simply ended in convents or bearing endless herds of children to the fat and boring husbands. At least that was what Mazikeen used to say. She hated how Europe looked like in those years.

So, the beauty of this young woman didn't pull his attention. It was her soul, though tormented, it was still full of light and innocence. Her purity was keeping demons at distance. No one touched her, as she knelt on the wasteland and the walls of her cell started to build around her, feeding on her guilt and despair. Lucifer, other than his demons, felt the light pulling him closer, like a beacon. Following its calling, he reached to raise the girl's head, intending to look her in the eyes and learn her story, but before he managed to touch her, she recoiled from his hand, falling back on the land with a terror in his eyes.

"Ah. Did someone mistreat you? Perhaps it would please you to learn that he would end here too, sooner or later," observed Lucifer. "He will not escape the fate… The miscreant who broke the creature so pure… and so brave," he added, noticing the dark gash in the middle of the girl's torso. She was still clutching the dagger in the blood-stained hands.

He reached again, this time for the knife, and she obediently handed it over.

Suicide. Women usually chose rope or poison. She was indeed a brave one.

Lucifer raised his hands, willing the walls of the cell to stop building.

"Well then, why don't you tell me your story?" he asked. Recognizing by the cut of her satin dress and the pattern of jewels on her dagger, not much time must have passed from his last visit to Spain. He would like to learn, what exactly happened there that young women from noble and apparently very rich families were forced to commit suicide in the soul condemning despair.

"He died because of me," explained the girl. Their eyes met and she sat more comfortably. Not that she started to feel safe here. No one felt safe in the hell, especially not in his company. However, the souls had to obey him. If he wanted her to sit and speak, that was what she would do.

"Who died, Palomita? Did you bring a man to suicide? Or did your husband kill your lover? Did your family not accept the man you chose for yourself? You humans and your prejudices…" Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. "So much hate and so many rules around such simple thing like carnal pleasures. Speak, dove. No judging here… not anymore. You have been judged already."

"My father," she replied and something in her tone and the way she raised her chin made him forget his rambling. "My father was defending my honour and died killed by the man who dishonoured me." Her proud façade broke when she added: "I shouldn't have called for his help."

Not many things could silence the king of hell, but now he remained quiet for a long while.

"That's not your fault that your father lost a duel. Or that someone forced you," he stated finally. He knew it wouldn't help, but still had to try.

"I shouldn't have accepted an invitation," she said matter-of-factly. "My fiancé never wrote love letters to me. He never invited me to the clandestine meetings. He is a decent man. I should have known the letter was not from him. And yet, when I got the letter signed by his name, I thought it was from him, I wanted it to be from him. I wanted him to desire me. I am an… debauched woman."

"Oh, no, you are not," Lucifer shook his head. "Believe me. I know everything about debauchery."

"But I am," repeated the girl, her sense of guilt strong enough to contradict the opinion of the devil. "I received the letter and I went to this garden and opened the gate… and he was wearing the cloak of my fiancé… and when I recognized him it was too late…" her voice broke and the tears started to flow on her face.

"Don't cry," ordered the devil and she stopped.

"So I started to call for help and he asked me to not to, he said I would regret it, and then my father came…" she interrupted and started to sob again.

"Don't cry," he repeated with certain impatience and, seeing that this time her guilt is too strong, finished for her: "And your father called him out and lost it."

"Yes. My father… was not young. But he still had years of life ahead of him."

"And then? Why did you use this little dagger of yours? Let me guess, your fiancé turned you down? Spoilt goods, he said? And that broke you down? Ah, I have seen it all. One day, he would be punished for it too. Or, perhaps, did your attacker got you pregnant? Did you, by taking your life, put out the light of the unborn spark? That will make for a tough loop, my dove."

The girl looked at him and in her eyes he saw the remains of the former fire. "My fiancé did my bidding, seeking revenge on this man. Only that… he would drag him to the court, pester him with trials… and I wanted to see his blood. I wanted him dead."

Ah, hatred it was. Strong, burning, relentless. Condemning, true, but how impressive.

"What a magnificent creature must you have been then, on the Earth," sighed Lucifer. "Why didn't we meet? I would learn you to follow your desires without that nonsense of guilt."

"The revenge, it took too long," whispered the girl, her expression haunted again. "That man was walking the earth, free, satisfied, happy. Mocking my family. And my father was dead. My fiancé wanted to marry, but how could I live, as if nothing happened? I understood there was no hope for me, no eternal salvation."

"None of this was your fault. The problem is, that you died with hatred in your heart," said Lucifer with resignation. He knew it was futile, no one ever listened. The one thing he couldn't order the souls was to save themselves. Still, he recited: "You need to regain the faith in hope, compassion and mercy again. Believe in forgiveness."

The girl looked at him as if she didn't understand what he was talking about. Of course, she didn't.

"Poor dove, you just had bad luck with the men in your life. Both your father and your fiancé seem to be some awful wimps," he sighed, standing up. He was finished here. "What's your father's name? I will check whether he is here, though I would bet he enjoys the boredom of the Silver City. Such noble thoughtless fool, they should welcome him with open arms."

To his surprise, the girl didn't reply, only looked at him with surprisingly sober eyes, as if the powers of hell stopped working on her for a while.

"You are the devil? You are ruling this place?" she asked sharply.

"Beautiful, brave and clever!" beamed Lucifer. The fire in her eyes told him she was not going to beg for his help, something he couldn't offer. "Si, Palomita. I am."

"Then don't ask me for the name of my father only for the name of the man who destroyed us. He deserves your attention," she spat hatefully.

"Oh, don't worry. I will get him. I will see his sins and I will recognize you in his past and I will know it is him. And rest assured, I won't forget. I have a very, very good memory."

"He has a list."

"A list?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

"A list of women he ruined. From many cities, countries… Aristocrats, servants, countrywomen, even nuns… Don't laugh. He doesn't even care whether they are beautiful or young… He just wants to pull them on the list," the bitter grimace twisted her features. "I am on this list too. Like the hundreds of others. I couldn't bear it."

Lucifer frowned. "So much hate…" he whispered. No, this time he wasn't referring to the girl. He knew enough about carnal desires to know, that this man, whoever he had been, was not searching for pleasure, only satisfying his hate. "Intriguing. What's his name then, Dove?"

"Don Juan Tenorio."

"I will remember," he nodded and waver for the walls of the cell to build again.

"Punish him," pleaded the girl in the last conscious thought, her eyes becoming hazy again, her expression distant, as the cell started to form into the shape of the garden.

A night, a moon, sweet-smelling, blooming bushes, a Moorish fountain… The dagger disappeared from Lucifer's hand, just like the wound on the girl's breast. Her outfit transformed into more rich and colourful, the dress she put on to seduce her fiancé… now it was torn and hanging from her shoulders, revealing the white skin covered with bruises… But she didn't pay attention to her clothes, focused on two men engaged in a duel, the air suddenly filled with sounds of clashing steel. Lucifer stood behind her and watched them too, one man young and very handsome, the other one much older. Just as he thought, the old, thoughtless fool, starting the fight he couldn't win, defending his stupid honour, unaware of the fact that he would send his daughter into eternal damnation. But the second one… ah, he was more complicated. He was just a phantom of the hell loop, but even so – the king of hell saw the was cold, relentless madness in his eyes.

It vexed him.

Driven by a sudden impulse, he grabbed the girls arms, turning her from the duel, trying to catch the remains of her consciousness:

"Where are you from? Where did it happen?" he called.

"In Sevilla," she replied with distraction, her eyes pulled to the duel, where her father was just to receive the mortal stroke.

"And time?" He was never sure how much time passed from his last trip.

"What?..." she didn't understand, struggling to release from his hold, to run to her father, dying on the floor.

"Anno Domini?" the devil précised with a sneer.

"1630," she replied absently, drowning in her loop.

When he let her go, she flew to the body of her father, falling over his motionless form and burst out in piercing cries.

Lucifer didn't look at her anymore, only at the young, handsome man who was cleaning his sword from the blood, staining the blade. The phantom's moves were calm and methodical and his face twisted into a cold smirk.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes and watched him carefully, crooking his head.

And then he also smiled.

Hello, Readers.

So, it is, indeed, going to be a kind of cross-over between our favourite TV Show and the story of Don Juan. There are many versions of this legend, and I have read none of them, neither the original tale, not Moliere drama (comedy?). I only watched, many times, the opera of Mozart, Don Giovanni, which I absolutely adore. Its libretto, written by Lorenzo da Ponte, would be the basis for this story, though I allowed myself for a few big changes. (For example, Donna Anna didn't die before Don Giovanni. Probably, she didn't commit suicide and lived long and happily – though the music suggests otherwise.)

Anyway, it would not be a story about Don Juan. This tale had many versions and is something too deep and complex for me to approach. It is still a small tale about our favorite characters from the show, perhaps slightly changed to be more like a fairytale.

After all, there are so many fairytales about the devil travelling across the earth...

No Chloe Decker, obviously, but I believe that the characterization would be consistent with the show.