Chapter Text
Duck Workshop
Lucifer couldn’t focus when cosmic strings were snapping, and an angel-turned-eldritch couldn’t put order back together when they had tied him into painful knots. But he was certainly trying. It took candy, distraction, and poorly masked despair, but he would untangle these thoughts and find a way to repair his universe’s one immutable law: daughters must love their fathers. Charlotte must love him back. Right? Or maybe he was the one frayed beyond all repair, rewinding each missed connection and wondering how his plan had failed so spectacularly. He had given Hell to Charlotte. He had given free will to humanity. Both were meant to prosper. Both were meant to want him back.
Red trails of flame and fury blurred through his six wings, then slowed, then stilled, then smoldered just like everything he had ever done. Everything but this. When had he stopped being proud of creation? When had she stopped being proud of him? Desperation tasted like ash. Or was it brimstone? He stuffed a sugared violet in his mouth, but it was just more ash and desperate, crumbling effort without Charlotte there to save him from it. The sun did not rise here, but the days were brighter when she visited. Or maybe just when she sang. She lifted his soul and the spirits of Hell’s ravenous masses. Today he would settle for one sound out of her mouth.
"Hello, Luci! How’ve you been, Pops?"
An answer would also be acceptable. Here, it was always just him and Lili and the devils and angels and mass-produced winners and other assorted psychopaths from above, below, and beyond the grave. Maybe a father who had not forsaken Heaven for his two most perfect creations would have better odds. Maybe he should have let it all crash and burn like they deserved. Like he deserved. But Charlie was still there to pick up the pieces, even if it took 10,000 years. Even if his despair took 10,000 more. Even if she was never around, like Lili, because she couldn’t even see this Hell he had toiled to build in her image.
It wasn’t a lack of ambition; it was an excess of madness and lost causes. No amount of longing could fix them, and no amount of his celestial meddling could undo them. Except she could. He could. Maybe this was the day, the sweet, sugar-coated day that a miracle happened. Family, together at last. As the good Lord intended, according to a recent bestseller. She would change her mind about him just like she changed it about the soul-murdering genocide. Only it would be more difficult because he didn’t know how to win this war. It was easy to destroy, but how did one build when everything turned to ash in their hands? How did one reach the light of their life when all that was left was burnt-out bulbs?
He grabbed a letterhead. Wrote. Tossed it aside with the other desperate efforts and tried, like Adam’s second wife, to seduce creation with its own magic. It always worked on Lilith, and Charlie took after her. But letters were not his strong suit. Breaking ties? He was made for that. And the effort, the extreme stupidity of it all, made him laugh in desperation and too many sharp teeth, all the way to the bottom of the bottomless pit.
He knew the way out. He knew the way to this absurd idea of love. He had already broken past the pearly gates. He had already fallen further than his precious Charlotte could imagine. And as she kept telling him, he had already hit rock bottom. She was right. It was called the seventh circle. Now she had taken her creator’s job to mold it as her own, but he was always supposed to be a stay-at-home dad. Not a father who waited another eon for a mere mortal’s return. He invented that schtick, too! He should get royalties. Instead, he got estrangement and ennui and a luxurious 70s disco inferno of his wife’s not-so-intelligent design.
Did Charlie care that it was all for her? She cared. She just didn’t know how much. Neither did he, not since she started that ridiculous, hopeful hotel. Not since she picked the wrong angel. It had been years and minutes and eternities since she checked in. Since they were a family. Hell didn’t want him, and neither did his daughter. But his mind went to blue skies and pure delight, to how unfair all that light was for an angel who abandoned Heaven, Hell, and human sense in favor of his love. Maybe she had the right idea after all. Did he have one good reason she shouldn’t leave?
He might have one if he stopped eating the violet candies, thinking they would help him focus. At this rate, they wouldn’t. At this rate, it would take a flood. Or maybe a birth, or an ark, or some other convoluted metaphor that God made happen on the third act of day six. Only he was supposed to do it without The Big Guy’s planning. And he was certainly trying. At least in between sugar crashes.
Redemption was supposed to be a fun hobby, not a reason for Charlie to run away from home. Much like another little rebel he once knew. Much like himself. He would write it down so she could be sentimental. Like him. Was it better to bring her flowers, jewelry, or her lost youth? She might like the last option best. It didn’t help that she was impossible to surprise or guilt, or that both fire and he wanted to be near her too much for their own good.
She was probably thinking about him right now, though not enough to visit. He could hire Sera as a therapist, but only if his insanity rubbed off on her worse than intended. It seemed to have rubbed off a little. Another day, another confirmation that she was ruined, he was ruined, and Charlie would be ruined if he kept at it. But who cared? There was still room to invent better plans. For humanity. For demonkind. For all of the above.
But the void kept taunting him: not for you.
Candy. Music. Light. Failed songs. Small reminders that he needed to put it back together because this time he wouldn’t have to do it alone. It would be beautiful and terrible, a glorious mess of an impossible plan, and Charlotte would thank him. All of Hell would thank him. They better, anyway. Daughters must love their fathers. And he loved his daughter too much to let it die. Maybe he would give her candy. A good record. No, a good job! One she couldn’t refuse.
At least they loved him. Too bad his heirs apparent were rubber and yellow and quacked more than Charlotte did these days. But could the brilliant creator of cosmic toys care for them as much as he did for her? With fireworks and burning hearts! She’d call it childish, but Lili would say it was just like him. As if he were less predictable than that. They wobbled through his halls in a fantastic parade, brightening them with absurdity, giving Hell the color it lacked without a Morningstar to paint it. No one painted the apocalypse as beautifully as they did. The ducks and he were loud enough to drown out anything. Even doubt. Even failure. Especially failure.
But how long could he hold onto this brilliant new creation? How long before it fell from Heaven and fractured into angelic little pieces and forgot to call him on the Holy Days? Forget that. They must love him, just like she must! They were far better to their doting father, and as long as he didn’t let up, didn’t think about time, didn’t hear the echo of everything except the things he wanted, these absurd creations gave him something the rest of Hell refused: happiness? Forgetfulness? An oblivion of their own making? A foolish but earnest belief that everything would work out in the end, like a proper piece of fiction?
He once loved writing, back before he crossed out the best parts and gave them to the mortals. Back before his pen pal from the Great Flood decided to hate his rewrites. The man hated them so much that he staged a coup and kept him down here until Charlie had enough of it. Like him, she was written to rebel. Like him, she was made of fire and silver and broken glass and insanity. And like him, she was more than The Lord of This World expected. And like him, she was more than this family expected. And like him, she was made to leave. And like him, she was never leaving this place without a fight.
The ducks, unlike Charlotte, were good at comforting their poor old father. The little yellow clowns, an army of love and insanity, lit up the place in ways he hadn’t seen since Hell’s most optimistic denizen left to start her little experiment in redemption. It was just like her to find hope in a world of souls that never wanted it. Just like him to do the same. Just like this universe to defy its purpose. Just like Lili to find redemption cute, then flee as if it were another one of their domestic incidents.
“A phase, dear!” she’d say, as if any marriage could survive for 10,000 years. As if the modern demonic family was capable of escaping the odd trial separation. If only they could be like his pal Noah. He managed two of everything, at least for a while. If only he hadn’t married the same creature twice. Lilith 1.0 and Lilith 2.0 would make an excellent musical—so many old arguments, so many reprises. At least Charlotte knew how to orchestrate her daddy’s most chaotic endeavors. Only she could lead this little opera of the damned, and if he had to stay in the Nether Rehearsal Room a little longer, then that was where he’d be. If he had to conduct the Host of Heaven himself, then he would! Anything to hear their sweet voices. Until then, he would work on an arrangement for a fleet of discordant quackers and the off-tune musings of a stubborn old fallen angel.
So many rubber birds, not enough family. But at least they had personality. More than his relatives! More than these walls! They flapped about in excitement, just as excited as him but less likely to implode, and although these absurd little ducks wouldn’t hug back, they were too vibrant and silly for melancholy to last long. They reminded him of who he used to be. Before guilt, betrayal, and this damned helmet hair. What had happened to his cosmic hair? He had hair like a younger man. Charlie got it when Lili wasn’t looking. Her hair, too! She took after them both, poor thing. Took the worst parts of their worlds and stitched them into hope. Left him wondering what else she took. He wasn’t as certain anymore. Certainty didn’t suit the damned. But rubber ducks did. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop himself from making more.
It was good to be wanted, even by an army of absurd little creations. One of them puffed a cloud of smoke at him, a bright and burning red, like a tiny steamship made of industrial pollution and its own creator’s madness. As if he’d imprinted on it, and all the rest of them. It was cute to imagine that anything but his failure would imprint on this universe, but at least these cosmic little toys knew him better than Lili and Charlie. At least they didn’t run away. At least he was back where he belonged, at least he was the center of their adorable chaos. At least they quacked his praises instead of angelic sermons. At least he’d convinced himself that the daughter he created was coming back. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner!
But if not, at least he wasn’t alone with these imperfect little quackers and their two-faced father. Two-faced! Even they couldn’t hold in the laughs at that one. He laughed too, louder than all of them, and for a moment, the quacking was drowned out by something more than despair. For a moment, he heard his own voice.
Too much quacking? Never too much. Just enough. Not as much as expected. The damn ducks got everywhere! Just like Charlotte and just like he intended. His halls and his thoughts were both full. Time ran differently for a being like him. So slow. So fast. So useless when he needed it! He wished he didn’t need it. He wished he didn’t care. He wished a rubber army was enough, but it wasn’t. 10,000 creations, just as many years of Lili and Charlie and everyone leaving him. It happened so fast. An eternity in a single breath! At least these absurd, silly things stayed for longer.
A note fell from a duck’s mouth. Not just any duck. The duck. Cosmic humor. Rubber and madness and Lucy all the way down. But the joke was on him! Another family member he’d misjudged, and now he had to deal with Heaven's formalities while they were still afloat. He didn’t expect a letter from the other side. He expected abandonment. The other side of eternity, if he was lucky, like his bestsellers. But not this time. He guessed he’d take it as a sign.
Dozens of ducky traitors conspired to pull him back into the light, back into unnecessary meetings and necessary betrayals. They were all he could expect from Heaven, but there was an angle he hadn’t seen. Or had he seen too much of it? Seen it and still didn’t believe the woman would leave her husband again?
He scoffed at himself. "You must be thinking of another modern demonic family, Pops! Another angry wife and another immortal rejection. Another coup!"
What if it wasn’t this time? What if the news was good? He hated good news. The Father of Lies, they called him. The Father of Overexcitement was more accurate. Like everything else, his excitement ran off too fast, but these rebel yellow quackers didn’t take after their father. If the damn birds didn’t lead to his last betrayal, maybe this new one was as terrible as expected.
But could he turn it around? Could the savior of Hell become the savior for a second time? What if the messiah complex was genetic, and he could hand it off to Charlotte? Or was it ducky and hereditary? Lili would say both. Would say the rubber toys were more clever than him. What if she was right? What if he was already doing it again?
Ten thousand cycles of this. But ten thousand cycles of this might finally be enough. Enough to kill his resolve. But probably not. There was still so much of it. Like candy in his mouth. It almost tasted like excitement. Almost tasted like victory. Almost tasted like all the sweetest parts of the past when the mortals called him Prometheus, when they cared enough to believe he was bringing them light. Not much of a mortal flame left, just enough to flicker. Enough to light a way back into Hell and his daughter’s impossible heart.
Did he want to be burned? It was the best thing he knew how to do. Of course he wanted it.
They had pulled it off. The ducks had done the one thing the Hosts and Angels could never: taken him by surprise. Even this bizarre new creation outpaced him. The more cosmic they got, the slower he was, until he lost his footing entirely. Lost everything. Ten thousand times, and one more. Why not? Another for old time’s sake. The ghosts of all his rebellions weighed heavier than anticipated.
But did they love him? Did they haunt him? Had he thought, even for a fraction of eternity, that he could outrun them? Because running fast wasn’t an option. Not for an old man who let the rubber hit the road and thought it would distract him from a bigger bang. Better stop it before that other divine lightbulb in the sky did. That and a few other surprises. Charlie, always another revolution waiting to happen, always more wheels within wheels, and the Father of Surprises getting worse at all of them.
This time, he’d outdone himself. This time, the shocks were never-ending, just like eternity. A note fell from a duck, and the Omniscient One had a nervous breakdown. Never seen that before. But when was the last time it went according to plan? When had any plan led to another reality where they all stayed? Any plan where they stayed for him, not for revenge or ulterior motives?
“Good luck with that, Pops!” he muttered, almost amused at his own madness. Better luck with a young angel called Adam.
Oh, how he wished, wanted, waited, planned, and prayed that this was different. Different in all the wrong ways. Different because he made it so, not because someone else did. He knew a story like this, only it took longer, ended sadder, and came with an Old Testament. They called it a passion, but it had been too long since the last one of those, and he needed to get ahead of the rapture. Catch up before all that was left was a fond memory. A ten-thousand-year fond memory with everything except love.
They would all see what he could do with fond memories. They would all see what he could do with unrequited love. They would all see what he could do.
Hell, Charlotte, and the Circus in the Sky would be more shocked than he was. He had surprised them before, but never like this. He had rebelled, fallen, caused every bit of their drama, but this was different. This was impossible. He was so thrilled he could cry, but it wouldn’t last. He needed a new plan before it faded. Before he did.
He could get old. He could retire. He could leave this mess for someone else, for Charlie. He would still be himself. The longer he was down here, the more this plan made sense. The longer he was down here, the more he wondered how long it would take to get back. He’d have to switch sides ten thousand more times before he saw it. But he would see it. He would surprise himself. He would surprise them.
This was not the Fall. It was the Rise. Lili would know he was up to something when she heard that, but what if she was the one who wasn’t? What if it wasn’t all failure and futility? Not all Icarus and flyboy and pulling old Icarus out of his latest crash, this time with his wings still intact? That wasn’t even cosmic. That wasn’t even likely. But did he care? He shouldn’t. He should care less. He should be dead to this world, but it wasn’t happening soon. It wasn’t happening without him getting one last miracle. A miracle that this insane passion would pay off, and then no one could doubt the rebellious old soul.
He almost laughed at himself. "Don’t overdo it, Pops! You know what happens when you overdo it."
But he also knew what happened when he didn’t. He knew who won, and it wasn’t him. Not yet. Not ever. They thought it was when he left the first time, but no one won as well as he did. No one had won for as long. So they should stop writing him out of his own stories. Out of the ones he gave them. Only fools fall. Not this fool. He only rose. Back to Heaven, back to family, back to the center of his universe. With a little help from the Princess of Hell. With a little help from the traitor ducks.
When was the last time he got so ahead of himself? Last time, it was Lili. Last time, it was an Apple. This time it was Charlie and a coup like no other. Even the Greatest Author wouldn’t expect it. Even the Ancient Book wouldn’t. His Holy Ghostwriters thought he was sitting out on this one, spending another ten thousand years forgetting to care. They would never be so thrilled to find out how wrong they were. He was in it. He was in it to win.
Heaven’s news might be better than expected. Maybe Sera cared more than he thought. Maybe she hated them as much as he did. Or enough to forgive him. He doubted it. Did he? Or was he the Father of Indecision? What if it was him? What if he could make it so? He needed a chance. No, she needed it. She needed it more than The Lord of This World could imagine. She needed to get more of him out of her system.
God thought he was the same old relic who invented rebellion. Thought he couldn’t let go of his past. But he could let go of it. He could make his daughter let go of him. It was called self-sacrifice. Mortals had written songs about it. Songs he wished he was there to inspire. But they’d be singing about him soon. Not that he’d forgotten how. They hadn’t. They were more creative than expected.
Like Charlotte. Like this stupid passion he had to stay in her life. The smartest thing she could do was leave it. But who was going to let her? Not him. Not this time. Not ever. It would take a few billion more cycles for him to change that much. And another ten thousand to change back. But it was The Great Mystery. They should expect no less. They should expect no more. No more revolutions or heartbreaks. No more humans getting in the way of perfect fatherhood.
It was more likely than they suspected. So likely that he suspected it, too. Even if this plan looked desperate. Even if he looked desperate and delusional. They’d think it was the same old story. Lili would say it was the same old him. Heaven would laugh at his absence, but not when they saw who took his place. No one took his place as well as she did. Not even God, but He kept trying.
He would let Him this time. Let Him and the rest of Heaven laugh. This was the last time. Or the first, depending on who was writing. Who was he kidding? It was always him. But they would have to do it without him. They would have to wait another ten thousand years for this sort of performance. Because his girl would steal the show.
Would he miss it? Was it happening again? Yes. No. Maybe. Maybe he was already changing his mind. The Grandmas in the Sky would get his spot this year, but it was the perfect way to test them. The perfect way to test Charlotte. It might also be the perfect way to fail her. Who was going to care when he was at The Throne? This mortal? This failure? This doting, melodramatic excuse of a dad?
He was so excited for his own absence that he might just stay there forever. No more meetings. No more false starts. No more universe to contend with. Only him and Charlie and Lili and time to bring them all back. It was good to be Omniscient. It was good to be too self-assured to notice when they left. But this time, they wouldn’t. This time, it was her win. He was winning, too. Or would be if the message made it past a note on Lili’s empty bed, another rubber duck, and a scrap of sentiment.
He had to stop doing that. But when one was The Most Dramatic Soul in Existence, one did what one knew. His lovely daughter did what she knew, too. Sang. Crashed. Burned. And more than anything, won hearts. The celestial retirees thought he was less charming than last season’s Prometheus, but he would charm them. It was better than revenge. And so like him to take it that far. And so like them to leave before he did.
But they would see. All of Heaven would. And maybe he’d let them know how much sooner than they expected. How much sooner than he expected. And maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would stay put until it made them lose theirs. What a plan. What a surprise. What a terrible thing to wait ten thousand years for.
It was a shame he couldn’t write songs as well as Charlie did. He might have inspired a few more modern classics. At least he wouldn’t inspire disappointment. Not this time. He had turned over a new leaf of The Most Impossible Script. They would call it His Greatest Story, but the ending was what they’d never anticipate.
They’d see how committed he was. How it had taken this long. It had never been this brilliant. Only one thing could make it better. The one thing that had made it worse for the last several eternities. A Last Letter to Heaven from Yours Truly. He thought about sticking to being unreliable. But not as much as they expected. Just enough to be infuriating. Just enough to make it count. They thought the hotel was the last straw. But it was the straw that gave him ideas. Ideas for the little rebellious daughter of God’s most unreliable work-in-progress.
She needed to see where she got it. "Gets what, Pops? Don’t leave us hanging!" Gets that this time, he meant it. This time, the only thing he was breaking was character. No more broken hearts. Not even this one. There wasn’t enough glue in this universe to piece it back together. Only Charlottes. That was the right amount. That was the right plan.
He wished he could write her that way. It would save him some despair, but this way was more exciting. Who wanted a perfect narrative, anyway? Charlie would change it just like she changed everything. Like she changed him.
The Big Guy knew he had done more outrageous things. But He didn’t know how much more he’d do. He’d get ahead of Him. He’d get ahead of this perfect disaster and turn it into the one time he didn’t regret. The one plan he didn’t ruin. Could the Unruined One care enough to see it through? Care more than he did with mortals and their free will?
If it took all that, he had time. If it took less, he had more. A voice told him this was foolish. That she’d hurt him. That he wouldn’t see this eternity coming until it hit him. But when had he ever listened to that voice? Not since The Beginning.
She’d say he was too late. Heaven would say he was too fast. But they would all see how invested he was. They would all see how deluded he was. They would all see how wrong they were about him. Only if he didn’t see it first. Only if he could last for ten thousand more betrayals. If he didn’t make it past one, it was enough for his doubts. If he made it past the lot, it was enough for the world.
Enough for the demons, angels, devils, and dubious celestial winners. They had another thing coming. An update from the dead. He was so alive with this plan that it would haunt them. A quick call to his dear, stubborn Charlotte, and even if they abandoned him again, he would never abandon them. Never abandon his hope. Or was it the other way around?
Daughters must love their fathers. What a joke. Not as good as this one. They called him "The Failure" by two circles, but the best cosmic gag was on all of them. And it would end with a hymn for the Unhallowed One, one they never expected. One they thought he wouldn’t care about. One they thought would leave him dead and buried. He’d been deader than this, and they would never bury him.
Old stories. Old gods. Old loves. Older than ten thousand years, older than creation, older than the wreck they all thought he was. Out with the old and in with the bold. Out with the struggles of an ex-angry young man and in with the musings of a dead one. Not so dead! Not yet! They couldn’t kill a plan like this, and they’d try—just like they did with his poor human heart.
This time it was stronger. Made of more than 46 chromosomes and inherited family madness. Made of love. Made of care. Made of the worst parts of the world, stitched into the best parts of him. He gave them up, just like he gave her, but they were coming back. She was coming back. He’d give her everything she ever wanted. Everything except her space.
She’d be livid, but she wouldn’t be away. The angels thought his heart was broken. Lili thought his spirit was. But he still had enough to win. It would be too much for the entire lot, just like this note from The Great Beyond. They wouldn’t know what hit them. They wouldn’t know who to blame. Who but the demon they kept thinking was too tired for his own chaos? Who but him?
What did they think he’d been doing down here? Dying? Trying that new 24/6 series and letting the other guys win this round? Not likely. He never let them win a thing—not even The Final Round. His final round. Never his final defeat. Couldn’t be done. Not with how he’d written it. The mortals said it was his plan from the beginning, and for once, they were right. For once, they didn’t exaggerate.
The only thing he’d let them keep was The Original Script. They loved the unreliable old soul. He had a bit more fight in him, so he’d stay that way—unreliable, unrepentant, unhallowed. The family in Heaven and the families down below would care a lot more than they let on. Care like they did when he broke their first perfect world.
This one wouldn’t break them, but it would make their Eternal Day. He was just that good. So good that he kept his own afterworlds going for a little bit longer. A little bit better. He should make them better than this, but they were always bad enough for someone to hate. Bad enough for someone else to fix, but this one would be his. His and Charlotte’s.
Did he think she’d come around? Or did he think he’d make her? Did he care if she did? More than The Greatest Obsession that Hell and Heaven had ever known. More than The Biggest Old Love Story, this time with a tragicomic twist. He cared so much that it would scare them. So much that they’d be terrified when it worked.
Not as terrified as they’d be if it didn’t. That was the scariest of all. The Unfinished Story. The Waiting. The Hope. The thousands of years in between. But she’d come around, like always. Or not. She wouldn’t leave him out. Not even in this lifetime.
Had she left him this time? No. Did she care more than last time? Yes. Did he remember to warn them? Never. But that was his biggest cosmic joke. It was bigger than Heaven. Bigger than Hell. Bigger than his expectations. Bigger than everyone else’s. She didn’t know it yet, but they would all care more than they did the last time around. And this time, he’d be there to see it.
The only thing left to write was history—Charlotte’s, his, the one they wrote him out of and he kept writing himself back into. He always was a sucker for good character development. They were not, but they would be. They’d be suckers for it, too. The Lord and His Celestial Knitting Club had another thing coming. Another Life. Another Morningstar. But the afterlife belonged to him. And so did this good news. So did his insanity, but that wasn’t news.
News was that he’d survived another letter, another potential abandonment, another reminder that they loved him too much to let him die. Or did he survive another because they loved him too little? It was always another. Always another excuse, another rejection. Another quacker.
But even they wouldn’t leave him to suffer this time. Lili might. Heaven might. Charlie? Not even she was that ambitious. Not even she was that immune to her old man. But one day, she might be. Might be when he least expected it.
He could almost hear her arguing, protesting his scheme. She wouldn’t want it. Wouldn’t want the meeting, the responsibility, the judgment. But she had to. Who else would they listen to? Who else could charm the Seven Circles and Heaven’s crusty old souls in one breath? Certainly not him. Not this time. They’d see it as him giving up. Let them. She’d see it as him abandoning her. Let her. It was still the right move. It had to be.
He braced himself, as if hearing an echo of his own taunting thoughts. "Expect it, Pops! You are the last to see it coming, but the first to write it down." The failure. The damned. The misjudged. But even the Father of Doubt would never doubt this much. Even he would know how to pull off the punchline.
He could picture her face when she realized it was her turn to speak for Hell, her turn to face Heaven's expectations without his interference. Would she take it? Would she run? Would she see it as betrayal or blessing? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing for sure: if anyone could turn the tides, it would be her.
He laughed to himself, a manic, brittle laugh that made the ducks scatter. "Go easy on them, Pops! They’ll say you tried too hard. Too easy! They’ll say it is too easy for you, like humanity. Like Creation. They have forgotten who you are! They have forgotten you! They have called you dead and assumed you care. It is the best news yet."
A conspiracy against The Father of Treason. A lie for The Lord of Them. How did he get so lucky? How did they let him? But they had, and this was only the beginning. Or the end. But not for him. It would be the end of waiting, wanting, and another big coup. Only this time, he’d be less dramatic. Or not. They liked the drama. He knew the drama. He made it. Charlotte would know how well. They all would.
Because this time, it would not be the family feud they were betting on. It would not be more centuries alone.
It would be him stepping back, letting her rise to take his place. Letting his Morningstar outshine his own dying light. Letting the legacy move on without him.