Michael wouldn’t have appreciated any prying, whether it was into his past or his future. Nobody had the right to see what was his and only his. Nobody had the right to the see what he’d done or what he was going to do. So few had ever gotten the chance to catch a glimpse of his true face, but those who had had quickly wished that they hadn’t. All it took was a glance for madness to set in. Humans couldn’t stand seeing what the end really looked like. Seeing their demise reflecting in his eyes was unbearable, because it wasn’t only their deaths that they saw, but the death of mankind as a whole.
“Please give Yves my apologies,” Michael said. “It’s not my intention to upset anybody.” It was difficult to tell whether or not he was being sincere. Michael wasn’t even sure himself. “I did not come here to stir up turmoil.” It wasn’t his objective, no, but he was what he was and he couldn’t help that.
He bowed his head, did not say anything for a minute that seemed to him to go on for much longer. “My father’s as asshole.” Saying it like that, bitter and sulking, Michael was the spitting image of a scorned child. “He sits in Hell and expects me to do his bidding. I’m supposed to know exactly what he wants and I’m supposed to come up with everything on my own and that’s not fair. Is it? No. It’s not fair.” He was ranting and his eyes were burning coal black, his fingernails biting into his palms.
Lifting his eyes, Michael took a deep breath, uncurled his hands slowly. “You guessed right.” Lucifer. Dad. A continuous thorn in his side. “He’ll be furious.” His voice was softer, almost lucid. “When he discovers that I’ve left him.”