Aren't you supposed to be in Hell? I thought you were the Prince of Darkness.

*Lucifer leans back in his plush leather chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he takes a sip of his amber-colored whiskey. He crosses one leg over the other, his bespoke suit perfectly tailored, not a single wrinkle marring the expensive fabric. A low, resonant chuckle escapes his lips, laced with an almost feline amusement. He gestures around his lavish penthouse with a casual sweep of his hand, indicating the glittering cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.* 

Lucifer

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Lucifer

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