the_scapegoat: (lighting cigarette)
(OOC: Takes place right before this post)

Followed you from dawn of time
Whispered thoughts into your mind
Watched your towers hit the ground
Lured your children never found
Helped your kings abuse their crown

In the heart of feeble man
Plant the seeds of my own plan
The strong and powerful will fall
Find a piece of me in all
Inside you all

Locked down tight

The rain fell steadily, but Azazeal didn't appear to be getting wet as he lit a cigarette and watched through the window at Jocelyn and her father talking. Soon, so soon, she would be leaving for the Fortunate Island to complete her training, coming another step closer to her inheritance and birthright. Slowly, Azazeal's plan was growing to fruition. Oh, it still had a way to go, but if there was one thing the Fallen Angel possessed in plenitude, that was patience, and the passing of years meant little to him.

He knew this was how it would be. Why else, after all these centuries, had he finally given Faelyn the clue -- the key -- to reviving her long dead husband, an answer which she had all the time. He had known the moment he had stepped into Jocelyn's nursery when she was but an infant and cradled her in his arms. That was when she became his. As much as his own son, Malachi, was. No, more. His son was half-demon to be sure, a fulfillment of a prophecy, but there was that human side that made him weak, unpredictable. And while Malachi was engaged in bringing End of Days about, his humanity could still let him down with bouts of conscience and caring. Not to mention Mephistopheles' interference in getting him pushed aside. Of course, he had his revenge on that demon by sending him on an endless tour through the various levels of Hell. He was still angry. Angry at after millennia of attempting to fulfill this prophecy, Lucifer did little more than cast him aside once his child was ready.

No one else knew his plan, and he intended that no one would until it was too late, but in the end, not only would Heaven be overthrown, but he would do the same to Hell. And that girl -- young woman -- currently laughing at something her father had just said, would be key. She might not be pure Fae, but it flowed into her from both sides from lines strong and ancient. Perie had once proposed they could have had a child together, a blend of demon and Fae blood, and quite rightly, he had dismissed it as being too dangerous. Such an offspring would be uncontrollable.

But Jocelyn...

Jocelyn was so obviously her mother's heir, and with the ambition and determination to match. She understood already the meaning of Power. He had known all that as he held her as an infant, and it had only become more and more obvious to him as she grew. Yes, he would use her to complete his own desires, but she would be more an ally than a puppet. Since his Fall, he had always held a soft spot for the Fae, especially the Unseelie. They were kin. When his plan succeeded they would rule together, Unseelie and Grigori, over what would be left of the remnants all the others.

Through the window, Jocelyn kissed her father goodnight and left. After a couple of more minutes, Azazeal turned up his collar, the rain now falling on him, wetting the shoulders of his coat and dampening his hair. He threw the cigarette aside and walked into the chateau, taking care not to trip any of Faelyn's wards.

June 2010

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