“People of the Katholikos, my fellow Christians! As we enter the fourth week after the unforeseen assassination of Astarte, the inertia that she has lastly invested in the carousel will come to an end. Today! The Katholikos will cease to rotate. This unfortunate occurrence will imply devastating effects over the climate of our planet, the Arctic Ocean will freeze again, Greenland will be covered in ice again, America will be hit by blizzards and you, all of you, will have to live in cold and darkness. A new winter is coming!”
“Hey, ya! Yes, you, John Snow!, climb down from that tree.”
“What tree? Mum, leave me alone.”
“The fuck I will. Come over here or I’ll go after you and cut your balls off.”
There is one kind of threat, a single threat, that seems boring, especially when repeated with every given occasion. All it takes for a threat, boring or not, is to be effective. And this one is. Very.
“You tailored yourself that monk suit?” Wonders Rivkah at the virus. “Really? Why don’t you show yourself in glory, like any decent god would? I don’t get it. So enlighten me, please, mister light bringer.”
“You’ve cut my dick, remember? With your fancy nails. You unethical mother.”
“Oh, that’s a fancy word, virus! Ethics never were my strong point. Perhaps this is why I accepted to deliver you. The ethical virus. Now spare me the morals and answer my question: why do you walk with this curtain on your body?”
“Here’s why.” Lucifer disrobes so that his second mother may see the deeds of her polished nails. After severing his dick, he was indeed capable to grow it back. But the color crimson never faded. He is scarred, profoundly, intimately, permanently.
“Whoops,” taken aback for an instant, Rivkah dares on, “why would the scars remain under your new skin?”
“You tell me, ruthless mother!”
“How about karma? You, my angelic son, you have brought mutilation and blood scars into the bodies of my forefathers. Generation after generation, my people have died in their flesh, their minds wandering in your virtuosity, their souls suffering, the spirit agonizing, the creation falling apart. All because of your such an ethical nature. You bring blood, you get blood. Oh, and one more thing: this just dawned on me now, as I speak to you. I didn’t know that your talents can’t conceal the crimson. Not sorry about it.”
The devil takes the curtains back, over his shoulders. “May I return to my political discourse, mum?”
“It’s your job, after all. Do it well. Do it fast. Let’s get over this. I hate you!”
“Hate you too. Bye mum!”