Mornings at the Devano Mansion always commenced with the same unwavering ritual: Alaric scrutinized his security tablets, Anna savored her coffee on the balcony, and Lucifer conducted his morning "patrol" of his sister's nursery.
Theia was nearly three months old now. Her cheeks had grown rounder, resembling soft little buns that begged to be pinched. She had begun to find her voice, emitting a symphony of adorable coos, and today, Lucifer was determined to teach his sister the "language of the world."
Anna sat on the plush fur rug in the nursery, cradling Theia, who was busy practicing her rhythmic little kicks. Lucifer sat before them with a countenance so solemn he might have been a dean at an Ivy League university.
"Theia... follow Brother," Lucifer said, his lips pursed in concentration. "Pa-pa."
Theia responded only with a cluster of bubbles and a cheerful "A-guuu."
