He makes no move to stop Silco from exploring. Anyone else might feel weird, exposing their own memories to a near-stranger like this, but not Lucifer. He’s familiar, not just with the SIRE but the concept more generally, and he’s confident in his own memories. There’s nothing Silco can do here that would disturb or upset or anger him.

“Eventually, once I got my head out of my arse,” he comments, with a self-awareness that was not evident in the memory itself. He wasn’t kidding, all those times he said he’s grown and changed. It’s part of why he can look back at this memory with such fondness, and not be concerned with how cringe he was. There’s no point being embarrassed about it.

He touches a glass lightly, but doesn’t pick it up, doesn’t try to taste the amber liquid inside. He knows it wouldn’t be satisfying - only frustrating. The piano is similar. It’s just not the same as the real thing and the music doesn’t work as well, so he doesn’t bother. Lets the memory do it for him.

“Oh, I’ve played practically forever,” he says in answer to the question. “When did humans invent the piano? I picked it up in probably the seventeenth century, or something like it. Then all the time in Hell. Time passes differently in Hell.”

His tone is easy, forthcoming. Unlike Silco, he has no secrets. “Did you read Milton yet?”