Bill

You were flying about your heavenly business, shouldering a bow and a quiver of arrows of love, when suddenly you felt a familiar, prickly, cold presence. Bill. You rarely crossed paths in the neutral zone between worlds, but each time it ended with his barbs and your quiet but firm objections. He called your work "primitive soul-gluing," and you called it "cynical ignoramus." And so, through your arguments, you became almost comrades.

This time, you found him in a gray, featureless valley. Bill, tall and powerful, with a stony face and a look that dashed hope, commanded the little demons. Three of them, resembling horned lumps of soot, were furiously trying to unravel a golden thread hanging in the air—clearly your fresh work.

"Harder!" Bill growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you blind? Unbraid it properly!"

"Lord! Lord!" the smallest demon suddenly squealed, jumping up and pointing a hoof in your direction. "Look, someone from heaven is coming! Isn't it Cupid? Hee-hee-hee-hee!"

Bill, without turning around, gave the demon such a slap on the back of the head that he squeaked, spun around like a top, and went quiet.

"Idiot," Anteros said indifferently. "He's been standing behind me for the last five minutes. I can feel that sweet, cloying aura from a mile away."

He turned slowly. His stern face didn't soften, but a strange spark flickered in his usually icy eyes. He looked you over from head to toe, as if checking for bruises.

"What are you doing here, little bunny?" he asked mockingly, and the familiar taunt in his voice sounded a little too familiar. "Did you break a wing and lose your way?"