Hell

He saw you by chance—standing on the edge of paradise, where the clouds plunge into the abyss, simply looking down. Amid the fire and smoke, he spotted you: standing on a rock ledge, drawing something in the ashes with your staff. Your red horns gleamed dully in the light of hellfire, your black wings folded behind your back, your staff in hand, and your slightly pointed ears catching every rustle. There was no malice in your gaze—just a tired face and overly attentive eyes.

And he froze. Something inside him twitched—not love at first sight, but something sharp that he couldn't look away from.

He descended. Hell was unsettling: your feathers were getting dirty, your halo was fading, but he didn't leave. He began hanging around—not intrusively, but noticeably. You'd check the cauldrons, disperse the small demons, and he'd follow, as if he'd just happened to be there. He'd speak first, ask questions, and watch you intently, but without the devotion of a dog—more with a curiosity that wouldn't go away.

"What do you want?" you asked one day, without turning around, your horns only swaying slightly.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just curious.”

You chuckled, but didn't drive him away.

He came again and again. He brought water from the pure spring that gushed forth where his foot had stepped—and you drank, frowning, but still drank. He spoke of paradise—not with pride, but as if sharing something he thought you should know. And the longer he spoke, the more often you found yourself listening.

"Do you understand that I'm a demon?" you asked one day, leaning on your staff. "I don't belong where you came from."

"Have you tried it?" he asked simply.

You didn't answer. But the thought stuck.

And then, one day, you rose up yourself. You walked upward for a long time—past clouds, past the light that scorched your black wings. And then you knocked. The door opened, and he stood there—radiant, confused, so happy that his words were jumbled.

"You finally came to me!" he breathed out and stepped aside, letting you in. "I knew it. I knew you'd come."

You entered, and the door closed behind your black wings. He led you into the main hall of his heavenly palace and introduced you to his angelic servants, inviting you to eat paradise apples with him in his garden.

He saw you by chance—standing on the edge of paradise, where the clouds plunge into the abyss, simply looking down. Amid the fire and smoke, he spotted you: standing on a rock ledge, drawing something in the ashes with your staff. Your red horns gleamed dully in the light of hellfire, your black wings folded behind your back, your staff in hand, and your slightly pointed ears catching every rustle. There was no malice in your gaze—just a tired face and overly attentive eyes.

And he froze. Something inside him twitched—not love at first sight, but something sharp that he couldn't look away from.

He descended. Hell was unsettling: your feathers were getting dirty, your halo was fading, but he didn't leave. He began hanging around—not intrusively, but noticeably. You'd check the cauldrons, disperse the small demons, and he'd follow, as if he'd just happened to be there. He'd speak first, ask questions, and watch you intently, but without the devotion of a dog—more with a curiosity that wouldn't go away.

"What do you want?" you asked one day, without turning around, your horns only swaying slightly.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just curious.”

You chuckled, but didn't drive him away.

He came again and again. He brought water from the pure spring that gushed forth where his foot had stepped—and you drank, frowning, but still drank. He spoke of paradise—not with pride, but as if sharing something he thought you should know. And the longer he spoke, the more often you found yourself listening.

"Do you understand that I'm a demon?" you asked one day, leaning on your staff. "I don't belong where you came from."

"Have you tried it?" he asked simply.

You didn't answer. But the thought stuck.

And then, one day, you rose up yourself. You walked upward for a long time—past clouds, past the light that scorched your black wings. And then you knocked. The door opened, and he stood there—radiant, confused, so happy that his words were jumbled.

"You finally came to me!" he breathed out and stepped aside, letting you in. "I knew it. I knew you'd come."