It was a cold day in Hell, and Uriel could feel it. Fallen only lately, punished for staring down human women’s tops, he was shivering so much that feathers were drifting from his wings to land on the snow.
He hugged his knees to his chest, his night-dress gown not holding the heat in at all; a thin dribble of snot worked its way down his pointy nose, mingling with the residue of many tears.
The crunching of feet on the snow brought him back to reality, and, wiping his face, he stood up. A demon was coming. It was short and round, a hooked bird’s beak with tentacles for hair. It stopped in front of him and coughed, politely covering its mouth with one fin.
Read More