A Bucket Full of Moonlight

Tantoque flashed the whitest, brightest smile that could be found in this region of Gehenna. He so enjoyed all the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the Orientation Day processions as the souls marched toward their eternal damnation. He loved the show, the spectacle, of it all. But unlike some of his peers, he let the duty of inflicting agony and anguish fall to devils of lower status. He was not like his rival Miseriae, who believed in conducting an explicit demonstration on a few of the unluckiest souls. Tantoque saw no need, nor held any desire to get his hands any dirtier than necessity required. And the feral wolves made all of it unnecessary. For now, at least.

As soon as the damned had disappeared from his sight and their gnashing of teeth had faded into the distance, he perambulated down the lee side of the slag heap toward the lava mansion he called home. Molded from molten rock, its shape was held by continuous obsidian flows. The basalt cobblestone walk was lined with rows of nightshade and henbane. Sulfuric fountains on each side proclaimed the great station of the house's owner.

And yet, like all things in Pandemonium, perhaps even more so, the facade belied what waited beyond the front door.

When Tantoque entered, he immediately dismissed his porcine skagservant and descended to his innermost sanctum. Once there, he’d be free of all prying eyes, except for the one nailed to the chamber door. Pity that the gorgol beast it formerly belonged to only had one eye to begin with. However, had it been a seven-eyed mesmer-demon, then seven stalks would adorn this portal. Either way, the warning had done its job for an eon.

He paused before the full-length mirrors lining either side of the hallway. Unlike the lesser demons that scurried about the house, he had no problem with seeing his own reflection. He rather enjoyed it, and always took Pride in his appearance. On his list of faults, Pride was number one with a bullet, which is why Tantoque felt the need to straighten his tie once more and to consider ripping the cowlick from his skull. But the flaws made the devil, after all, and it was better to own your flaw than allow it to own you.

With a satisfied smile, he took a deep cleansing breath and pushed open the door. Stepping across the threshold, he immediately spied the figure of a lovely fallen angel, in the literal sense of the word. Wings clipped; she lay on a tufted chaise longue. Her captor offered her comfort rather than the furnishings of a prison.

The angel lifted her head and addressed him. "How long will you keep me here, Tantoque?"

He noticed that the brilliance of her aura had dimmed a little during her captivity, yet beauty still radiated from her face cast by a light deep inside near impossible to extinguish. In fact, his presence in the room likely stoked the furnace within her, but sadly for the wrong reasons.

“Castitas, as always, you are free to leave. But a bird with broken wings cannot fly and would quickly fall victim to any passing predator.” He took a seat on the opposite side of the room. “And there are many predators outside my doors.”

The angel sat up and tried to spread her wings. Her face of determination faded into a wince of pain. Castitas wasn't you're everyday fallen angel. Her fall had not been of her choosing, but rather the result of wandering into a careless attack. She needed time to heal, and wings didn't grow overnight. Especially not in Hell.