When Asmodia's soul hears the call, she's sitting by a stream and letting the water just wash over her toes.  She hasn't eaten, she doesn't need to, and that fact itself seems worth enjoying in its own way.  She did try wandering the gardens to see if there was anybody interesting to talk to, but she can't - really hear, understand, the conversations here, they are not conversations permitted to be understood by those who might be fated to return.

Nothing much at all has happened to Asmodia in the last few hours, by Hell's standards; and of the two events that did happen to her, neither were awful.  Well, she doesn't know who owns her soul, anymore, that's a little unnerving.  But also - it shouldn't matter, right, if she can figure out what she needs to do to buy an eternity of this, and do it.  Or if whoever cares about her, goes on caring.

Asmodia feels stronger, now, that she knows good things can ever happen to her, and that somebody somewhere might even care.  Maybe the 100 years aren't a threat, a week would be a threat.  100 years could just be a message:  Go back, you still have something to do, please, I lent you a hand, lend me one too.

She's not looking forwards to Cheliax, it's too much like Hell.  But she'll face it, for that, whether she's buying her eternal peace from a fair broker, or just paying back somebody who cares.

"I wish I could stay," Asmodia breathes, and does not stay, but lets herself go.

When Asmodia's soul hears the call, she's sitting by a stream and letting the water just wash over her toes.  She hasn't eaten, she doesn't need to, and that fact itself seems worth enjoying in its own way.  She did try wandering the gardens to see if there was anybody interesting to talk to, but she can't - really hear, understand, the conversations here, they are not conversations permitted to be understood by those who might be fated to return.

Nothing much at all has happened to Asmodia in the last few hours, by Hell's standards; and of the two events that did happen to her, neither were awful.  Well, she doesn't know who owns her soul, anymore, that's a little unnerving.  But also - it shouldn't matter, right, if she can figure out what she needs to do to buy an eternity of this, and do it.  Or if whoever cares about her, goes on caring.

Asmodia feels stronger, now, that she knows good things can ever happen to her, and that someone somewhere might even care.  Maybe the 100 years aren't a threat, a week would be a threat.  100 years could just be a message:  Go back, you still have something to do, please, I lent you a hand, lend me one too.

She's not looking forwards to Cheliax, it's too much like Hell.  But she'll face it, for that, whether she's buying her eternal peace from a fair broker, or just paying back somebody who cares.

"I wish I could stay," Asmodia breathes, and does not stay, but lets herself go.

When Asmodia's soul hears the call, she's sitting by a stream and letting the water just wash over her toes.  She hasn't eaten, she doesn't need to, and that fact itself seems worth enjoying in its own way.  She did try wandering the gardens to see if there was anybody interesting to talk to, but she can't - really hear, understand, the conversations here, they are not conversations permitted to be understood by those who might be fated to return.

Nothing much at all has happened to Asmodia in the last few hours, by Hell's standards; and of the two events that did happen to her, neither were awful.  Well, she doesn't know who owns her soul, anymore, that's a little unnerving.  But also - it shouldn't matter, right, if she can figure out what she needs to do to buy an eternity of this, and do it.  Or if whoever cares about her, goes on caring.

Asmodia feels stronger, now, that she knows good things can ever happen to her, and that someone somewhere might even care.  Maybe the 100 years aren't a threat, a week would be a threat.  100 years could just be a message:  Go back, you still have something to do, please, I lent you a hand, lend me one too.

She's not looking forwards to Cheliax, it's too much like Hell.  But she'll face it, for that, whether she's buying her eternal peace from a fair broker, or just paying back somebody who cares.

"I wish I could stay," Asmodia breathes, and does not stay, but lets herself go.

When Asmodia's soul hears the call, she's sitting by a stream and letting the water just wash over her toes.  She hasn't eaten, she doesn't need to, and that fact itself seems worth enjoying in its own way.  She did try wandering the gardens to see if there was anybody interesting to talk to, but she can't - really hear, understand, the conversations here, they are not conversations permitted to be understood by those who might be fated to return.

Nothing much at all has happened to Asmodia in the last few hours, by Hell's standards; and of the two events that did happen to her, neither were awful.  Well, she doesn't know who owns her soul, anymore, that's a little unnerving.  But also - it shouldn't matter, right, if she can figure out what she needs to do to buy an eternity of this, and do it.  Or if whoever cares about her, goes on caring.

Asmodia feels stronger, now, that she knows good things can ever happen to her, and that someone somewhere might even care.  Maybe the 100 years aren't a threat, a week would be a threat.  100 years could just be a message:  Go back, you still have something to do, please, I lent you a hand, lend me one too.

She's not looking forwards to Cheliax, it's too much like Hell.  But she'll face it, for that, whether she's buying her eternal peace from a broker, or just paying back somebody who cares.

"I wish I could stay," Asmodia breathes, and does not stay, but lets herself go.

When Asmodia's soul hears the call, she's sitting by a stream and letting the water just wash over her toes.  She hasn't eaten, she doesn't need to, and that fact itself seems worth enjoying in its own way.  She did try wandering the gardens to see if there was anybody interesting to talk to, but she can't - really hear, understand, the conversations here, they are not conversations permitted to be understood by those who might be fated to return.

Nothing much at all has happened to Asmodia in the last few hours, by Hell's standards; and of the two events that did happen to her, neither were awful.  Well, she doesn't know who owns her soul, anymore, that's a little unnerving.  But also - it shouldn't matter, right, if she can figure out what she needs to do to buy an eternity of this, and do it.  Or if whoever cares about her, goes on caring.

Asmodia feels stronger, now, knowing that good things can ever happen to her, and that someone somewhere might even care.  Maybe the 100 years aren't a threat, a week would be a threat.  100 years could just be a message:  Go back, you still have something to do, please, I lent you a hand, lend me one too.

She's not looking forwards to Cheliax, it's too much like Hell.  But she'll face it, for that, whether she's buying her eternal peace from a broker, or just paying back somebody who cares.

"I wish I could stay," Asmodia breathes, and does not stay, but lets herself go.