With nothing else to do, I explore the cell. It doesn't take long. It's a small rectangular space about three paces deep and two wide. The walls and floor are made of uneven stone and covered with a damp slime that smells like the ooze at the bottom of a pond.

There's nothing to sit down on, and the only light is a faint line of gray around the edges of the door. I quickly grow bored.

I count the rocks in the wall, and it occurs to me that maybe I'll get lucky like Edmond Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo, and meet another prisoner with a pre-formed escape plan.

"Hello?" I call, leaning against the faint line of gray marking the crack between the wall and the door. I haven't heard anything to indicate I'm not alone down here, but it's worth a shot.

I quickly regret my audacity.

A cacophony of hideous sounds rises up like a swarm of locusts, doubling and redoubling in intensity as the echoes build. Screams, cries for help, insane laughter, pleas for mercy or death, and a host of inhuman shrieks assault my ears, and I end up huddled in a corner with my hands pressed against the sides of my head trying to block out the noise.

When silence returns, I've been crouching in the corner for so long that I'm stiff and shaking with cold as I finally get to my feet.

I don't know which realm of Hell this is, but it's clearly not one of the hot ones. This place is freezing. I pace to keep myself warm, but eventually, I tire. The cold eats at me as much as the hunger and thirst, and pretty soon I'm about as miserable as Azael no doubt hopes.

It's actually worse knowing that someone will come for me. If I thought Azael had left me here to die, I could at least fall into a hopeless stupor. Knowing that he has other plans makes every second of waiting seem like an age.

I've just gotten to the stage of thirst where I'm ready to lick the smelly damp walls for moisture when the guards return.

~xxx~

After so long in the dark, I'm blinded by the light that spills in through the door when it opens. I'm too cold, stiff, and weak with hunger to walk, but the guards are very adept at dragging me along at this point, and have me back up all those stairways and corridors in no time. They don't seem like the same guys as before, but I can't tell because they're wearing cloth face masks and they don't speak.

They dump me in a small room, and other hands grab me and dunk me in a basin of hot water, where I'm scrubbed clean with the kind of force usually reserved for barbecue grills and tile grout.

When they finish I'm not sure how many layers of skin I've lost, but at least I no longer smell.

They give me a sort of long bathrobe thing to wear, and then they give me water and food.

It's not good food--in fact, it's a bland gruel that I'd find disgusting if I wasn't starving--but it's food nonetheless.

Finally, the guards return for another round of marching and stair climbing. By the time we reach our destination, it feels like I've summited Everest without oxygen, and I can barely breathe.

They drag me through a set of grandiose doors into a series of rooms that can only belong to Azael. I have an impression of excessive wealth--silks and gold, cushions, carpets, paintings, and tapestries--and then I'm pushed into a slightly smaller chamber. It looks like a combined living and sleeping area, with a bed the size of a small barge.

"Hold him," says one guard, and the other obliges. It's not so I don't struggle, I realize; it's so I don't collapse.

The other guard fastens a collar around my neck attached to a heavy chain, the other end of which is bolted to the wall.

"Oh wait--I've seen this movie!" I gasp weakly. "Now you're gonna make me dance for the giant slug, right? Please don't make me wear the weird bikini dress though--I don't think I have the figure for it."

The guard holding me up shoves me into a pile of cushions on the floor. "You'll wear whatever Lord Azael tells you to wear," he says.

The other leers. "Maybe once his lordship's had his fun, he'll give us the leftovers, eh?"

They leave laughing. 

I give the chain a half-hearted tug. Unsurprisingly, it stays firmly affixed to the wall. After that, I'm too exhausted to do anything but curl up in the cushions and fall asleep.

~xxx~

I wake to the uncomfortable sensation of someone watching me. Azael sits on the edge of his massive bed, staring down at me with an oddly thoughtful look.

When he sees I'm awake, he stands.

"Well, dream-eater, did you have a pleasant stay in my dungeons?"

I grin up at him defiantly. "Oh yeah, I especially loved the smell. I'm really gonna miss it."

He laughs. "If you fail to cooperate, you will enjoy it again soon enough."

I see he's holding the end of the chain in his hand, and he starts to pull--not hard, but slow and steady, drawing me towards him. I try to dig in my heels, but I might as well be fighting a freight train.

When I'm before him, he forces me to kneel.

"Don't fight me, Alex, and I won't hurt you," he says. "Just do as I ask."

"Yeah? And what do you want?" I return through gritted teeth.

"I want you to see my dreams. I want you to understand something."

"That's all?"

He looks down at me with an amused smirk. "For now."

"Fine."

"Good," he nods and pulls me back to my feet. Then he stretches out on the bed and lays back. Reluctantly I follow, lying as far from him as I can.

The chain rests in a coil between us like a heavy snake. Clearly he hasn't seen many movies, because I'm totally planning to strangle him with it as soon as he's asleep.

Then again, maybe he has. He wraps the chain around his fist and gives me only enough length to keep a small space between us.

"Now, you will not only see the truth, but feel it as well," he says, and closes his eyes.

I don't think I'm going to be able to fall asleep next to a guy who wants to do horrible things to me and destroy the world, not to mention murdered me in a past life, but somehow I do. And then I dream.

~xxx~

The first emotion I feel catches me by surprise.

It's love, and it's directed at the angelic woman standing before me in the midst of a glorious white garden bathed in the light of twin moons.

"Have you considered my proposal, Astoreth?" I ask with Azael's voice.

She--tall, golden-skinned, and golden-haired--responds with a voice like music. "I have, Azael. I think it is a fair and wise choice."

I embrace her. "We will rule together over all things--you and I."

She replies with a kiss that tastes like tears.

~

Then I'm in another place, standing before a stone arch like the one I saw in Damien's dreams. A young girl approaches it, and a sense of dread begins a slow crescendo in my heart. She stops and looks back. Tears glitter in her eyes.

"Astoreth, are you certain she will be alright?" I ask.

"Of course, my love. Do you think I would risk our daughter's life otherwise?" She approaches the girl and leans down to speak in her ear.

"Don't be afraid, darling," she says. "It won't hurt. Just picture the Door you want to open, imagine what lies beyond, and step through."

The girl--the Key--nods and walks forward again. She hesitates one last time, then steps through the arch.

She screams, and then she's gone. Where she stood, a doorway opens. What's beyond it is hidden by a blinding light.

"Astoreth--where is Isha? What happened to her?" my voice--Azael's voice--is strained with fear.

"She's safe now, Azael. Do not fret." She steps towards the doorway, then turns back, and I see something different on her face. She makes a gesture, and I feel my arms gripped by hands like iron.

"Astoreth--what are you doing?" I ask, unwilling to believe. "What have you done?"

"There can only be one Throne, Azael, and you are not fit for it. It is a seat of balance--of neither shadow nor light. You are too inclined towards the extremes of each, and too easily led by your heart. The throne demands an impartial mind. I'm sorry, but I did what had to be done. This is goodbye."

She takes one more step and is gone. The Door closes, and my heart--Azael's heart--breaks like shattered crystal, the pieces lodging like shrapnel in body and soul.

And then comes the hate.

~xxx~

I'm shaking, heart pounding with the rage of loss and betrayal when I open my eyes. Azael awakens at the same time and sits up. He looks at me and seems to read something in my face.

"So, now you understand," he says. "I don't expect you to change your opinion of me, or to sympathize with my cause: but now you have seen what lies behind it. Now, at least, you know why."

He stands and refastens the end of the chain to the wall.

Then he comes to me where I sit on the edge of the bed, still breathing hard, and runs his thumb over my bottom lip.

"We will continue your education when I return," he says, and then, to my relief, he leaves me alone.

There isn't much to do, with nothing but the pile of cushions within reach of the chain, and after a while, my boredom turns to weariness, and I doze.

I'm roused by someone kneeling next to me.

It's one of the guards. I think maybe he's brought me food or something, but when I open my mouth he clamps a hand over it and pushes me back into the cushions.

My eyes go wide, and what the other two said earlier about leftovers flashes through my mind, but then he shakes his head and raises a finger to his lips. I don't know what's going on, but I nod. He takes his hand from my mouth--who was I going to shout for anyway?--and pulls the cloth mask from his face.

Or rather, from their face.

My heart kicks into high gear, and if I wasn't a dream-eater, I'd be certain this was a dream.

"Dante?" I whisper.

"Alex--are you okay?" They look me over, clearly worried. "Oh my God...Azael didn't...did he?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. What the hell are you doing here? And where did you get that outfit?"

"I'm rescuing your dumb ass. And I got the clothes from one of those goons I knocked out in the corridor."

They take a set of keys from their belt and try a few on the collar until one unlocks it.

"Where's Damien? Is he here?" I ask, frantic.

"No. There's no time to explain. Put this on and then let's get out of here."

Dante shoves another guard outfit at me, and I scramble into the heavy clothes as quickly as I can.

"Are you hurt?" Dante asks. "Can you walk?"

"No, I'm not hurt, and I think so."

"Good--then let's go."