Joan shivered as she followed Rasputin over the frozen wasteland, carefully stepping where he did so she wouldn't slip. 

Well, of all the places the door to Hell could be, I certainly never expected Iceland, she thought. Can't say I appreciate the irony of it. Those fires better be burning when I get there!

Joan wrapped her jacket closer to her body, protecting herself from the icy wind, wishing she'd worn something warmer. She'd taken the first thing she'd seen out of the closet; comfy stretchy pants and shirt, combat boots and a brown leather jacket. Her baslard-dagger was strapped around her ankle, as always. She didn't have the opportunity to sneak into the armoury before her departure. And Lucifer seemed honourable enough about wanting to keep her safe... so far.
The weight of a coat suddenly draped around her shoulders. She nodded gratefully to Rasputin. It reassured her that his stay in the Circles hadn't affected his kindness to others. He hadn't said a word since he'd met her outside the Sanctum and opened a portal to Mount Hekla. Joan didn't bother to ask him about the portal. She knew about his powers. 

In life, some had seen Rasputin as an unnatural man. Others had seen him as a miracle to their prayers — Alexandra Feodorovna, the last Tsarina of Imperial Russia, had been one of them. She welcomed him into the royal household to watch over her only son. The boy had always been sickly but showed improvement when this so-called healer came into his life. Alexandra believed with all her heart that Rasputin could cure her son. Many did not share that belief and tried to kill him. They succeeded after much effort; he was poisoned, shot, and thrown into the freezing waters near St. Petersburg.
It surprised everyone when Rasputin was admitted through the Gates to enter the Vale. Despite his illiteracy, which Raphael quickly took care of, he was an asset to the Vale's team of physicians and healers. All went well... until that awful day.
The day the Tsar and his family lost it all, Rasputin spiralled down. It completely devastated him when he learned of their deaths and the disappearance of their souls. His actions afterwards sealed his fate.

"Here we are," Rasputin suddenly said.

Joan looked up and saw Lucifer standing near a door made of ivory and glass decorated with... poppies? Next to him stood a woman dressed in a heavy, black velvet dress, hands hidden in laced gloves. Only her face was left uncovered. Joan recognised the woman immediately — Erzsebet Bathory, the Blood Countess.

"Dearest Joan," greeted Lucifer heartily. "I am so glad to see you got here safely. I believe you know the Countess?"

"We've met," said Joan.

"Splendid, you'll get along then," Lucifer said, missing — or perhaps ignoring — the frigid scowls between both women.

Lucifer offered his arm to Joan. She exchanged a hesitant glance with Rasputin. He nodded, encouragingly. Joan handed him back his coat and hooked her arm with Lucifer's. The Devil's body heat was warm enough to help withstand the cold for a few minuted. 

"Go ahead," said Lucifer to the Blood Countess.

Bathory conjured a dagger out of mid-air and took off one of her laced gloves. Joan gasped silently when she saw the rotten hand. Inadvertently, she grabbed Lucifer more firmly. He placed his hand on her arm in response. It took all of Joan's will not to meet his gaze. She knew if she did, she would fall under his spell again. Instead, she watched the Countess swiftly slash her hand and press her bleeding palm to the door. The blood spread through the poppies, and the door swung open, revealing... emptiness.
Lucifer nudged Joan along. Though her heart was beating fast, doubt echoing with each tattoo, she stood fast in her resolve and allowed Lucifer to guide her in. Joan glanced over her shoulder as the Countess closed the door behind her, leaving a sombre Rasputin alone on the other side. Now, she was well and truly at the mercy of the most infamous being in all of history.

"I must say, Joan," Lucifer spoke after some time of silent walking, "I admire you for plunging so bravely into the unknown for your loved ones."

Joan kept quiet. How was she supposed to react to the Devil's 'admiration'?

"How did you convince Gabriël to let you go?" asked Lucifer, curiously.

"I didn't," she answered. "By the time he learns I've left, he won't be able to do anything about it. He will be pissed off at you, though."

"Me? Why — Oh. I see. Your last question during our previous conversation."

"I needed him gone. The best way to do that was to hurt him."

"So, you never considered I lied about the Archangels' latent ability?"

"I did. But from everything I've observed about you, you don't strike me as a liar. If anything, you use the truth to get what you want. Because you know it hurts more when it comes out."

Lucifer threw her a sideways glance but gave no response. They walked on, torches illuminating the path ahead and extinguishing behind them. Eventually, Lucifer signalled Bathory, and she fell further back. Clearly, whatever he had to say next was for Joan's ears alone.

"You're right," he spoke softly. "The pain over the truth far out ways that of the lie. Especially in matters of desire and love. I know this better than you might realise, Joan. It's the most tormenting pain ever, and coming from the Devil, that means something. All the punishments, torture and agony in the Circles are nothing compared to the overwhelming suffering of losing the person you love."

"But who did you love most?" Joan asked. "The Archangel or the mortal woman?"

Lucifer turned his head in surprise. "How do you —?"

"Gabriël told me of you and Michael. And Marina is a friend."

"Hmm." Lucifer nodded slowly. "Yes, I can see she would have you as a friend. Perhaps, in honour of that friendship, you will allow me to tell you my story. Then you'll understand why I cannot possibly answer your question."

And so he told Joan of his love for Michael. Since creation, they had been together, and their bond flourished through the years. Eventually, Lucifer took the first step toward admitting his love. Michael wanted to keep their relation secret, though, and limited their time together. Only one other knew the full extent of their affair — Gabriël.
The secrecy had been hard for Lucifer, so he'd lashed out sometimes, leaving for Earth for days on end. He'd learned more about the mortals and the powers found in the elements. It was then he'd met Margaret of Antioch. Friends at first, but with time, their feelings grew.
Lucifer had struggled at first as he still loved Michael with all his heart, but as his fights with Michael worsened, he eventually fled to Margaret. He'd stayed with her for a few days before marrying her. Admittedly on a whim, but still out of love. Michael had been furious when Lucifer eventually returned and told him what he had done. After discovering that Margaret was carrying Lucifer's child, Michael had set out to destroy both of them. First, he'd tried to set Margaret against him, but Lucifer had arrived in time to take her away. Unfortunately, he hadn't considered Gabriël siding with Michael. When they attacked, all he could do was use the powers he had harnessed to defend Margaret.
But Michael had still found a way to weaken him and had used Heaven's Fire to send him to the Circles. Unbeknownst to all, Lucifer's powers had been greater than expected, so the Fallen Angel became one with the dark power in Hell's core. He discovered Margaret had no memory of him except as the monster Michael saved her from and that the Lord Protector had fabricated tales of his downfall. He also learned that their child, conceived in love, was gone.

"You asked me who I loved most, but I never considered either of them to be my only or a greater love," concluded Lucifer. "I loved Michael first. For his strength, his beauty, his... well, I won't lie, his body too. The love I bore Margaret was different. I fell for her kindness and compassion. She made me feel like I mattered. In this entire mess, she alone stands innocent. I truly wish I could have spared her all the pain. Had you asked me who I hate, then the answer is quite simple. Michael took everything from me. I won't deny the mistakes on my part, but he crossed a line when he came after my family. He killed my son, separated me from Margaret, and cast me out of my home. If anyone understands my hatred and desire for even a small amount of vengeance, it's Gabriël. After all, Michael tried to do the same to him."

Joan had listened attentively to every word. She had hoped to catch him at a lie, something different from what Gabriël told her, but as far as she could tell, it was all true. And yes, she understood Lucifer's hatred towards Michael, as well as Gabriël's actions. If the Lord Protector stood before her now, and both men offered their hands to her, she would side with Lucifer in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Joan pinched his arm slightly.

"Thank you." Lucifer offered a sad smile. "I knew you were a kindred spirit when I first met you. I only have your best interest at heart, Joan, I swear. And I promise I shall come to visit you as often as I can."

"Visit me?" Her head snapped up to him. "Is this not the way to Hell?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of bringing you down there. No, we're going somewhere nicer. And safe. You'll be well protected. The Countess will see to that."

Joan glimpsed behind her. She doubted she would be 'well protected' if that decaying monstrosity was supposed to be her guardian. But she had agreed to this, so she would play along. For now, anyway.

***

The youngest Romanov girl had been brought to Grigori's room at the Master's order as a reward for his service. He was expected to find pleasure in making her suffer. In torturing her by whatever means necessary. He did no such thing. It was a secret he kept well-hidden from all other roaming within the Master's palace, including the Master himself. 
Grigori sat at the table, his wine untouched before him. He barely acknowledged Anastasia as she played the balalaika he kept underneath his bed, and kept his gaze on the window. The soft instrumental melody reaching his ears made him reminisce about another time. A better time. The sulphur-ridden air from the Circles had never felt this stifling before. 

"Mama was worried. You were gone for some time."

Grigori finally turned to look at Anastasia. It hurt him to see how much she'd been brought down. Though she'd always been described as regular and rather chubby compared to her older sisters, no one had ever claimed she wasn't beautiful. Her carefree spirit and the impish gleam in her blue eyes had drawn in all around her. 
That mischievous girl was gone, though. Now, she was nothing more than a slave and an object for demons to entertain themselves with. Her cheekbones, once nearly invisible, cut her oval face. Her dark-blonde locks were cut in the most jagged peaks, so her cropped hair stuck out like a scarecrow's. Those first months in the Circles, she'd cried and fought furiously at finding her hair always grew back and the shameful subjugation would be inflicted upon her every single day. These days, she let it happen, the clenched fists on her lap the only sign of her silent outrage.

"I go where I am sent by our Master, little one," Grigori replied morosely.

"Do not call me that!" she snapped with a commanding voice, the strings of the balalaika strumming out of tune as she jumped to her feet and threw it aside. "I am not a child anymore. I wasn't one when I died, and I certainly haven't been one since arriving in this godforsaken place, so do not dare belittle me so."

Grigori held up his hands in apology and let out a chuckle, eyes glistening in amusement above his long, black beard. He was glad to see that, despite enduring such an afterlife, Anastasia's inner fire had not burned out completely. Her capture had been the greatest prize of all—one less warrior for the Vale.

"Why was Mama worried?" asked Grigori.

"You know why," she answered bitterly. "The others can do what they want with us when you are gone."

Despite his agreement with the Master to keep the Romanovs from the anguish of the Circles, Grigori was not allowed to be their guardian and have them in his personal service. The family was kept in the dungeons below the palace, where they were confronted with their past failures over and over again. Sometimes, in Grigori's absence, physical abuse was added to their plight, which not only served as their torment but his as well. Their sole comfort was that the only boy of the family, little Alexei, evaded capture somehow. He was not in Hell... nor the Heavens. He was simply gone.

"I have to leave occasionally to do the Master's bidding. I am sorry if in that time you suffer more."

Anastasia tsk-ed and rolled her eyes. Grigori gestured her to sit across from him. She resigned herself with a deep sigh and slumped in the chair.

"They don't know you treat us like this, do they?" she asked, fidgeting with the torn tatters of her dress. "They believe you torture us as well because of what happened to you. But you don't blame us for that, do you?"

"No, on both accounts. My death was not your fault. Nor your family's. If I had not died that day, I would have died another. I make the others believe I torment you because it is better if we are not interrupted when you are here. Even if it's only an hour, it's an hour without pain. An hour at peace. That is all I can give for now. Perhaps it can be more one day."

"Do you promise?"

"You have my word."

***

After what seemed like an eternity, a building at last appeared in the distance. Joan squinted to make out what it was. A palace maybe? Suddenly, she stood in the most beautiful garden she had ever laid eyes on. The pitch-black nothingness became a star-filled night. It reassured Joan somewhat that Lucifer truly hadn't taken her to the Circles. She doubted they would be this enchanting.
The Devil held her close to him as they climbed the alabaster stairs. A maidservant waited at the top. Clearly, whoever lived here was expecting them. Joan's instincts were instantly triggered. Her trained warrior eyes took in her surroundings. The entire place seemed to have been taken from a fairy tale. It was all so pompous and... utopian. She didn't trust it.

"Please take us to see Kyrios Morpheus," spoke Lucifer upon reaching the maidservant.

She nodded at Lucifer and beckoned them to follow her. As they walked, Joan looked at the young woman. She couldn't have been much older than she was. Olive skin, golden hair held up with pins, shimmering jewels on every part of her almost naked body. What intrigued Joan most, though, was the brand on her arm. The winged poppy seemed to hold importance in this place. She saw it everywhere she looked. Either their host really liked them or...

"Lucifer? This Morpheus we're seeing... He isn't the Morpheus from Greek mythology, is he?"

"Very astute of you, Joan." Lucifer grinned at her. "He's not a god as the stories make him out to be, of course. That was a fabrication of the mortals to explain his powers in a time when the first angels and demons returned to Earth. But he is still special enough to be deemed... almost divine."

Joan pressed her lips together. The little she knew of Morpheus wasn't good. Gabriël had a fondness for the old Greek and Roman tales and had told her all he knew of them to pass the time while attending to their joined tasks. Morpheus had been a central figure in some, and not as a protagonist. 
The golden-haired maidservant led them to what Joan could only describe as a throne room. It was just as splendid as the Dauphin's, except this room wasn't filled with courtiers and banners depicting every noble house of France. The dark-skinned, black-haired man upon the throne rose to his feet and opened his arms in a grand, welcoming gesture. The green silk dressing gown he wore over his dark-blue leather ensemble bulged wide behind him as he approached. It made Joan think of a strutting peacock.

"I welcome you, Prince of Hell and Darkness," greeted the man. "How long has it been since you were last here? Too long, of course. And in the company of such... lovely ladies this time, too."

Joan observed two things about the man. He struck her as the typical spoiled royal who would cry bloody murder for a broken nail. And he was exceedingly nervous.

"Thank you for your warm welcome, Kyrios," said Lucifer. "Joan, allow me to present your gracious host and protector, Morpheus, Lord of Dreams."

Morpheus took Joan's hand to kiss it as if he were her knight in shining armour. She did her best not to draw her hand away too quickly.

"Joan of Arc. A true honour to meet you at last. Trust that your stay here will be comfortable. Anything you need will be provided."

"How nice to hear you say that, Kyrios." Lucifer moved in between them, forcing Morpheus to move back. "There is a slight change of plans, though. Countess Bathory shall stay as well. I hope there won't be a problem with accommodating her as well? As close to Joan as possible, of course."

The dismay Morpheus failed to hide when he began to perspire and stammer told Joan it was very much a problem.

"O-Of course. The," he cleared his throat, "servants will prepare a room immediately."

His eyes shot toward the maidservant, and he waved his hand impatiently at her. She curtsied and tried to leave, but Lucifer halted her.

"One moment. Joan, my dear, I must leave you for now, but I shall visit you soon. If you wish to see me, tell Countess Bathory, and she will contact me for you. Now, let this lovely maidservant take you to your room so you can rest and eat something. Someone else can make up the room for the Countess."

His eyes locked with Morpheus for a moment, and the Lord of Dreams nodded vehemently. Joan placed her hand on Lucifer's arm. She felt him stiffen. He looked back at her, slightly taken aback by her gesture.

"Remember your promise," she urged him. "Set Gabriël free."

"The Devil always keeps his word, Joan. Make sure you keep yours."

Joan returned his intense gaze and gave a quick bob with her head. She glanced once more at Morpheus before walking toward the maidservant, who waited patiently in the corridor.

"What's your name?" asked Joan.

"I cannot say," she answered. "When Morpheus marked me, my identity was taken from me. Gibberish comes out whenever I try to say or write anything about myself."

"That's handy. So what do I call you then?"

"Anything you like, I suppose."

"You're a person, not a pet. Tell me a name to call you so we can have decent conversations."

"Well then, I guess you can call me... Leonora."

"Nice to meet you, Leonora. I'm Joan." She smiled at the servant. "Can you tell me more about this place? Where exactly am I?"

"I will tell you as much as I can," replied Leonora. "But not here."

She took a step to her left, turning sideways as she did so. Joan saw a boy's copper-haired head quickly disappear behind a pillar. She immediately understood.

"Who's our stalker?" she asked.

"He appeared some time ago," answered the maidservant. "I don't remember when exactly. He doesn't say much. For some reason, he follows me wherever I go. I tried to get him to talk to me once, but couldn't get much out of him. All he said was, 'You were in my dream'. And then he ran. I call him Ragazzino. Il piccolo nessuno è fastidioso, ma non significa nulla di male. Oh, sorry, I forgot you weren't imaginary for a moment. I said —"

"It's all right. I understood perfectly. Pensi che Ragazzino conosca l'italiano?"

"No." Leonora raised a curious brow at Joan. "Como —?"

"My... friend taught me. He knows a lot of languages and taught me some. I helped him perfect his French in return."

"He must be very smart."

Joan merely nodded. Thinking about Gabriël after the way she hurt him was too painful to bear. She hooked her arm with Leonora's and let the maidservant guide her to her room as Leonora told her more of the palace. If she kept the young woman close, she might befriend her. And having one friend as she ploughed through the web that her enemies spun around her was a lot better than having to go at it alone.