After showering, I dressed in my usual black and wrapped a sweater around me—the dead were always surprised to discover the fires of Hell burned ice cold. And it didn’t seem to matter how many tapestries and rugs I surrounded myself with, the chill of Hell seeped into my bones, a constant whisper of freezing pain.
I wandered out to the balcony and rested my elbows on the polished banister. The palace sat atop a granite mountain, my father’s kingdom spread below. Fire blossomed over the tiers of Helheimer, the reflection of molten lava painting the sky a dusky orange that was beautiful in its own way. I shivered, despite the warm cashmere I’d pulled around me.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish