-31-

"Season of Mists"

The floating flame drifted overhead - it'd already led several entities upstairs to visit with Dream.

It stopped and descended in front of Bast, who followed it away excitedly - she lightly leapt over the body of Thor, prone on the floor. There was a mountain of empty mugs on the table, in front of where he'd been sitting.

"SHOW-OFF," he grumbled drunkenly, with a burp. "S'NOTHING SPESHUL, DOIN' FLAMES... ANYONE C'N DO FLAMES. I C'N DO LIGHTNING, THASS BLOODY HARD…"

Adrenaline was still pumping pretty hard through my system.

I couldn't believe we'd actually gotten by with all that - three demon envoys trashed (without even remembering that we were the culprits - maybe they'd even forgotten the boons they were promised because of it, if we were lucky), the wrongfully-imprisoned queen rescued from the belly of the beast… and we not only got out alive, but unscathed.

The fact that Constantine was crunching away on potato chips (I wondered if he disliked saying the word 'crisps' as much as I do - I noticed that he left that word unspoken when he ordered it) was testament to the fact that we'd basically waltzed away from all the mayhem completely scot-free.

We'd even gotten our anonymity back - at least, I had, now that nobody remembered that they saw me standing next to Dream. Constantine, on the other hand, had too much of a reputation to escape attention entirely.

Lady Bast returned in short order, sitting back down in her seat next to Constantine. She was quiet, and her expression showed uncertainty. She took notice of Constantine, plowing his way through his bag of chips like a hungry racehorse with a feedbag. "I know you, do I not?" she asked.

Constantine poured the last broken pieces into his mouth. "Don't think so, darlin'," he said, chomping loudly on the crumbs.

"Well… my people certainly know YOU," said Bast. "The poor unfortunates, sacrificed in your rituals."

"Drop the plurals - there was only one that I actually sacrificed," he explained. "When I was a kid, tryin' to put a curse on me dad. Ever since, I've laid off usin' 'em for magic."

"Oh? So you developed a soft-spot for them, mrrr?"

"Nah, it's just that they shriek like fury when you impale them."

Bast was taken aback, horrified - if she had flesh instead of silver-grey fur, it would have turned ashen. "What an awful, morbid thing to say!"

"Yeh… know wot's even worse? It's when we say that a bloody cat, or a dog, or any other dumb animal, deserves a home for free - but humans now, they gotta earn their keep."

"Cats are beautiful, noble creatures, with souls of their own; they bring joy and comfort to all, and rid homes of unwanted pests."

"Yeh, an' dogs're man's loyal best friend. I've heard all the bloody propaganda before. Look, I don't got any particular grudge against furry little beasties - they never done me a wrong turn in me life (leastways none that I didn't rightfully deserve… 'cos've wot I done to them first, yeh?).

An' believe me, it's a tough call fer a bloke like me ta make, 'cos I can't tell you how much I fuckin' hate people - bugger and blast the rotten lot've 'em, I say. Right squandered any potential they had - which was quite a lot, considerin' the almighty gave the rank bastards all of creation, on a silver platter. Absolute dominion over the birds, the bees, the flowers, the trees... the whole bloody lot. An' yet wot do they do with it? They start killin' an' enslavin' each other, right from the start.

But even so - had I the choice of givin' every dog an' cat a safe an' lovin' home, free of charge, no strings attached, or givin' every human alive the same deal... I'd choose teh give it to the humans.

Why, you ask? 'Cuz damn it all I'm human, aren't I? It's rotten luck that I am, as I'd MUCH prefer bein' somebody's lapdog - gettin' free food an' belly rubs for the rest of me life. But strewth, I can't help it - I'm a human. An' so that's the team I play for: humanity.

Bein' nice to animals is like bein' nice to little kids - it's love-on-easy-mode. If you can't manage that much, you're not'in but a hopeless psychopath (like me - but hey, least I never pretended to be a nice man). They're cute and appreciative of you givin' 'em food, shelter, attention, protection. That's it - that's all they really need from you.

At best, they teach us cunts how easy it could be, and let us practice lovin' an' takin' care of soh'in besides ourselves… love, with the training wheels still on. It's not a bad place to start - but that's all it is: a start.

It's much harder at the next level up, which is to love fellow, equal human beings.

How d'you love the family of yuppie prats, showin' you up an makin' yeh feel like garbage? Wot about the person with a covetous eye on yer spouse? The immigrants yeh blame for makin' the jobs an' housing scarce? The people who don't believe, or love, or live like you do? The black or brown kid who wants to date yer daughter? The dirty, crazy ol' homeless bloke, sleepin' an' pissin' an beggin' in the streets?

That's right - those who can't hold down a job, or pay the bloody rent for a rat-infested broom closet, are equal to every other human out there. Even the ones who've got nasty, dangerous habits. They're not cute, or warm, or fuzzy - they're a lot harder to train than a puppy, prob'ly won't be unconditionally loyal an' obedient to you, an' it's unseemly to make 'em play fetch fer yer amusement.

I know fer certain they wouldn't appreciate it - I spent a stint bein' the crazy homeless man meself. Even at my lowest point, I had too much pride an' dignity not teh tell some superior prat takin' the mickey to sod right the hell off.

Besides, it's the homeless man's own fault that he's in the mess he's in, ennit? Took a wrong turn somewhere, made some bad choices. Had to 've: if he'd played his cards right, abided by the rules, been a more productive human being, he'd ave money - and teh get at his money, we'd be more'n willin' ta take care of 'im'. 'Cuz Jesus Wept! If you don't have money, wot good are you then?

Teh say that someone like that deserves to die, out in the cold, without a soddin' soul to care for 'em… to say that it's alright that nobody can even be arsed to mourn their passing… well, I say that's just bollocks.

It's downright DEMONIC, that's wot it is - an' I should know, I've had enough dealings with their sort over the years. I've even got one a'them's blood, coursin' its way through me veins right now, as we speak."

"Never would have thought," said Bast, cattily, as she primly bit off a dead mouse's head.

I shook my head - couldn't take John anywhere.

"And that's just the regular run-of-the-mill neighbors they were charged to love, mind," continued John, washing down the chip residue with lager. "Wot 'bout loving your ENEMIES? People who actively hate you - who want to hurt, maybe even kill you? Yeh, people conveniently forget 'bout their divine savior laying that one on 'em. 'Specially the VIP members of his fanclub, the whites and the straights, who expect their fellow humans to bow down an' worship them as 'the good people', even when they're actin' like anythin' but."

I checked instinctively to see if the angels were listening to any of this, but they were nowhere in my immediate sight.

Then I saw them, slowly floating up toward the office, completely bypassing the stairs.

I got up.

"Where're you goin'?" asked Constantine.

"Little girl's room."

"Ah," he said. "I'll go with yeh."

"That's not the way it works, John."

"I meant I'd stand outside the door, if there is one - if it's just a pit or something, I'll stand with me back turned, but close enough to catch you should you fall in."

"How nice." I sighed, and walked away. He followed.

"So," he said, leaning in to me and whispering, "where we REALLY goin'?"

"What makes you think I'm not looking for the bathroom?"

"Yeh haven't drunk anythin' since I got here - probably not before either, considerin' the contents a'yer your tiny lady-bladder would be backin' up into your kidneys before now."

"You really have such a lovely way with words, John."

"I try me best. Well, go on now - let's have the truth."

I didn't even have to say anything - Constantine just followed my eyeline and general trajectory, and noticed I was headed for the upwards-leading staircase. "Ah, I see," he said. "Naughty."

"Not really," I said, ascending the stairs. "We're not bidders for Hell - and the angels aren't either, they're just here to observe. I'm sure there's no problem with us hearing what they have to say."

"Uh huh," said John, unconvinced. "An' that's why we're sneakin' upstairs, all quiet-like. But I wonder: wot 'appens when we catch 'em shaggin'?"

"They're angels."

"Yeh, that's wot makes the blackmail so valuable. If only I'd brought me camera…"

"Not everyone's as foul-minded as you."

"Or FOWL-minded, as it were- you know 'fowl'? As in feathery-winged blighters?"

"I get it, John. Shh."

We'd reached the outside of the office - the angels had just floated in. Perfect.

"Remiel, Duma," I heard Dream say through the glass panes that divided us from them. "How goes your observation?"

I could see that the Helmet was on the table - Dream was facing them with face and head exposed, apparently devoid of fear.

"It goes," Remiel replied, serenely and carelessly. "We have observed much, and have reported all we have seen and heard to our Creator. Have you reached a decision?"

"I have come to no decision, Angel. They all want it; I don't. I never thought that disposing of the unwanted could be so hard. Many have offered me gifts; some have made threats. Some appeal to my sense of reason, or natural justice. Perhaps I should accede to the Fairies' wishes and leave Hell empty. It serves no good purpose…"

"We have a message for you," Remiel interrupted, noticing the expressions of his companion angel Duma.

"What sort of message?"

"I do not know. Wait."

The angel Duma placed his hands together in prayer, head bowed - he looked like he was listening to something far away that we could not hear.

Then his eyes and mouth opened wide, in a silent scream. He looked at Remiel, terrified, and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. Remiel's face took on the same look.

"We… I will relay the message," said Remiel, looking disturbed. "It is from our Creator." Then his eyes clouded over in misty white, and a voice much deeper and older than Remiel's musical tones came out from his mouth:

"There must be a Hell," this new voice said. "There must be a place for the demons; a place for the damned. Hell is Heaven's reflection. It is Heaven's shadow. They define each other. Reward and punishment; hope and despair. Yet it is the Lord's will that Heaven's aims shall change, and this portends that Hell must change also. To this end true belief must rule of Hell, and see to its reformation..."

The white mist faded from his eyes, leaving just Remiel.

"NO!" Remiel cried out. "No! He cannot wish that! That is wrong… we have done nothing to offend the Name - nothing that would warrant this…"

"What is it, Remiel? What are you saying?"

"I am saying… I have been told to say… that Hell can only be entrusted to those who serve the Name directly; that myself, and Duma, are to take over Hell."

John and I exchanged looks of surprise.

"We can never return to the Silver City," said Remiel quietly, forlornly. "We can never again enter the Presence."

Tears silently rolled down Duma's exquisite cheekbones, as Remiel gave voice to their shared feelings.

"But - this is neither fair nor just," said Remiel, scowling, his bewilderment giving way to a self-righteous fire of anger set ablaze in his eyes. "We have done nothing to be cast out. We have never rebelled - we fought bravely, side by side, against the armies of Lucifer. We are of the Host. We are too pure for our feet ever to touch the base clay - why then should we be forced into the Pit?" He lifted his hand dramatically, reminding me of a highschool theater play. "To be exiled into the darkness… to be banished from our Creator's light, his grace…Hell is for the EVIL. Hell is for those who have offended against his love. Hell is for…"

Remiel put his face in his hands. After a few moments of mourning, he shifted his hand to cover his mouth.

"I-I will REBEL," he spoke aloud through his fingers, nodding, as if in agreement with himself and this newly formulated plan. "Like Lucifer."

"That was a fast fall," murmured Constantine. I put up a finger to warn him to be quiet a sec - he frowned and lightly slapped it down, as the gesture apparently offended him.

Duma looked alarmed. Remiel slowly reformed his hand into a fist. "I will protest. This is wrong… we can not… we MUST not…"

He looked at Duma in the face then, and read there all the various counter-protests that could possibly be made. His own face fell, and then he stared down at his hands.

"But how can I rebel?" he asked of himself, and clawed his fingers through his hair. "Where could I go if I did?" He looked upwards, desperately. "… Lord? Let this burden pass from me. Your will is too harsh. Choose another…"

As Remiel stared at the office ceiling and waited for an answer from the Almighty, Duma looked at Dream. Dream extended the Key of Hell toward him.

"If you want it, Duma, it is yours."

Duma took the Key, slowly and solemnly. He gazed down at it with sad, wet eyes, pressing and folding his lips together in a perfect inverse smile as he cried some more.

"And you, Remiel. What will you do?"

"What CAN I do?" Remiel asked, giving up his prayers to heaven to face Dream. "I cannot allow my fellow to drink from the cup that I have refused. I will stay with Duma. I will stay in Hell."

"Very well. You have my sympathies."

They certainly did not have Constantine's - the rotten reprobate was chuckling with glee. "This is the best day of me whole freakin' life," he said. "Eat shit, angels."

"Let us tell the others."

At that point they were moving toward the door, and I motioned for Constantine to book it with me for the stairs - but before we could, Dream showed up to block our path, with the Helmet in one hand, and the other on his hip.

Brave, brave Constantine startled, ducked behind me, and pushed me forward at Dream, all in practically one smooth motion. I gave him a sidelong look that I'm sure communicated the full extent of my appreciation.

"Rose, I'm sure you understand the potential danger of the current situation," said Dream. "I am about to bring ill tidings to a group of individuals known for their immense power, but not necessarily for their ability to bear disappointment with grace and dignity."

"Nawww," said Constantine with mock incredulity, still standing behind me. "Yeh mean those lovely friends of yers downstairs might be reflexively vengeful, like YOU? Say it ain't so, Chief."

Dream stared at him coolly. "I am deserving of your derision, Constantine; but perhaps it is best if you leave as well."

"Wait, what do you mean by 'as well'?" I asked.

"I am sending you to my brother. I believe it to be the safest place for you, while I sort out matters here."

"Who's your brother?"

"I'd rather not reveal his name to you - it would make you unduly worried."

"What could be worse than 'Death'?"

He took a paper note from his jeans pocket. "Go to Delirium below, and give this to her. It should allow her to take you to the correct place quickly and directly, without providing her an opportunity to become confused partway through the journey."

I took it, full of uncertainty. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

Dream put the Helmet on. "Certainly."

Descending the stairs with Constantine not far behind, I had a sinking feeling - an indistinct dread was humming along my nervous system. I didn't know why, but it felt like this parting was significant, and not in a good way.

It felt like everything kept shifting and changing around me, keeping me off-kilter - I couldn't keep up. It was like threading a path through mist.

I couldn't help Dream any further. This was not my world - at least, not yet. It made perfect sense for me to go somewhere safe, before a ruckus started.

And surely anywhere was safer than Hell, surrounded by superpowered assholes.

Besides, I had a great deal of Dream's power - he wasn't going to just abandon me completely. He needed me.

So… why was it feeling like I was making a bad move by leaving?

John insisted on tracking down the Fashion Thing first, and getting his trusty trenchcoat back from her dimensional storage.

Then we found Delirium - she took our hands, and gave us an instant contact-high that made the colors and shapes of the world around us blur together. We were engulfed in a cloud of fine paint-mist and little circles of light refracted from nowhere, as well as what looked like eye-floaters and the splotches of the colorful light you sometimes see on the inside of your eyelids, especially after looking at something very bright.

And when that mist parted, we were somewhere else.

My mother Rose did not know what happened when Morpheus announced his decision to his guests, so I told that part of the story for her...

-Daniel's Tale-

Before any of them knew that Morpheus was descending to speak with them, the supernatural guests of Hell had been arguing and threatening one another.

"If you don't hold your stupid tongue, Thunder-God, then once I rule Hell I shall not rest until it hangs from a hook on the wall of my throne room!"

"You? Rule Hell? The Hell of Lucifer will be OURS. You and your kind will be left to snuffle in the outer darkness."

"Hell is mine, dog-head!"

"Wrapped thus, you look like one of our dead... in need of a tomb to be buried in, mrrr."

"All of you will suffer for your temerity, the very moment I hold the infernal Key in my hands…"

"I had assumed that you would wait for me to make an announcement, before electing yourselves Lords and Ladies of Hell," said Morpheus, from the bottom of the staircase. "I see I was wrong."

The hall became silent, as they turned their attention to him.

"Order and Chaos, Egypt and Asgard, Faerie, Demonkind and Nippon - each of you has come to me, pleading your case-"

"Enough babbling!" yelled Choronzon, from within his silken bonds. "Hell belongs to demons, and that's that! You owe us! Just give me the Key to Hell and be done with it…"

"I cannot do that. I cannot give it to any of you."

"What?!"

"Why not?" asked Odin One-Eye.

The angels descended. "Because it is no longer his to dispose of," said Remiel. "We have taken back the Key."

"Hell will again be the abode of the damned, and the demons. The damned will be returned to Hell; and there they will once again be punished. The demons may once again take up residence in Hell, and will be expected to play their part in the rehabilitation of the damned."

"Rehabil…" Choronzon echoed, his voice running dry before he could finish the word. "You cannot be serious! Under whose authority?!"

"Whose do you think?"

"But we are AT WAR with the ruler of Heaven and his Host!"

"The war between Heaven and Hell is over. Hell is now directly under Heaven's control. Duma and I will be heaven's regents in the underworld."

"Dreamlord," said Susano, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, "you are not forced to accede to this."

"I did not create the hell of Lucifer, Lord Susano-o-no-Mikoto, nor the realm of which it is a shadow. If its creator wishes to take it back, that is its creator's affair, not mine."

The guests took the news far better than expected - and for this, my father Morpheus was glad.

He met them each at the gate, to say goodbye.

Lord Kilderkin had a typewritten note inside his box, reading: "DREAM - YOUR DECISION WAS JUST AND ORDERLY. AS SUCH, THOUGH I REGRET IT, I CANNOT FAULT IT. -KILDERKIN."

"Thank you, Lord Kilderkin. Your understanding is appreciated. I wish you well."

Princess Jemmy bobbled along the floor, propelled forward by a red helium balloon, the string of which she held in balloon fingers.

"So: I take it that I have incurred the wrath of Chaos, from the Shivering Brigade to the Laughing Dancers, until the end of time."

"Oh, that… I jus' made that stuff up. We din't want it, we jus' din't want anybody ELSE to get it. Anyway... thank-you-for-having-me-at-your party, Mister Dreamy!" The helium balloon expanded, and she floated away to her own dimension.

And so on it went, through the entire guest list.

There was a bit of trouble to sort out with Loki.

You see, this trip to Hell was something of a reprieve for the trickster: normally, he spent his days and nights in a cavern beneath the world, with a woman named Sigyn and a snake with no name. Loki was bound to a rock with the entrails of his son (their son, I should say - the woman is his wife), underneath the snake, whose fangs continually drip poison. Sigyn catches the snake's venom in a bowl, but whenever she has to empty the bowl to prevent it overflowing, the stinging drops fall upon Loki. When he writhes from pain, the earth quakes.

You may very well understand why Loki was not anxious to return to his normal abode.

Thankfully, my father Morpheus was quick to ascertain that Loki had used glamour magicks to switch places with Susano-o-no-Mikoto, before the Asgardians imprisoned the wrong man in his stead (magic, as some of you know, has a particular smell; Morpheus was well accustomed to the various odors of the craft. But even if it did not, and Morpheus was not, the suspect behavior of the Japanese storm-god would have led Morpheus to question what was amiss).

Lady Bast purred to him of her hope that he would seek out her company one day in the realms of the desert sands; the King and Queen of Faerie bade him a cordial farewell that nevertheless retained a coldness that made plain their grim displeasure (they had managed to secure an agreement from the angels to abolish the tithe, for the angels had no use for unwilling souls that needed no rehabilitation; but still Titania and Auberon felt themselves slighted, as their exact wishes had not been acceded to by Morpheus).

When all the others had gone, there still remained one guest in Hell.

The most important one.

Matthew the Raven landed upon his hand. "Kaark! Hey Boss, Huginn and Muginn just left with the Viking gods. Just finished telling 'em my life's story. Nice guys."

"Matthew, I am uninterested in discussing the social merits of ravens."

"Oops. Sorry, not a good time for small talk, huh? You upset about not having the Key to Hell anymore?"

"No. It feels… like a great weight has been taken from my shoulders, Matthew. It is an insidious thing, that Key; it has the power to corrupt simply by existing. I am well rid of it."

"Well, it's a good thing it went to those angels, then. I mean, they won't be corrupted by it, will they?"

Morpheus did not care to answer that question; partially because he did not know for certain, and partially because he was far too tired to contemplate the matter any further. "Go to the woman, Nada. Tell her that we shall be returning to the castle at the heart of The Dreaming, and she is welcome to accompany us... and that I request a private audience with her when we get there."

"Right. I'll tell her you want to talk to her."

"I don't WANT to talk to her, Matthew. I doubt that she wants to talk to me. But still… we will talk."

"Say, uh… what about that new girl Rose?"

"We will not be seeing her again."

Morpheus waited in the dining hall of The Dreaming Castle.

The Fashion Thing had seen to the decor of the hall, to suit it to Nada's liking - as such, there were now many green plants and artistic depictions of birds arranged throughout. The Fashion Thing saw to Morpheus in a similar manner, grooming him and clothing him in attire that would appeal to the queen of the ancient, long-lost city. No doubt she had also worked her magicks upon Nada.

Indeed, when Nada walked through the entryway and entered the dining hall, she looked magnificent - just as Morpheus had always imagined her, when still he held that brief hope in his heart that she would be his queen. A hope that was quickly dashed along with her mortal body, which she herself threw down upon the cruel stones in order to deny him.

He knew that she beheld him as the same man who stole her heart on that moonlit night so very long ago… the mysterious stranger, whose dark beauty and inexplicable allure drove her to great lengths to seek him out, the first mortal to do so for the sake of love... in the city of glass that was now no more, lost and forgotten beneath the dry desert sands.

They froze there - the table was between them, but this was not the full extent of the gulf between them by far.

"Hello, Nada."

"...Hello, Kai'ckul Dreamlord."

"I suppose you must be hungry. Please, have a seat."

"I was, for the first few thousand years," said she, standing firmly in place and making no move toward the offered chair. "But after that I grew accustomed to the feeling; I realized I need not concern myself with such things as hunger, when I have no true body in need of nourishment. I am one of the dead."

There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence. The Dream King did not know what to say to the long-dead mortal queen. What could he say?

But this continued silence would not do. He would have to say something. Perhaps it would be the right thing.

When he opened his mouth to speak, so did she.

"I'm sorry. You were about to say?"

"No. You first, Kai'ckul. I think you have something to say to me."

"Nada…" he began. But he was merely stalling for time to formulate his thoughts. "Ten thousand years ago, I… I condemned you to Hell." This was foolish to say. She knew this quite well. More preamble, more stalling. Why was he finding it so difficult to come to the point? His mind was afflicted with some sort of fog, and he was impatient for it to dissipate. "I think now that I may have acted… wrongly. I think perhaps I should apologize. I should tell you that I am sorry."

There. It was done. Now amends could be made. He expected that perhaps there would be tears, accompanied by expressions of pain, sorrow, and regret - he would endure them, and comfort her, and then she would tell him what she wanted of him as recompense. And then the matter would be settled once and for all.

But there were no tears - Nada was looking at him with nothing more than unmitigated, incredulous anger. Why was she angry? She was no longer in Hell. He had rescued her from the bowels of a demon. He had humbled himself before her; an Endless, humbled before a mortal. She could ask for any boon that was within his power to give - what more could she possibly desire of him?

"You think you MAY have acted wrongly? You think PERHAPS you will apologize?"

Ah. Yes, she was correct to point out his poor choice of words. "I AM sorry, Nada."

"And is that all? You expect me to accept one half-hearted apology, and say no more?"

This was baffling; even Rose Walker had accepted his apologies easier than this. Where had he gone wrong? "You may say whatever you feel compelled to say, Nada," he said, though the invitation made him nervous.

"Very well," she said, and he felt as though there was something mocking in the way she said this. She moved toward him, around the table. "I spent ten thousand years in Hell. I could scarcely stand in that oubliette. I burned by day, and froze by night. Glass shards cut my flesh. I starved, and hurt, and wept, and waited." She was very close to him now. "All that, because of you."

"I understand. I suffered too, Nada - first from the love that was offered to me and then denied, and then from the guilt of what my heartbreak caused me to do."

Morpheus felt an unfamiliar pain across his cheek. It happened so fast it took a moment for him to realize what it was: her hand.

"You… you make me sick," panted Nada, through her rage. "I see now what tempered your apology: you expected ME to apologize for what I caused YOU to suffer. How… HOW DARE YOU. There is no comparison in our suffering - there is no apology that I must give to you. I was the queen of the city of glass - by giving my heart to you, I lost them. I owed it to them to take my heart back. I owed you nothing then, and I owe you LESS than nothing now."

"You hit me, Nada," he said, bewildered. He could scarcely believe this was possible. "You struck me; and here - here at the heart of The Dreaming…" Indignant anger seared through his being, winding up as though through a tesla coil. "I should… I… I ought to…"

"What will you do to me, Dreamlord?" she challenged, face stoic. "Send me back to Hell?"

The whirling inferno within him subsided, doused by the cold water of inarguable logic. "No," he said. "The angels would not allow it."

"...What?"

"Ah, yes… you did not witness what occurred in Hell. The angels have taken over Hell - it will no longer be a place of eternal punishment, but of rehabilitation. You, whose soul is unstained by sin, would have no place there."

Nada interlaced her fingers, pressing them to her lips. Her eyes filled with tears. "My prayers were answered," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I prayed to the god of all gods, the presence of good that exists beyond the world, to intervene - to spare the souls of the innocent from unjust damnation," she explained, doing her level best to keep the tears from spilling over the edges of her eyes. "So too did I pray even for those who had done unspeakable ills. I prayed for them to be delivered from hopeless despair without end - for what purpose does that serve? Why not give the damned a chance at redemption, so that they may be at peace?"

Morpheus bowed his head, closing his eyes. "It was not the angels who wished to reform Hell: I believe the creator of Hell, the Lord of Hosts, heard your pleas and agreed. This is no small thing that you have done, Nada; you have saved countless souls from torment. You imagined a better way, a better world - not simply for yourself, but for all who shared your fate - and it came to be.

Usually, it takes far more than an individual to reshape Reality; Lady Bast was quite disheartened to hear of what befell her people, and how difficult it would be to regain their former glory."

"Her people?"

"Cats." Nada sat then in the chair that she had earlier refused, wanting to hear the tale. "You see, in the previous Reality, it was cats who dominated the earth. They were far bigger than they are now, and humans were far tinier; the cats hunted humans for sport, in the manner of our current housecats when they hunt mice. But they only hunted a part of the humans - they captured and kept the others as pets. The cats bade the humans groom their coats for them; to feed them, and sharpen their claws.

But then, one day, a human dreamed of a world in which they need not fear cats; the human told this dream to his fellow humans - not many, around a thousand all told - and these humans were thus inspired to dream the same dream. That collective dream reshaped the world, quite literally overnight - and when the humans awoke, it was to a world where feline-ladies and cat-lords never existed.

That is how we came to be in this Reality, where cats have been diminished in size and power, and humans enlarged in both regards.

Cats know this to be true, of course - in the deepest recesses of their subconscious minds, they know that once they looked down upon humans as creatures who lived at the pleasure of cats, instead of the other way around.

They know, if they were to lay eyes upon them, that even the mighty cats of the jungles and savannahs are but a paltry vestige of their former selves. And while these bigger, freer cats dwindle in numbers, the small cats who are kept as prisoners within the abodes of humans are now in the majority.

The only thing the cats do not know is how this new Reality came to be."

"But Kai'ckul... if a thousand humans could dream the same dream and change Reality, what is to stop a thousand cats from changing it back?"

"On a purely technical level, nothing - but as Lady Bast lamented to me: 'one cannot persuade a thousand cats of anything.'"

Nada smiled grimly at that, but still she looked deeply sad and lost in the mist of her own thoughts.

"Nada," he tried once more, "You are right. You merely hurt my pride, and for that I subjected you to lifetimes of unimaginable cruelty. What I did was foolish, and unfair... and more than that, it was heartless. I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"No, you do not," agreed Nada, all too readily.

"Do you desire vengeance upon me, my love? You have but to name the price of your satisfaction, and I shall pay it gladly."

"Then you are lucky, my love," she said, walking toward him, "for though you may not deserve forgiveness, you shall have it anyway."

It happened too fast for him to be able to say who it was who embraced the other, but the fact of the matter was that the Dreamlord found his arms around her waist, and her arms around his neck.

His heart was full of both aching and joy - he wanted to rip it straight out of his chest, and gift it to her.

He leaned in to kiss her… but that is when one of her arms retreated, and she placed her fingers over his lips. "Our time as lovers is finished," she said, quietly. "I know you would have me stay here, and be your queen - but I renounced that offer ten thousand years past, and my mind remains unchanged. I also know your mind is fixed to remain here, lording over dreams, rather than to live with me as a free man."

"I have my responsibilities, Nada. I cannot abandon them."

"That is what I thought you would say." She removed her arms, and pulled herself back from his. "It is time I decided my future, then."

"Yes. My sister will be here, momentarily. She will take you to any afterlife you desire."

"Is this because of your boon?"

"No. This is not my doing - each soul goes where they wish. That is the natural way of things."

"Why would anyone wish to go to Hell?"

"Because they believe that is where they will go."

Nada thought that over, looking disturbed. "I spent ten thousand years in Hell," she murmured, "and I blamed you for my pain…but was it because I believed that you had the power to condemn me? Was I choosing to stay in Hell, awaiting the time that you would save me as proof of your love, and acknowledgement of your guilt… when I could have simply walked away?"

"Perhaps."

"Then, in order to give myself back the time I have lost, I think I shall choose to be born anew. If I do this, will I remember you?"

"Not in the way you do now."

"Will your memories remain the same, or will it be as in the tale of the cats? That this form will have never existed at all?"

"I will not forget you, Nada. I will always care for you, whatsoever body you wear."

"But will I know that, Kai'ckul Dreamlord? Will I still remember that you care?"

"No. Your subconscious may retain a fragmentary remembrance of me, and some dim awareness of our connection… but not in any way that your conscious, waking mind shall be able to grasp.

But I shall know, Nada. I shall know.

You have asked me for no boon, but I shall grant you one nevertheless: one day you will have a dream, and this dream will set you on the path to greatness."

"I do not desire greatness, Kai'ckul. I only wish to help others live a good life."

"And so you shall. Just as you led the souls of the dead toward the light, now you will do the same for the living. I will not let you forget that you have always been, and will forever be, a queen of the highest caliber."

Meanwhile, the angels were settling into their new home in Hell.

The Corinthian may have stolen away some of the lost souls of Hell, but this was a mere fraction of the total inhabitants.

The demons and the damned that now filtered back in through the gates of Hell could have defected to the side of The Corinthian, if they had so desired - but instead, they had chosen to return.

But if you think this means that they were in any way happy about getting what they had claimed they wanted, you would be wrong - this homecoming was anything but pleasant and full of jubilant elation. Every demon and once-lost soul all shuffled in from the mist as the very picture of misery, as if they carried the weight of the world upon their shoulders.

The demons worried about the new management, and even the lost souls of Hell were only morbidly curious at best what their torture would be like under the supervision of unfallen angels. Both groups believed that the angels hated them, and would be far less laissez-faire than Lucifer Morningstar.

This theory was proven wrong, when Remiel stopped an overzealous demon, mid-torture, to offer him some constructive criticism.

"That was the old Hell," he said, gently. "In the new Hell, we substitute correction for despair. There will be no further wanton violence; no further suffering inflicted without reason or explanation. The flames of Hell have become refining fires, burning away the dross, leaving purity and repentance and good." Remiel looked at the tortured soul with a beatific smile. "We will hurt you," the angel said. "And we are not sorry. We do it not to punish you, but to redeem you. Because afterward, you shall be a better person. And because we love you. One day, you'll thank us for it."

"But...you don't understand…" moaned the tortured soul, "that makes it WORSE. That makes it so much worse…"

And the angel Remiel ascended into the sky of the underworld, confident that it has begun to change things for the better.

After all, this is part of the divine ineffable plan, is it not? Then how could it not be for the best?

Perhaps events had ended happily after all.

Happily ever after, in Hell.