An eternity of pleasure.
And irritation.
He would feel everything.
How long until we could move?
The answer came sometime later, when Luke spoke first.
“Each hour will get better. This is how it starts—but soon, we’ll have free roam in Hell again.”
His voice startled me.
I had grown so used to the silence that the sound struck like a crack in the dark.
I jumped…then relaxed against him.
Slowly, I wiggled my toes, testing the limits of my limbs.
I stretched my legs as much as I could.
Luke’s moved too, rustling slightly at my sides—like he was savoring the return of sensation as much as I was.
“But we can’t leave,” I said quietly, already knowing the answer.
I didn’t need him to confirm what I felt deep in my bones.
“It took thousands of years for me to leave Hell the first time,” he admitted. “And even when I did…it always called me back within minutes.”
When I said nothing, he muttered.
“I’m sorry, Kitten.”
That was the last thing he said before silence folded over us for days.
Each hour, our movement returned. Within a day, a glow of red light bled into the darkness—and for the first time, I could see Luke and nothing else. Another half day passed, and his room appeared around us. The same one with the fireplace, the desk, the massive bed.
I’d never been so excited to see a bed—but it wasn’t comfort I craved. I was hungry. Not cursed with gluttony, but still…weak. Hollowed from the inside.
As if he knew, Luke conjured an assortment of meats and vegetables onto the table.
I ate in silence, my thoughts swirling.
He could still use his power.
Could I?
Curious, I stepped out of his cozy room and into the vast bleakness beyond. I stared into nothing, the oppressive stillness—and wondered again.
The answer was yes. I could.
I built myself a home.
Just a small brick house. One bedroom. A bathroom. Kitchen. Living room. No decorations. No extra rooms. Nothing beyond what was necessary.
Then I climbed into bed.
And I slept.
