I awake in my room in Samael's quarters. He is asleep in a chair besides my bed, the thick dark tendrils of hair spilling over his face. They move like Medusa's locks, serpentine and coiling. Samael looks exhausted. He rarely sleeps, working nights and spending the days with me.
Morning sun streams through the blue stained-glass windows, gracing the granite floor with ethereal light. I rub sleep-sand from my eyes and rise. Samael breathes heavily, caught in the lull of slumber. I am quiet so as not to wake him. I choose a royal blue sari skirt with a gold Celtic knot-work pattern embroidered in, red bralette, and sandals with gold ribbon from the closet. I tie my hair back in a loose braid and choose a white lacy shawl from the dresser, making my way to the living room. I grab my purse. I feel refreshed, rejuvenated- hopeful, even. I get my phone from its charger and plug in my headphones. Apparently all the technology in Hell runs on ether. Bullshit, I say.
