I awoke in a rotten Garden of Eden, in the Reaper's arms, as Samael wiped black gore from his skull hollows. Fireflies buzzed like ghosts over the dead gray grass, and the Tree of Death wept blood, rotten heart-shaped fruits dangling from frozen branches. A dusting of snow and sterile muted skies jangled like keys on a prison guard's waste. Samael gathered me into his black cloak, sitting at the base of the Tree of Exile, the Tree of Abortion and Qliphoth Petit Mort, and he rocked me gently.
"Do you remember, my foundling?" he asked softly, eye hollows glowing blue.
I sobbed. "Samael, why in the world did you take me here?"
He spread his wings, and they illuminated like a photographic negative.
"To tell you the true story of your heart," he wept, tracing my breasts and stomach in a black Goth Lolita dress and Louboutins. Apparently, he had dressed me like a Goth heiress.
"I'm not sure I want to see it."
