‘If Heaven is built from Sorrow, or as a refuge - it may as well be Hell.’ She looked at Death, and lingered on the Hollow of His Eyes, the small delicate grooves of bone of His orbital sockets. ‘These Souls need more. They kept coming back, returning, halting a physical Hell from reaching the ones they love in Heaven.’ She put her coffee down on the table, waiting for Him to answer.
For once, He didn’t seem ready to.