Two moons rose over the dreamscape, snowing lavender lightdrops on the bending grass as it prickled Anna’s knees. The purple snow gathered, glowing, in the folds of her shirt and the pale curls of her hair; it traced the contours of night lilies and dimpled the surface of a far-off pond with its bright flakes. It left cool, iridescent kiss marks on her skin. It made her feel perfect and clean.

The devil is a she. A blonde. A pretty little 5’5” blonde that couldn’t weigh more than 100 lbs named Lucy.

Doom was his every step, and death stained his hands.  He headed eastward, towards his release.  He headed eastward, towards the blessed end of the world.