As the sun fell silently beyond the borders of Upper Hell and bathed the landscape in hues of red and violet, Kismet looked out from the balcony with a sudden heaviness in his heart.  He could feel his master Azriel at his side; a prominent, formidable presence that filled his waking thoughts and lingered at the back of his mind like an uncompleted task.  Being an educated slave, Kismet had many tasks to occupy his day.  His carefree youth at the place of his creation seemed a distant memory.  Despite his brief life, the balance of things had made him weary, stealing away his vitality and his hope.

  “Do you know, Kismet, what it is to experience the pain of having all you have ever loved torn from you?”

          Azriel had let his long hair down for the first time in eons, black demon eyes consuming the fading light like a man desperate with thirst.  His stare was usually vacant and leaden, but tonight a strange sadness shone through.
  
  “I suppose not, Master. I’ve nothing of value to take,” Kismet whispered meekly, fingertips sliding over the cool metal collar around his neck.  

          Once again he wondered about  life on Earth. He could remember the stories his roommate Miguel had told him, descriptions of places and things he would never be able to experience for himself.  Though his soul was banished to Hell to serve for a sin he refused to discuss, Miguel remained an object of Kismet’s envy.  In the end, Miguel was once a man, and as such possessed an immortal soul...the product of a mortal birth.  Kismet was a thing grown and produced from the belly of science, nothing more than an object to most.  And he despised himself for it.

          Azriel was something altogether different.  An angel, a member of the Fallen that now ruled over Hell.  He had been an artist, a creator of beautiful things in the time before his Fall.  The reality of his debased situation had made him bitter and intractable.  He was a traitor to both the Faithful and to the Fallen, and thus spent his days in isolation, withering on an estate populated only by underlings and slaves.  Kismet had once been defiant, free and lively up until the day he met his new master, but Azriel had promptly quelled his rebellion.  Azriel did not tolerate mettle, and Kismet’s scars were proof enough.  After the harsh treatment, this moment of quiet tolerance came as a strange surprise.

  “You do not know anything beyond this forsaken place. You are a child of Hell and Hell shall claim you when your time is finished.”  

          Hair like black flame licked at Azriel’s throat, the breeze was sweet and heavy with the scent of marigolds.  His towering frame carried his voice outward into the courtyard as the moon swelled over its captured landscape.

          Kismet was not himself of modest size; the demon blood in his veins had made his height comparable to that of a large full-grown human, but next to Azriel he always felt as minute and helpless as a child.  Standing so close to a being of such imposing power made him uneasy.  

  “I...realize this, Master. May I take my leave?”

          Frozen and cancerous, the black eyes that were Azriel’s personal punishment settled onto his own.  A chill entered the room, perhaps the promise of a cold night ahead.

  “Be here before dawn, as always, Kismet. I will have need of you,” Azriel answered quietly.  

         Without further consideration, Azriel turned away to face the fading light.  He knew he should never feel compassion for the wicked, especially for the Fallen, but the palpable loneliness needled into Kismet’s heart.  He was entirely aware what it meant to be alone.  His life would never be his own again.

                                                   ~~~~~~~~~

          At that moment, he was Darkness. Confusion licked at brain, while his senses struggled to grasp this new situation. Who am I? The question seemed to belong to someone else, a ghostly aside made to a solitary audience. James. Yes, somewhere, at some time, he was James. Not the product of the darkness, but a human being. His mind was sluggish. Something wasn’t right.

  “You can stand now,” said a voice. Female, and without emotion.

          The world around him lifted like a great black curtain, a curious light emerging from the edges of oblivion. The first thing he noticed was that he was on his side, lying on what felt like concrete. The other was that a pair of stockinged legs were standing in front of him.
  
  “Wait...” he whispered, regaining his bearings. Stark realization hit him, and he sat up abruptly. “Where the hell am I? I was in bed a minute ago. I was...” He trailed off. Something was very wrong.
  
  “You were in bed, and you had ended your own life. Correct?”

          The legs shifted and turned away. Looking up, he saw they were attached to a young woman in a simple black dress, collar and sleeves trimmed in crisp white. Her hair appeared white as well, so blonde that it cut a vivid swathe down one slim shoulder. The most startling thing was her eyes; irises such a pure black that no pupils could be seen. And everything about her said she was business.
  
  “I...I thought I fell asleep. The pills, I thought they didn’t work since they were almost expired...”
  
  “Incorrect. They did precisely what you meant them to do. And here you are now. The product of your own will.” The woman’s posture was so straight and expression so phlegmatic he thought she might look best with a clipboard and a pencil in her hands, writing down his movements like a researcher analyzing a chimp in the zoo.
  
  “Here where?” James didn’t understand any of this. He clawed at his shirt, felt his flesh underneath. He was in one piece. “I can’t be dead. I can’t.”

  “Can and are, I’m afraid. Please, collect yourself from the ground and follow me.”

          She turned on her heel and marched for a doorway he hadn’t seen previously. He pushed himself up quickly, and rushed to her side.  For such a small one, she made his longer legs strain to keep up.
  
  “You didn’t answer my question. Where am I? Where is this?” He motioned at the bare hallway, the peculiar illumination something akin to candlelight.
  
          The woman didn’t even look at him. She was bored, he realized. “Must I answer this, or isn’t it obvious? You’ve arrived in Hell. Upper Hell, to be exact. Your are a Suicide, and you await judgment. Now, follow me. Lucifer will want to see you promptly.”

          If she wore a watch, she would have glanced at it then. “As for your unspoken question: I am Eva, his secretary.”