Brienne

I was an artist. Of more than paint and more than words. I created through raw imagination. I would focus on a canvas and a world would be created inside. My worlds were dark and frightening. My gallary was called "Hell". You could enter through the door but simply opening it was not the way in. Opening the door and stepping through it brought you to just another static gallary of paintings and poetry. You had to make an offering to enter Hell. You dip your fingers in the holy water and instead of crossing yourself you spread the water on the door and listen to it sizzle. Then the veil becomes sheer and Hell can be entered.

I was trapped. Surrounded by fire. My friend--Cordelia?--made it through before the ring was complete. I'd been here before. I could abandon the poem and run through the fire to the other side, to safety. But not this time. This time the poem had to be completed. This time I didn't know I was reading or writing. "I am Milton," I said. "No you're not," pleaded my friend, "Just jump through the fire!" "I can't," I said, "I must complete the poem." The fire drew closer and there was no longer any hope of escape.

In the back of my mind I felt an angel turn its head from God. It tore itself away from the Kingdom and descended upon me. "No," I thought, "Not forever!" but it was too late. The angel took me downward and we descended into Hell.