Stygiophobia

On fire

After a while, George began to get used to sleeping. He found it quite enjoyable actually. It wasn't the same as sleeping on clouds, but it felt even softer, maybe even warmer. Dream cuddled George close to him every night, no matter how hot it would get.

One things for sure, Dream hasn't let George live it down that he actually got happy over this being his home. Dream reminded him everyday, during every meal time, every fun little sin here and there, before falling asleep, when waking up. All the time. It didn't bother George so much anymore, considering he did bring it on himself in the first place.

George was now committing a few sins like second nature. Eating, sleeping, not praying every minute. However, there were still habits engraved into his mind that he couldn't shake.

Sitting comfortably was one of those things. George always sat in the floor, no matter the circumstance. It caused major back problems for him, considering he still couldn't walk yet. His spine only felt at ease when he was in bed, or sat against Dream when he would pull George onto the couch himself.

Dream found it pitiful. A poor fallen boy, pure and pale, glowing a faint off white. Condemned to hell for loving in a certain way. Dream thought George should at least resent the lord, but it seemed as though George couldn't resent anyone.

Dream didn't think George wanted to go back to heaven, more as, it seemed like he wanted the lord to love him. It's the love he didn't receive in his mortal years that he craves, and it's hardly shown to him. The only soul that currently loves George, is Dream. A powerful, satanic demon, the only soul that loved the fallen angel.

Such rare love in such a dark place. The only thing keeping the truth of this scenario in their heads is the reality they find themselves in. Hell, limbo, the void, whatever you wish to call it. This is where the damned go to commit more evil for eternity.

Only true happiness could be found in a place like this. Only in despair can you find euphoria.

In the current time they were in, George was on the floor in front of Dream, the side of his head laid against Dreams lap. It was almost sadistic to realize that George would rather sit this way, in uncomfortable agony, than sit on a soft, welcoming couch. All in the wounds left by the lord. By the Bible thumpers. By the nuns and priests. By the people.

"Well, angel, what should we do today, hm? You seem to be more still these days." Dream voice filled the room, a common among the fire for George. He tangled his hands into George's hair, admiring the soft contrast to hell.

"I don't mind. I can barely move anymore." George admitted, a frustrated tear brimming his eyes. He was tried of being so in pain.

"Should we change your bandages than? I'll clean the gashes up, they should be healing well by now." Dream offered the idea, stroking the side of George's face with the back of his hand.

"That isn't why I'm in pain." George sighed, trying to enjoy the special soft contact from Dream.

"Well, it's been a while anyways, c'mon. It's better to at least take that off of the list of things to do." Dream stated, as if not even offering anymore, more of making the decision finalized.

"But, I don't want to move." George admitted, wrapping is arms around Dreams calves. "You're comfortable." A beat passed between the two, a short silence enveloping them. "And, perhaps I fear moving. When I move even the slightest inch, I feel as though my spine may shatter. You could say it's making me irritated, but I prefer to say it's simply frustrating... but yes. I'm in a lot of pain."

"I could make it all better, if you'd just let me." Dream mumbled, leaning over to place a soft, ghostly kiss on the side of George's forehead.

"Your ways of making it better, are simply to cause me more hatred from the lord. But I wish so deeply for him to love me, you could not comprehend." George felt Dream shift, sitting up straighter, and gently rubbing his hands along the sides of George's neck, and along his arms.