We are the Fallen
The homes, all dreary, all grey and empty and not really homes at all (a home was more than a structure with four walls and the illusion of safety) intrigued Regina. She doubted they had been approved by the demonic rulers of hell, but they were like the inhabitants who had built them. Unimportant. So they stayed, but that overlooking might not last, and she would rather not kid herself, pretending that these places had any sort of value to them. That she had any value here.
Still, she was curious. She wanted to know why they had been built, when, from what she had seen, they did nothing. They hadn’t even the simplest of comforts, and they would likely be the first place some of the more unsavory individuals (what the difference between individuals, dividing them between savory and unsavory here, in this place where they were all sinners, all deserving of their damnation, was, she didn’t know.) would go for easy prey.
So, there had to be some allure. And one house, in particular, built away from any of the small clusters of houses, intrigued her. So, she opened the door, doubting that anyone was home. If they were, too bad. She honestly didn’t give a damn. They might even be able to answer some of her questions. And, yes, as the door (only half connected to the wall, as if it had been almost torn off, but the culprit had stopped right before finishing their deed) swung open, she saw another woman there.
She didn’t look all that comfortable, and whether that meant that she, like Regina herself, had just come to observe, or that she had a healthy sense of paranoia, the fact remained that she was standing there. “So” she said, her voice strangely devoid of emotion for a woman who had lived her life according to what her heart told her to do, “do you live here, or are you just browsing?”
@herfall
