and her fiercely loyal hound, Cere.
They were both sleeping soundly after a long day of gathering wood and finding food
and tending to the little patch of land Christi was hoping they might call home.
The lady demon, or as she had felt more and more lately, ex-demon--
was dreaming that she had wings.
She was high in the sky. It was dark with beautiful wisps of light all around.
She felt that she was enjoying a respite from the agents of Hell who were hunting her down.
At that moment, she was not worried about being caught by some malevolent Being
sent by The Prince—or worse yet, being overtaken by The Prince Himself.
The parting words of the priest Peeracleeze came to her. When they had fought and vanquished
The Brothers Of The Damned by the Seraphim River, they had spent time talking
and nursing their wounds.
When they said goodbye at The Crossroads, she had asked him if he had any wisdom
that he could share with her in her quest to be free.
"You said it yourself," he replied, "We are not the cloak we wear."
"What are we then?" she asked.
"Not this," he answered. "Not this, not this, not this..."
Christiablo awoke with the startling, puzzling realization that The Devil was not chasing her;
nor had He ever been.
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Christiablo™ Running From The Devil ©2012 G.A.M.