The land of the underworld. The dark sky shrouding the whole plane in a black atmosphere. There are many souls that are condemned here. Souls that have lived their time in the mortal world and those who have not fulfilled the destiny written for them in the stars. One soul In particular is forever etched into my brain, and my heart. She is a common visitor, coming for a stay then being dragged back into the hell that is the mortal realm.

Many mortals come to me. Beg for their lives back. Pleading that “they have a family,” and that “it was too soon.” But this one, she is different. I can read the souls that come down here, the lives they lived before and wether their spirit is to wander the planes of Tartarus for eternity or to live the rest of their existence in the village of Asphodel.

Her soul is one of the purer ones. Filled with the normal hopes and dreams of many mortal children but she is not like them. Hers is filled with kindness and compassion. Not yet plagued with thoughts of war and immorality like those of many men in the mortal plane. I hate to admit it. I really do. But I am quite fond of her and her soft human heart. I look forward to our daily meetings. To discussing her daily activities of her normal life.

Her life is not that of many children. It is filled with needles. The constant anesthesia flooding her lungs and a cold scalpel marring her skin. The poking and prodding of her soft heart, being disturbed in the the nestle of arteries and the cage of bones where it lies. I feel sorrow for her. For her soft heart. Her soul has not yet seen the tyranny of human nature. I adore her. I wish for her to live a fulfilled life, but that is not the case. She will never see the outside. But when the time comes for her to not return to the mortal plane, I will be awaiting her arrival in this desolate world. Her and her soft heart.