Havana couldn’t stop staring.
The orb palpitated like a living organ, a cancerous heart swelling with the weight of every damned soul.
It was immense, impossible, yet it hovered there like a dream you couldn’t wake from. Its glow bathed her in blood-gold light, slicking over her skin, painting her like a statue to some long-forgotten goddess of punishment.
Faces pressed against the surface.
Children, mothers, beasts in human flesh, writhing in the slow churn of eternal despair. Some shrieked. Some silently mouthed prayers that would never be heard. One old man clawed at the membrane until his fingers peeled away like wet parchment.
Suffering, distilled into a single moment.
Art, in the most obscene sense.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
Satan’s head tilted, eyes gleaming. ‘He
