The sky has never been clearer. The opposite of Naomi’s head.
She felt like she was being tricked. Or maybe she’s already dead and this is the hell she’s been assigned to. Because this is exactly what she had read in some of the western books they'd assigned in Philosophy class.
“Hey…”
"Uhm...can you hear me?"
"Pssst!"
There’s the concept of the red string of faith, the symbolism of the white rose in love. And then there’s this concept of torment where you’ve got to relieve the worst period of your life over and over again for all eternity.
“Hey, sweetcheeks...”
"Pumpkin?"
"Angel! Look at me!"
And then, of course, there’s this other kind, the one she’s obviously experiencing right now. She hadn’t read it before. The concept of meeting your devil lover in human form like nothing
