Forcing Her Hatred
Niniola sniffed standing behind Sunday as she lifted her. head, her eyes settling on the hellscape that the First Heaven was made of. It was familiar, so very familiar. After all, this had been the place that she found solace during the times when no one would want to associate with her.
In here, there was no distinction. No abomination, nothing evil or good. The only things that existed here were those who were strong, the mighty and those who were weak, the prey.
Any other thing was merely a fairy tale at best.
It was funny still. In the place where she found solace in its loneliness and lurking of danger in which she had been shaped to who she was now, she was standing with the same and only person that had accepted her for who she was.
Sunday was not only her champion. He was her everything. Which was why when he left, she had been sad. Hurt and extremely Pained.
"Niniola," Sunday called to her, drawing close to her.