Between the paws of Cerberus I rest, leaning against a stone warmed by the proximity of Hell. The gates loom ancient and holy above me, but beyond them… only darkness. The air is filled with a low cry of despair, and here and there a soul drifts past, the pain of its eternal task stamped more clearly on its face than any feature life might have provided it. The monstrous guardian above me stares out across the winding river Styx, unconcerned with my existence.
We’ve met before.
I had wings then, glorious white feathered wings that blocked out the light of the sun, but shone like cold starlight. I had a name then, and it struck fear in the hearts of mortals. I had a sword of fire then, and with it I blazed a path of righteousness through the world.
Now there are twin scars on my back that still ache as I move. My name has been stricken from the book of souls and even I cannot remember it. I carry a gnarled stick to ease the burden that each of my steps has become upon this world.
But Cerberus knows me…