Beyond the white light was a strange, foreign place. Was this Heaven? Hell? Perhaps it was somewhere in between?

Jocelyn found herself standing at the base of a white castle, in front of a long stone staircase that led up to its entrance. She had seen castles only in books and movies, but they all paled in comparison to the beauty of this one. Ivory towers, brilliant stone statues, tall archways, and open windows—it was all here. This castle was one straight out of a fairy tale.

With castles came the promises of prince charming and happily ever after, right? Jocelyn thought.

She took a moment to examine her surroundings. The scenery around her was breathtakingly blue with white clouds stretching as far as she could see, while the ground beneath her feet hovered at the same level as the highest peak of neighboring mountain tops. The castle was floating in the sky.

There was nowhere to go but up into the castle.

Every step up the stone staircase was taken apprehensively. Jocelyn didn’t know what to expect at the top. For all she knew, this Asmodella person she was forced to meet was the queen of six-eyed cannibals and flesh eating demon monkeys.

When she finally reached the top of the steps, there were no evil monkeys waiting for her. Instead, she was greeted by a grey, old, decrepit figure covered in dark rags and sitting in a wheelchair.

A long hood covered most of her face.

“Beware…beware…the…fall…” she screeched, pointing a long, bony finger at Jocelyn. “You are not…safe…”

“Asmodella?” Jocelyn asked.

The crone seemed confused. “Huh?”

“Asmodella,” Jocelyn repeated. “That’s the name Octava kept mentioning. Are you Asmodella?”

The crone paused for a moment, before starting her rant all over again. “Beware…beware…the…fall…”

This was going nowhere. “Look, why am I here?”

“To see Asmodella, of course.” A lyrical voice spoke from behind her.

Jocelyn spun around and saw a beautiful woman with long, curly, dark hair and unblemished skin that glowed. Her eyes were like green jade, ones that forced you to look twice in awe. She wore a long white dress strapped over her left shoulder. It danced with the gentle breeze ushered in from the sky.

She looked like a princess, aside for the small fact she was holding a mop. Was she the custodian of this castle?

“She will fall…she will fall…” the old woman in the wheelchair droned on.

“Oh hush you,” the beautiful woman said as she scrubbed the area around her. “She likes to repeat things over and over again. She’s also a stickler for the health and safety of all our visitors. It’s a good thing, I suppose. Can’t have potential candidates breaking bones now, can we?”

Jocelyn was confused.

“I spilled a glass of chimera tears, just before you arrived,” the woman explained. “My fault really, though old Wichyloo here did startle me with her entire lurking in the shadows thing she enjoys doing.”

“Chimera tears?” Jocelyn repeated.

“The only thing you need to know about chimera tears is that they’re slippery. Anyone who steps in it is guaranteed to wind up having their ankles above their ass.” With the ground spotless, the woman was satisfied. “There, crisis averted.” She turned to the old crone named Wichyloo. “Now, our esteemed guest won’t fall.”

Wichyloo examined the ground like a seagull searching for food, and then nodded with satisfaction.

“Clumsy…clumsy you are…” she said, pointing at the woman.

The woman sighed. “For goodness sakes, if you weren’t so good at what you did, I’d push you down the stairs myself.”

“No…respect…”

The woman’s patience seemed exhausted. She dropped the mop on the ground and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. “How about we compartmentalize you for a few minutes while I attend to our guest?” She wheeled the hooded crone to the center of the room.

“Now tell me, Wichyloo, where do you wish to be?”

“Home…home…”

“We are home,” the woman said.

“Home…” the old crone repeated. This time, she said it with a longing ache in her voice.

“How about I send you to your room instead?”

“I used to hear songs,” the crone whispered.

“Yes, yes, we all did. But for now, rest.”

The beautiful woman reached up into the air and using her thumb and index finger, pinched at nothing. She slid her fingers down the open space and by some act of god a thin hole began to form. It was as if an invisible zipper had been pulled, opening up the seams of reality.

Jocelyn peered inside the hole and to her surprise, saw a quaint little room inside with a single bed, flower, and pictures of children lining the four walls.

“Inside we go, Wichyloo,” the woman said as she pushed the wheel chair through the opening, planting the woman firmly inside the room.

“Lonely…” Wichyloo whispered.

“Oh, hush now,” the woman said, pointing to the pictures. “You have all the children to keep you company.”

Wichyloo began sobbing. “I…don’t…want…to…be…” but before she could finish her sentence, the woman reached down and began zipping the hole back up, knitting reality back into place.

“I apologize for that,” the woman said. “She can be a bit of a terror, that one.”

“She was so sad to look at her children,” Jocelyn said. “Did something happen to them?”

The woman laughed. “Oh, that’s sweet. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten how precious sympathy is. It’s lovely really, fitting for a sweet girl such as you.”

“Why is sympathy funny?”

“It’s not,” the woman replied. “It’s who it’s directed at that gives me a good chuckle. Old Wichyloo is actually a hag.”

“She is old,” Jocelyn agreed.

“No, I mean literally; she’s a hag who went around stealing children and eating them.”

Jocelyn’s mouth dropped. “That’s…” she was at a loss for words.

“Horrible, awful, monstrous, evil, demonic, vile, wretched?” the woman offered a few adjectives.

“Yes, all of the above.”

“Have you ever heard the term, meet your maker? That’s why I keep her here.”

More surprise. “She created you?” Jocelyn asked.

“Other way around, though I didn’t create her physical being, just to be clear.” the woman said. “I gave her the lovely gift of magic, which she abused, using fancy tricks to seduce children into her home. She also murdered countless brave souls who tried to bring her to justice.”

Jocelyn furrowed her brow. “Who are you?”

The beautiful woman grinned. “Oh, you know my name. I’m sure it’s been mentioned a few times by my loyal fan base.”

“Asmodella,” Jocelyn whispered.

She nodded.

“So what do you do exactly?” Jocelyn asked. “Are you the queen of the Asrai or something?”

Asmodella laughed. “No, my responsibilities aren’t as trivial. I’m actually a Divine.”

“Divine? As in a god?”

“I’ve never gotten used to the term ‘god.’ There’s something vain sounding about it. Divine sounds nicer to my ears anyway. The spelling of the word in your language is pretty.”

This night was full of surprises.

“You look human,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“I take a form that you’d be accustomed to. To show you my true form would completely boggle your mind. You’d become catatonic.” The Divine smiled. “With that said, any individuals I have given the gift of magic—which is not many these days—is my responsibility, including their punishments for abusing my gift. This includes Wichyloo.”

“Her punishment is being a door greeter for your castle? That doesn’t seem too bad.”

“I keep her around as my penance, actually,” Asmodella said. “There was a time that magic was prevalent in the universe, believe it or not. I was foolish in thinking that magic was something everyone had a right to, like eyes or fabulous hair.”

“I do like your hair.”

Asmodella smiled. “Why, thank you. I try my best to make it look presentable. You’re the first person to notice.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, when Wichyloo finally bit the dust, it was my burden to punish her for the centuries of crap she did with the magic I gave to her.”

“It seems like a pretty docile punishment,” Jocelyn pointed out. “I mean, being a greeter isn’t exactly the fire and brimstone punishment that I pictured fitting for a child-eating witch.”

“Fire and brimstone is a lazy god’s punishment,” Asmodella said. “I can do an eternity of torture with hot pokers and the flaying of skin but I don’t have the stomach for it. I’m also more creative than that. Did you notice how weathered Wichyloo looks?”

Jocelyn nodded.

“When she died, she looked young and was gorgeous. Despite be centuries old, she could pass for what you humans consider as early twenties. Drinking the blood of innocent children and sacrificing them to the god of blood had done wonders for her skin.”

“God of blood?”

“Don’t ask. He’s one of my many brothers. He’s a bit of a dipshit.” Asmodella said, scrunching her face. “When Wichyloo appeared before me for atonement, the first thing I did was reveal her true form. I removed her youth as a result of blood sacrifices, and voila, the Wichyloo you see now and not the sassy bombshell from days of yore. As part of her penance package, I also gave her a floating eye, invisible to us all. It’s constantly focused on her and linked to her neural receptors. She’s always looking at herself, even when she sleeps.”

“That seems fair,” Jocelyn said.

“There’s one final piece to her punishment. You saw all those pictures of children in her room?”

Jocelyn nodded.

“They’re all her victims. Whenever she’s in there, the portraits come to life, telling her how horrible their death was and how she caused them great pain and suffering.”

“You dragged the souls of those children into your punishment?”

“No, of course not,” Asmodella said. “Don’t you worry, their souls are where they belong right now, resting peacefully. It’s just a ghost children simulation.”

“If she’s constantly being haunted, why did she say she was lonely?”

“She misses her daughter, who died long before she went bat-shit crazy,” Asmodella said. “She loved her with all her heart.”

“How did she die?” Jocelyn asked.

“Suicide,” Asmodella said. “I always figured it was her daughter’s death that turned her into a loon. Sometimes, I even suspect that Wichyloo tried looking young again because her daughter looked so much like her. You know that saying, living vicariously through your child? Wichyloo was trying to do just the opposite—her child living through her.”

Jocelyn frowned. “Now that is sad.”

“Undeserved sympathy.” Asmodella said. “Drinking blood of children, remember?”

“Still…”

The Divine smiled as she rested a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder. Her touch was warm.

“That sympathy will get you in trouble one day,” Asmodella sighed. “Come.” She led Jocelyn to the center of the room.

A circular wooden table, which Jocelyn swore wasn’t present before, was waiting for them. Resting on the middle of it was a beautiful looking tree, its roots planted firmly into the smooth surface.

Asmodella gestured for Jocelyn to sit in one of the beautiful hand-carved seats while she sat across from her.

“Well, this is nice,” the Divine spoke. Her eyes practically radiated as she observed Jocelyn. “On first impressions alone, I can tell there’s something special about you. What should I call you?”

“Can’t you use your god-like powers to figure out my name?” Jocelyn asked.

“Oh, I know everything there is to know about you,” Asmodella said. “I just wanted to see if you did as well, Jocelyn. That is your name, isn’t it?”

Jocelyn nodded. “Yes. Jocelyn Dark, though I used to have the last name Frost.”

Asmodella wrinkled her nose. “No, not Dark or Frost; you had another name before that.”

“Frost was the family name of my mother.”

“But not your father’s,” Asmodella said. “You did know his name once. It’s a name your mother stripped away from you, giving you hers instead.”

Jocelyn felt as if someone had poured soda pop into her head. She knew this was true, but her memory banks were failing her. “I can’t remember.”

“The black poison that’s coursing through your veins is erasing your memories, starting with the ones from your childhood. Can you tell me the name of the street you grew up on?”

“I…” Jocelyn’s mind went blank.

Asmodella was right.

“Or can you tell me the name of the first boy you ever had a crush on?”

That one was easy. It was Jaks, wasn’t it?

No, that wasn’t right. There was someone long before him.

“This isn’t fair,” Jocelyn whispered. The poison in her veins was not only killing her but all her memories as well.

Jocelyn looked up at Asmodella. “What was my father’s name?” she asked purposefully.

Asmodella shook her head. “Sorry, it’s not my place to say. But don’t you fret, you’ll discover that one eventually, if you do leave this place.” she said.

“If?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

Jocelyn frowned. “I prefer ‘when I leave this place.’”

“Once again that’s entirely up to you.”

“Give me my father’s name,” Jocelyn demanded once more. “Why can’t you give me something so simple?”

“Because then you’d know who your father was, and that would alter your destiny.”