Whichever you prefer.
Suicide, blasphemy and make believe.

Last night my God gave me a choice.
Apparently I've been blacklisted by St Peter and Santa has my name on the naughty list for this century and my offspring shall inherit it for many after. Lucifer has left the underworld claiming this land Hell. Me to be his, he begs. And as I look above, the golden gates start to close on me. I hadn't said anything. If it was really God working his 9 to 5 then, I truly am his child. He knows me, knew me, lost me, all too well.
No vacancies in Heaven. The sweet scent of burning flesh and cries of screaming children running in circles. Amy and Harry have left. Along they took Amanda, Isabelle and Cherie. Under the wings of the Lord they shall be saved.

Parents die, children cry. Insects spared, animals paired.

They cry in strange tongues, redemption. As I look down in pity and disgust, I know I will forever remain the object of their scorn. I should be ashamed. But my master has taught me all too well. This is no longer Hell. This flame does not burn. With no pain, no need for relief. Nothing more than fiber to sell out. It does not hurt, it does not please.
It is nothing.
And nothing is all I am.

I am the mistress of the damned.