The road was tiring, so that she wiggled her tiny hands in hopes of finding a tree, or a cane that she could gravel upon. There were woods, yes, but not the sort that would be so... eloquent. To suit her needs.

Would she be able to swim in the reddy river? Reddy it was because there was still some mud mixed into it, as well as blood and whiteness and discharge and other bits of gore. Oh, gore... How she had gravelled away from it then and how she wished to be engulfed in its sin! Warmth! For every Heaven she had been to, she had never been enticed by its warmth which was ne'er so fitting, and never so alluring as the one of the pits of Hell. How ridiculous... the face of virtue and the bottom of devilry having the same hot inviting... But yet so dividend in their warm qualities.

The old woman went along the road, her fresh luscious hair flailing by her sides - so unusual for a little kid - and broke into a run. She could run on these hind legs! She never ran on them; she did prefer to bounce on all fours, yet in Hell perhaps she could ignore her principle. Why in Hell there need be principles?

Blood was beautifully painted around her shins, drooping elegantly like the honey of a honeybee, and oh how nice was its merry drip against her shoulders! For was she her if she not stand upon her head? No, never! Never submit to the normalcy! Never! Never!

Ugh, the walking cane. Clouded her senses like a belt her father hit her with... That was long ago.Until she was ready to own up to its calling, she looked beyond her. And suddenly she saw - not anything other than Saint Peter's Gate! Itself!

She should've stood on her head.

Longer!