Greetings, Asylum Seekers.
We have already established what angels are and what angels are not. No, we are not simply lounging about cumulous clouds strumming golden harps and wearing flowing robes.
We have a job to do after all.
When a soul is measured by the life it lived on earth and found unwanting of Paradise and unsure of The Pit, it is processed through the door of the dwarf star you mortals have entered. Here, in this rotunda, an essence is greeted by an angel representative of the Authority, and a demon from the Malifecium.
Follow so far? Good. Let’s dive deeper.
Each angel has a demon counterpart. I’d speak briefly on mine today, but I don’t feel much like putting my hand through a wall in anger and scaring my dear mortal guests, so we’ll push that to the side. For now.
Under direct surveillance by the Authority’s Seraphim above and the Malifecium High-Horde below, the soul is asked a series of questions by both angel and demon. To witness this process would scramble any mortal’s brain. It can be quick, or it can be quite argumentative. Manipulation on the part of the Malifecium and the Authority’s frustration are to be expected. Questions range from: “What did you feel when you first stepped through the turn-style at Disneyland?” to “How good did it feel to wear mommy’s panties?” I won’t tell you which side asked which question in that sequence.
The questioning can last for weeks in the mortal passage of time. It is meant to completely strip the soul of all resolve and pull forth his or her true self. Once that is accomplished we can begin to construct a holding cell based on the soul’s rehabilitation needs.
Now, a quick overview of the Asylum as a facility.
To put it as simply as I possibly can, a powerful current of light and dark energy intermingles to form the physical walls and floors that make up the Asylum’s seemingly endless corridors. Filling those corridors are doors of every shape, size, and function. Some are rotted wood, held together by a thin strip of iron. Some look like they’re right out of an episode of Star Trek or, my favorite, Battlestar Galactica (the newer one). Some are gold-plated gates similar to the ones you might find at a gaudy Atlantic City casino. And others, still, are made of the most eloquent stained glass. All are representative of a soul’s life lived, and each door enters into an Asylum inmate’s holding cell.
Here is where it gets a bit morbid. We issue updated reports about 12 times each Mortal Year (MY). To help wrap your mind around it, I’ll offer an example. Below you’ll find a report of one of the billions of cells that are currently in operation within our walls. Since each cell is constructed by the Authority and the Malifecium, its function is to both educate and provide a sense of hope, as well as tear down and force pain and regret.
CELL 238954R (South Wing Direct)
Felicity Moreau. Born and lived 63% of her mortal life in Le Bugue, France. Suffered from severe alcoholism. Both parents alcoholics. Addiction fueled depression. Gave birth to one child, which died at six days old. Moreau served an eight-year sentence under psychiatric care, during which time she threatened to murder her mother daily. After her release, she married a carpenter named Julien and adopted two healthy daughters (Ines and Oceane) in the neighboring town of Manaurie. She succumbed to cancer surrounded by her loving family, including her 99-year-old mother, Marie, with whom Felicity reconciled.
Daily Cell Activity
Felicity wakes each light cycle in the nursery. She hears her newborn crying. She cannot locate her baby. During this time, she has committed suicide 50,654 times, meditated 45,689, prayed to Buddha 89,654, and cried helplessly in the child’s blanket 186,456 times. On rare occasion, the baby is found safely in his crib, at which time she is able to hold her infant, care for him, nurture and sing, until the light of the cycle ceases.
Authority Rep #89
238954R Moreau has begun to understand the intense loss she pushed down during her time in mortal psychiatric care. Her trauma delved deeper than postpartum depression. Turbulent childhood, abusive mother. 238954R Moreau might have suffered the same fate as her son at the hands of her own virulent mother, if said mother hadn’t required Moreau for financial assistance. For 15 mortal years since her arrival to the Asylum on 3 November MY2003, she has persevered in her cell. She has shown remorse and has been grateful for the rare days she spends with her baby. We cannot remain absurdly stringent when it comes to mortal psychological imbalance. She is praying. She wants salvation. Her soul is love and light.
Malifecium Rep #98
The woman has committed suicide in her cell nearly as often as she prays for salvation - prayers to help cope rather than for the safety and eternal protection of the soul of the child she murdered. Her soul was darkened long ago. For 30 years of her life she was an abusive, alcohol-seeped mess of a mortal. Inebriation to shield natural pain and suffering. Addiction is another word for selfish. We welcome selfish in The Pit. Moreau still pines for the sweet sting of tequila on the back of her throat. It is more prevalent in her thoughts than the child she is forced to contend with. She wants to fall. She wants to feel out of control. She wants the liquor. To this soul, the liquor is love and light.
Quite a load of bureaucracy isn’t it, dear mortals?
I obviously agree with my Authority counterpart, but nothing is completely cut and dried when it comes to a mortal soul. You are small creatures with such potential, yet so little self-control.
Then again, we celestials have our moments.
Felicity Moreau’s case will be considered by the most powerful of both orders, and her sentence will be instantaneous. With every soul, I pray they reach the Light. Your kind wasn’t made for The Pit, no matter how much the Malifecium politicizes the contrary.
Perhaps I’ll fill you in on 238954R’s final sentencing once it is rendered.
And do return. I have a story to tell you about the last mortal to pass through the veil and the dire result. Not to scare you, of course...
'Til then, Seekers.